by Amy Summers
He was different now—handsome, successful and self-assured with his dark eyes and his wide shoulders. The bloodlines of his ancestors, Aztecs and Castilians, Kansas pioneers and Irish horsemen, all combined to produce a man as strong and noble as any she'd ever seen. But every now and then she got a glimpse of something that reminded her of that scared little boy. He still lived inside David, somewhere deep and hidden.
"What he needs is a good woman," she murmured, watching him laugh with two pretty young things as he showed them to a table. "Why won't he let himself fall in love?"
Chapter 2
The evening seemed to drag like no other evening he'd ever endured. He spent more time looking at the clock than preparing meals. Rosa had to remind him twice about a certain double order of ceviche.
But finally the last customer left and Rosa went home, still talking about her cousin Sandra as she walked out the door. David cleaned up, made the routine preparations for the next day and closed down the place.
He'd left the outside entrance door unlocked and he half hoped Madison would be upstairs when he got there, but the apartment was empty. He checked the door; it was unlocked. He stared out into the night and wished he had some idea of where she was.
He could still hear her voice in his head. She was in danger. He was sure of it. He couldn't stay here and wait, knowing that. He had to do something. If only he had some idea of where to find her.
The marina. She'd said something about that. And the telephone connection had been full of static, as though she'd been calling from a ship phone. Grabbing a light jacket, he raced down the outside stairway and folded his long body into his small sports car. The ride to the marina only took a few minutes. He cruised the place for a quarter of an hour, but he didn't see anything that would make him think she was there. Detouring off on every side street, he rode slowly back home. There wasn't a sign of her. He was beginning to wonder if he'd made her up in his head.
The apartment was still empty. He paced through the simple two-room space for over an hour, then lost patience with himself.
"You don't even know this woman," he lectured himself out loud. "She probably won't show up. And if she does, she'll look like Russ with longer hair and glasses." He squinted, making himself see that picture.
But he couldn't convince himself to stop waiting for her, until the clock struck two in the morning and he decided he had to get some sleep. He took a shower, more to calm himself down than anything else, and when he stepped out, slipping into a robe and humming to himself, he thought he heard something.
Stopping, he listened. No. There was no one there. It was all in his head. She wasn't coming, and he was a fool to care. He pulled open the bathroom door, stepped into the bedroom and found that he was dead wrong. There was someone there, all right. In fact, there were two someones. Two very young someones.
"Hi, mister," said one of them, a little girl with sandy blond hair in braids and freckles on her turned-up nose. She and a little boy were sitting at the foot of David's bed, swinging their feet, their huge eyes trained on his every move.
"Uh, hi, guys," David replied unsteadily, thrown completely off guard. He blinked at them, not sure whether he might be seeing things. "What's new?"
The little boy piped up. "Mama told us to stay here. She said, 'Don't move.'"
"I see." He glanced at the little girl. She looked older than the boy, maybe six or seven to his four or five. "Where did she go, exactly?"
"She'll be back in a minute," the little boy interjected. "That's what she said. In a minute."
The little girl nodded but didn't say another word. They both looked at him expectantly. After all, he was the adult. He would know what to do next.
But he had no idea. Kids. He didn't know a thing about them. He hadn't talked to any since he'd been a kid himself, and that was a time he didn't much like to remember.
Don't show any fear, he told himself silently. Hadn't he heard somewhere that they could sense fear, just like dogs? His experience with children was nil. For all he knew, they barked and fetched, as well.
Their mother had to be Russ's sister. At least, he certainly hoped so. If this was just some new random group of visitors, he was going to have a very busy night.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked at last, still puzzled by that one.
They stared at him wide-eyed.
"Mama said you are going to baby-sit us," the little girl said at last.
The concept hit him like a sock on the chin. "I'm going to what?"
No, no. That wasn't the deal. One beautiful damsel in distress with a husky voice was the deal he'd signed on for. Nothing had been said about a pair of ragtag kids who needed to be looked after every moment.
He reacted like any other red-blooded male confronted with such an unwelcome prospect. "I can't do it," he protested quickly. "I'm no baby-sitter."
They both nodded solemnly in unison.
"Mama said."
That was obviously the last word on any subject. For just a moment he had a panicked nightmare vision. What if she'd left these kids with him? What if she wasn't coming back at all?
"Where is she?" he asked, looking around as though she might spring at him and yell "boo" at any given moment.
"She went back down to get the suitcase," the little boy told him solemnly. "We had to leave it on a comer 'cuz it got too heavy."
David looked at him levelly. It sounded like a ploy to him. If she didn't show up in another few minutes...
But there was a sound at the door, and then she was in the room, a small suitcase in her hand.
"Hi," she said breathlessly. "Sorry about this."
He turned and looked at her, and time stood still. He'd been telling himself for hours that she would never look as good as she sounded, and he'd been right.
She looked even better.
Her hair still caught the moonlight from the open doorway. It settled around her shoulders like a lacy piece of midnight mist she might have picked up as she came through the dark. Silvery blonde, it looked like spun satin, light as a breeze.
Her eyes were the kind of blue he'd seen on antique Chinese silk, dark and luminous and studded with stars. Her body was slender, her movements a little too quick, impatient. She had her shoulders set with quiet determination, and there was anxiety in her pretty face, but all the same, there was a sense that laughter might bubble up from just below the surface at any moment.
She didn't look like Russ at all. David felt tongue-tied--like a ten-year-old with his first crush—as she came toward him, her hand outstretched with the quick, casual self-confidence one only got through a certain sort of breeding.
"I'm Madison Carrington," she said. "And you are a saint."
He took her hand and tried not to look as foolish as he felt, standing there in his robe. His eyes met hers, but he couldn't hold the gaze. It was like staring into the sun.
"Are these yours?" he asked, nodding toward the children.
Her natural grin was a little strained around the edges, but still serviceable. "Guilty as charged. I hope they haven't been bothering you."
"Not at all." He hesitated, looking down at her hand as she finally pulled it away again. No wedding ring, he noted, then frowned to make up for the thought. He was still reeling from the way she looked, the way she sounded. He'd expected to enjoy this. He hadn't expected to be overwhelmed, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"I didn't realize you would come with accessories."
"Oh, didn't I mention the kids when I spoke to you on the phone?" She looked genuinely surprised. "Sorry. This is Jill and this is Chris. We come as a set, I'm afraid." That radiant smile again. "Children, this is David Coronado, your Uncle Russ's best friend in the whole world."
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organi
zations is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Copyright © 2018
Cover images from Shutterstock.com
First Edition July, 2018
Created with Vellum
