by Francis Ray
“I haven—t been much help lately,” he said. He believed in doing his best and Working alongside his crew.
Kelli picked up another tile. “You will be when you get things settled. It—s hard losing a friend. You go check on his wife.”
He hadn—t told his employees about Manda, but they knew he and Wes had been close and that he had died. Some of them, like Kelli, had worked on Wes and Madison—s house. “She—s probably fine.”
“Then go see for yourself, then come back. This house is not going anywhere.”
“I—ll be back as soon as I can,” Zachary said, knowing Madison—s house was a good hour—s drive away. Washing up, he headed outside. Getting into his truck, he consoled himself with the knowledge that the sooner he got there and checked on them, the sooner he—d get back.
Madison jerked the door open, ready to give whoever was ringing the doorbell a piece of her mind. She blinked on seeing Zachary. “What are you doing here?”
He hesitated.
“What happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Nothing. I just came to see how things were going,” he confessed, wondering why his good idea didn—t seem so wonderful now.
Her hand flexed on the doorknob. “I thought you weren—t worried about her.”
The uncertainly in her face had him scrambling to fully explain. “I—m not worried about her, I just don—t want you to feel overwhelmed,” he said truthfully. “You—ve got to be tired. She has a lot of energy and she hates going to sleep.”
The corner of Madison—s mouth lifted at the understatement. “Another thing you forgot to mention. I finally got her to take a nap after lunch. I put her down about thirty minutes ago.” Opening the door wider, she stepped aside. “You took your life in your hands by ringing the doorbell.”
“Sorry.”
Madison shook her head as he tiptoed in his scuffed workbooks into the house. Quite an accomplishment for a man well over six feet and easily weighing a hundred and ninety pounds. “Would you like some lunch?”
“I can grab a bite on the way back to the site.”
“You can just as well eat here.” She went to the kitchen. She didn—t want anything, but he probably did. “Where are you working today?”
“Grapevine.”
She paused on opening the refrigerator door. “That—s over an hour from here.”
“I—m used to driving from site to site,” he said simply. “I—ll just wash up and help.”
Before she could stop him, he headed for the half bath near the kitchen. Going to the refrigerator, she gathered the ingredients to fix ham-and-cheese sandwiches, her thoughts on Zachary. She—d never met a man quite like him.
He walked back into the kitchen and took the lettuce out of her hands. “I can do that. Why don—t you sit down?”
“I—m not helpless,” she said, annoyed. She didn—t mind his assistance with Manda, but he wasn—t taking over her life.
“You don—t have to be for someone to help.” He washed the lettuce. “You want heavy or light mayonnaise?”
“Are you always this way?” The question just slipped out, surprising them both.
He frowned. “What way?”
She studied him, realizing he had no idea she was talking about his tendency to help out whenever possible. Then the reason came to her. “You helped your mother, didn—t you?”
“Of course.” He cut the thick sandwich with one sharp thrust of the knife. Like I said, it was just the two of us for a long time.”
There was more to the story—the sudden tension in his body said as much. He knew her secret; she wondered what his was.
Madison wasn—t surprised to find Zachary on her doorstep a little after seven that night, or there in the mornings and evenings in the days that followed. Watching him care for Manda without being asked, she came to realize he was a man of his word, a man who took his responsibilities seriously. Not once did he complain or act as if he begrudged being there. His unwavering support comforted her and eased some of her anxiety.
Friday night after they had put Manda to sleep in her crib, he followed Madison down the hall to the foyer. “I can come by tomorrow and keep her if you have some errands to do or just want to get out.”
Madison hadn—t left the house since the funeral a week ago. She was on hiatus and the station was running reruns of her show. She had no intention of going out, but Zachary didn—t have to know that. “I—ll call the housekeeper.”
Zachary frowned. “The psychologist I spoke with at the hospital said that we should try and limit the number of new people caring for Manda. He says she—s probably feeling abandoned. Maybe you should wait a couple of weeks before calling her.”
“You failed to mention that as well.” She lifted a delicate brow. “Is there anything else about her I should know?”
He shifted uneasily in his chair. For a brief instant his gaze shifted to the baseball cap in his hand. “It—s not my intention to keep information from you or to trap you. It—s just that I don—t always think of it until it comes up.”
Madison stared at him. It sounded reasonable, but for a moment she-had wondered. “I just don—t like being lied to.”
“No one does,— he replied, this time meeting her gaze. “What time should I come?”
“I wasn—t planning on going out,” she finally confessed, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
“Then I—ll come around ten.” Pushing up from the chair, he went to the front door and opened it. “Good night, Madison.”
“Good night, Zachary.”
Going down the bricked steps, he stopped and looked back at her. Small and slender, she was framed in the light. Zachary had the urge to walk back, take her in his arms and …
“Did you forget to tell me something else?” Madison asked, worried by the strange look on his face.
Fist clenched, he said, “Nope. Get back inside and lock up. I—ll see you in the morning.”
Madison rolled her eyes. Zachary was definitely a throwback to the age where men felt women were helpless and needed protecting.
Opening the door to the truck, he stared pointedly at her. Stepping back, she closed the door. Being around Zachary was certainly going to try her patience—patience that was already thin and frayed. But she had to admit, he also helped.
Saturday morning Zachary arrived exactly at ten with his arms wrapped around two big bags of groceries. After saying good morning, he went to the kitchen and set the paper sacks on the sky-blue tiled counter. “I figured you might be running low on food so I picked up a few things. Hope you don—t mind.”
Madison watched him pull out jars, cans, and boxes of food for Manda. Her eyes widened on seeing him unload yogurt, bagels, milk, and a bite-size-chocolate bag of her favorite candy bar.
Since she personally hated grocery shopping, she knew it had taken time and effort on his part to shop for them, yet he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. Wes would have rather slit an artery than go into a grocery store.
“Thank you.” Pulling her mind away from Wes, she opened the pantry door and began putting away Manda—s food. There was too much for the length of time she planned for Manda to be there, but it would keep. No matter what, she wasn—t staying.
After they finished putting away the groceries, Zachary insisted on putting Manda in the stroller and taking her for a walk around the gated community. There was a children—s park with a duck pond that he wanted to show her. Somehow Madison found herself with them, listening to Zachary talk to Manda as if she understood every word. It only took a moment to realize she did the same thing with Manda when she was alone with the baby.
She slid her hands into the pockets of her white linen slacks as they followed the paved path around a small man-made pond. She—d tried to remain impersonal while caring for Manda, but couldn—t quite manage it. She—d find herself talking to Manda, smiling when she thought of her or just holding her because she seemed to need to be held a
s much as she needed the food.
“Your turn.”
“What?” Startled out of her musing, Madison glanced up at Zachary.
“Storytime,” he explained, picking Manda up and going to sit on a nearby white wooden bench beneath a willow tree. “Ducks.” He pointed as three waddled into the pond, then stared expectantly up at Madison who was still standing.
“Why can—t you tell her a story?” she questioned, a bit annoyed.
“Because I—ve run out of the ones I know.” His arm curved around Manda—s small body, he patted the bench next to him. “Isn—t there a story about three ducks?”
“Pigs,” she corrected.
He smiled. “See what I mean?”
Sighing, Madison sat beside him. One story couldn—t hurt, and what good was a story without the animation of the storyteller? One story became three. By the time she—d finished “Jack and the Beanstalk,” Manda was in her arms grinning up at her.
Madison glanced up at Zachary. He had a strange expression on his face. She knew what he was thinking. But there was no way she was keeping Manda. She stood and placed the infant back in her carriage. “I think it—s time we went home.”
He didn—t say a word, just clamped his large hands around the stroller handle and started back the way they had come. Madison—s shoulders slumped. She wondered why his silence made her feel as if she—d disappointed him and why it mattered so much to her if she had.
He stayed most of the day, helping Madison do the laundry, holding Manda on his hip while he vacuumed, and nudging Madison into eating a couple of bites of the steaks he—d grilled. She went to sleep watching him and Manda playing pat-a-cake. When she woke it was dark. She sat up on the leather sofa. Seated across from her in the Barbados chair, Zachary immediately closed the leather-bound book in his hands.
“Have a good nap?” he asked, leaning forward.
She pulled the blanket off her legs. It hadn—t been there when she fell asleep. “Yes. Thanks for the throw.”
“You—re welcome.” Zachary stood and walked to the built-in bookshelf near the fireplace to return the biography of Harriet Tubman. He hadn—t read one page in the forty-seven minutes he—d held it. His entire attention had been on Madison. At least he could admit his feelings to himself, if not to her.
She simply made his heart pound. She stirred feelings in him he—d never experienced before. He wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her on the delicate curve of her neck. In sleep, the lines of strain had disappeared from her face and she was at peace. With everything within him he wished he could keep her that way and at the same time he was desperately afraid he wouldn—t be able to. Taking a deep breath to gain control of his emotions, he turned.
The soft smile on her face shook him. She had no idea how alluring she was to him or how much he wanted her. He was unsure of when his protectiveness of this one woman had begun to change into something deeper, more intense than it had been before. Perhaps it had started the morning she thrust Manda into his arms and she had been so frightened.
Whenever, he had to get a handle on it. She only wanted his friendship, though at times he knew she wasn—t sure she even wanted that. “Manda—s been fed, bathed, and is in bed asleep. I—ll get out of your way so you can get to bed.”
Her lips twitched. “I—m rather surprised I—m not in bed already.”
Zachary—s breath caught as a vision popped into his head of them together on her wide bed, locked in each other—s arms, his mouth on hers, their bodies straining to get closer.
Heat and a burning desire licked through his veins. “You looked so comfortable I didn—t want to chance waking you by moving you.” Liar.
“Thanks.” Her face became shadowed. “Sleep is difficult at times.”
The need to hold and comfort her was suddenly overwhelming. He started toward her with the full intention of gathering her into his arms, kissing her, showing her that she was desired, wanted. He reached for her.
Her eyes fastened on his and he realized just in time what he had been about to do. Lightly he brushed his thumb across her cheek. He couldn—t help himself. “Give yourself time.” He stepped back. “Good night.” Without a backward glance he left—unaware that Madison had lifted her hand to her cheek, unaware that it was the first time in over a year that a man had touched her with such aching tenderness.
Zachary arrived Sunday afternoon and took them to the Sonic drive-in for ice cream. Manda got it all over herself, Madison, and Zachary and thoroughly enjoyed doing so. It had taken a handful of napkins and Zachary—s handkerchief to get her face and hands cleaned. Madison laughed the whole time.
“Sorry, I didn—t know she—d get it all over your clothes. Guess we should have brought wet wipes.” Zachary chuckled. “I—ll pay for the dry-cleaning.”
Madison started to tell him not to worry about her blouse, but the sound of the children laughing in the car next to them had her turning in that direction. Two little girls who looked to be no more than three or four years old were playing in the back while a young couple smiled indulgently in the front.
Were they as happy as they seemed or were they pretending, as she and Wes had done? Did they pretend to be faithful to one another, then go off with their lovers as Wes had done? Was he there when she needed him or, like Wes, did the man let the job take priority over his wife and their children?
Anger swirled though Madison. She looked away. Wes hadn—t been there for their baby, yet he expected her to care for his baby by another woman.
“Have you contacted a private adoption agency yet?” she asked, her voice tightly controlled and devoid of emotion.
Everything in Zachary went still. “Mad—”
As if aware she wasn—t going to like what he had to say, she cut him off. “Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Then, please do. I want this over in a couple of weeks.” Not wanting to see the disapproval in his face, she gathered up the soiled napkins. She was doing the right thing. She knew she was. “Manda going to live with another family is best. They—ll never treat her differently because of who her father was … as I might.”
“You wouldn—t do that.”
“You can—t be sure of that any more than I am,” She began putting the used paper products in the holder their food had come in. “If you—re finished, I think we should go back. It—s time for Manda—s nap.”
Zachary didn—t say anything, just took the things from her, added his own trash, and got out of the truck to place it in the garbage can. Madison saw the slump of his shoulders, the weary way he walked. She glanced down at Manda. “I—m sorry, Manda. I—m just not sure I can do this right. Zachary is asking too much of me.”
As if aware of the seriousness of the situation, the baby simply stared. Madison felt tears prick her eyes. This was the right thing to do. She just wished it didn—t make her feel so alone and petty.
TWELVE
TUESDAY MORNING CORDON GLANCED at Camille Jacobs—s business card, then back at the woman. She was well worth taking a second look. Cool and serene, she still gave off an aura of sexuality that had a man—s mind wandering where it shouldn—t go. Especially a man his age.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Armstrong.”
The voice was low, hushed, the kind that whispered naughty things in a man—s ear. He glanced at the card again. Nothing about her went with what he—d expect of a woman working in her profession. The navy-blue suit was prim enough, but the skirt just above the knee showed off a pair of great legs and trim ankles.
“You must be wondering why I—m here.”
He was wondering a great deal more than that. “I assume you—ll tell me when you—re ready.”
Camille tilted her head to one side. Gordon Armstrong wasn—t what she—d expected. He was younger, for one thing, and much better looking. The gray scattered in his closely cropped black hair gave him a distinguished look, but it was the patience in his brown eyes that Was most unexpected. People usually
saw her card and either wanted to shove her out the door or know immediately who she was investigating.
“Are you aware that Madison Reed has assumed guardianship of Manda Taylor?”
“And who is Manda Taylor?”
Camille arched a brow. He—d answered her question, but managed to pose one of his own. “The child of the mother killed when Wes Reed stopped to render aid.”
“And what docs Madison—s guardianship of a motherless child have to do with your department?” he asked.
“As the caseworker assigned the case it—s my duty to ensure that this guardianship is the best tor Manda,”
For the first time the brown eyes went hard. “So you—re investigating Madison?”
Another question, and this time it was meant to intimidate. “Acquiring information.”
Pinning her with his gaze, Gordon tapped her card on his desk. “You—ve spoken to Madison, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“When?” The question was sharp and accusing.
“Last Tuesday,” she answered, already bracing herself for his reaction.
“Four days after she buried her husband,” he flared, his black eyes pinning her to the spot. “What kind of woman are you?”
Camille didn—t know how he—d managed to make a statement, accusation, and ask a question all in the same sentence, but he had. “It only takes a moment to inflict pain. It—s my duty as a case—”
“And you think Madison would hurt a child?” His temper spiked.
“I don—t know Madison Reed well enough to know what to think. That—s why I—m here,” she answered calmly, despite the growing urge to defend herself.
“Madison is one of those special people who genuinely cares about others. It doesn—t matter about race or social standing, wealth, or power, it—s the individual. That—s what keeps her show at the top and it—s not fake. She—s for real.” He stood. Six feet-plus of muscle and anger. “Good-bye, Ms. Jacobs.”
She—s been tossed out before and would be again, but it didn—t bother her any less. “I—d like permission to interview the other people who work on the show with her.”
