Abandoned

by Rhonda Pollero

  Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to his shadowed face.

  He leaned forward. She could just feel the heat from his large body. “You know, if you make one of my deputies look like a total fool, it’s like pointing the finger of blame right at me.”

  Giving him her brightest smile, Emma sweetly purred, “You’re just mad because I got to choose the finger.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The state of Florida issued Emma a battered metal desk that tilted every time she leaned on the left edge. Needing to steady her work surface, she hiked up her skirt and got down on her hands and knees. She held a folded square of paper between her teeth. Using her shoulder for leverage, she forced the uneven leg off the floor and shoved the paper brace underneath. Then she promptly whacked her head on the base of the drawer.

  “Damn!” she muttered.

  “Miss McKinley?”

  She was still rubbing the sore spot on the top of her head when she pushed herself off the floor. A woman, looking frail and uncertain, stood in the doorway. She appeared a bit older than Emma—late thirties, maybe—but the woman wore her years in the deep lines etched into what once probably had been a very pretty face. Now, however, she just looked whipped.

  “I’m Emma McKinley,” she said as she sat in her seat. “Please come in.”

  A thin cotton dress fell loosely from shoulders that were as limp and lifeless as the out-grown, dirty blond-dull brown hair she had pulled back into a barrette. Wisps of home-fashioned, uneven bangs hung on her small forehead, catching in clumps of blue mascara each time she blinked.

  The woman moved quickly, in awkward motions that hinted at an underlying uneasiness. Once settled on the edge of one of the hideous green plaid chairs opposite Emma, the woman kept a death grip on her scuffed, vinyl handbag.

  “I’m Jeanine Segan,” she introduced herself.

  One of Emma’s brows arched when she connected the name.

  “David is my son,” she explained in a hurried rush of breath. “I just wanted to come here and thank you in person.”

  “I was just doing my job,” Emma answered, holding the woman’s gaze. The woman annoyed her. She should have been in court. “David could have used your support today.”

  Pain flashed in her eyes and she winced at the unmasked censure in Emma’s tone. “I wanted to be there,” Jeanine insisted. “It’s just that Skeeter—well, he didn’t want me to go.”

  “And Skeeter is?”

  “I live with him,” Jeanine answered, lowering her eyes. “I moved in with him when I lost my last job.”

  “And David?”

  “I guess he’s been staying with his friends. Anyways, Skeeter says he’s old enough to do for himself,” she recited as if by rote.

  “And what do you think?”

  Her head came up slowly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I think my son still needs his maman.”

  Emma was curious about the French dialect and the content of her statement. She regarded Jeanine for several seconds before asking, “Why don’t you just tell…Skeeter to let your son live with you? Or better still, tell Skeeter to take a hike and raise your son?”

  “Because I don’t got nowheres else to go.”

  “Surely there are shelters, someplace you could get help.”

  Jeanine’s expression grew cold and distant. “There are such places, Miss McKinley, but not here in Purdue. I was born here. I stay here.”

  With a man you clearly despise, who obviously doesn’t give a damn about the welfare of your seventeen-year-old son, Emma thought angrily.

  “I was a good mother,” Jeanine continued. “I took good care of my son, ’specially when he was young. The Burkes let him have the run of the place.”

  Burke? The name sparked excitement in Emma’s brain. That name had been mentioned in the news clippings. Struggling to keep her expression neutral, she asked, “You worked for Maddison Burke?”

  “Oui,” Jeanine said with a nod. “I cooked and cleaned for that family until—”

  “Do you still cook and clean?”

  Jeanine appeared confused. “Pardon?”

  “Do you still cook and clean for hire?” Emma repeated, weaving her fingers together.

  Jeanine’s body seemed to sink into the chair. “Um…well…Mrs. Burke said I stole some money.”

  “Did you?”

  “Non!” Jeanine insisted, twisting the handle of her purse. “But for a long time no one will hire me.”

  Emma made her decision in a flicker of a second. “I’m desperate to find a housekeeper. There’s a small apartment on the top floor of my home. Two bedrooms, a bath, and a small kitchen.”

  “You want me to come to work for you?”

  Ignoring her startled question, Emma continued. “You can have Wednesdays and Sundays off. I don’t eat breakfast and I quite often miss dinner. The house is a mess because I still haven’t finished unpacking.”

  “You’re willing to give me a job? Just like that?”

  “With two conditions.”

  She watched the budding light of excitement dim in the other woman’s eyes.

  “David comes with you. Skeeter doesn’t. Is that acceptable?”

  “I…um…”

  “You’ll receive a salary of five hundred dollars weekly plus free room and board.”

  Jeanine’s expression grew suddenly wary. “That’s twice what the Burkes paid me. Why you doing this?”

  “I’m a practical woman, Mrs. Segan. I need a housekeeper. You need a job that allows you to support yourself and your child. David needs you if he’s going to have a decent chance at life.” And I want information about the Burkes.

  Emma sensed vacillation in the other woman. “Is that acceptable?”

  “I’m not sure Skeeter will let me go so easily. You see, I’m his…I sort of provide…”

  “Not anymore,” Emma told her. “You have two choices here. You can either put out for Skeeter and sit back while your son’s life goes to hell in a handbasket. Or,” Emma paused to stand. “You can take back your responsibility for your life and David’s. The choice is yours.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Jeanine hedged.

  Shrugging, Emma said, “Suit yourself, but I need an answer by Friday.” Grabbing a pen, she scribbled her home address and cellphone number on the back of her business card.

  Jeanine was hesitant as she took it, then she backed out of the room.

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Emma whispered.

  * * *

  She didn’t think about Jeanine Segan for the next three hours. She was too busy trying to digest the voluminous pile of work she’d inherited from her predecessor.

  She was reading a police report on a case up for arraignment in the morning. Her client, Willis Maddox, was charged with indecent exposure and lewd and lascivious behavior, a fourth-degree sex offense. Reading the facts, she decided that Willis was obviously an emotionally disturbed man. He had twenty-plus years of history with the criminal justice system and almost all of the court interactions recommended assistance for his mental disability. Irritation welled inside her as she read the long list of priors and the related list of incarcerations. Of course, she thought, Willis had never received proper treatment. “And people wonder why guys like this reoffend,” she grumbled softly.

  The shrill ring of the telephone startled her. It also made her aware of the fact that it was late.

  “Hello?”

  “Emma? I’ve been calling you at home for hours.”

  Pulling her glasses off, Emma stretched in her chair. “Sorry, but you know how it is with a new job.”

  “Not that job,” her sister scoffed. “I still can’t believe you’re in Purdue. I really think you’ve lost it this time.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “No you don’t,” Amelia insisted. “What you’re doing is dangerous.”

  “And working with the criminal element in New York wasn’t?” Emma replied dryly.

 
“Come off it!” Amelia wailed through the receiver. “What do you think the good people of Purdue will do when they find out—”

  “No one is going to find out,” Emma assured her sister. “I don’t plan on hanging around long after I get what I came here for.”

  “Mom isn’t getting any better. In fact, each day she seems to be getting worse.”

  The update felt like a stab in the heart.

  “They put her on a ventilator because of you.”

  “Amelia Rose,” Emma warned, using her sister’s full name for effect, “I need to do this before Mamma dies.”

  “You found something, didn’t you?” Amelia asked. “You can’t lie to me, Emma. I know you found something at Mamma’s house that you didn’t share with me. I can sense you’re hiding something.”

  “Don’t start that, Amelia. I’m really much too tired to argue the cosmic bond between identical twins with you again.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Emma could see her sister’s face, lower lip thrust out in a pout.

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Emma. And this is just adding to my stress, what with the pressure from the doctors about Mamma.”

  “Is she suffering?” Emma asked.

  “She’s about the same. She’s hooked up to about seven horrible machines.” Amelia took an audible breath. “We need to end this, Emma. This isn’t what Mamma wanted.”

  “Not yet,” she answered with conviction, shoving her glasses back on. “Look, Amelia, I have a ton of stuff to get through. I’ll call you this weekend.” She didn’t wait for her sister’s farewell, she just hung up. “Note to self: get caller I.D.”

  * * *

  Silently he stood in the shadows, watching her. The prim, professional jacket was gone. Her hands were behind her head. In the soft glow of the desk lamp, he could make out the curves of her body straining against her blouse. He felt an immediate and inappropriate heaviness in his groin.

  She tugged gently at some pins, then that mane of blond hair tumbled down and framed her face, reflecting the light. With her hair down, she looked younger. More like when she was at The Grill. Seeing her in action at the courthouse had been impressive, to say the least. She had poise, grace, and enough self-confidence to fill a stadium.

  The glasses, which would have looked frumpy on anyone else, somehow managed to make her seem even more sexy. He was wondering what it would be like to slip those glasses from her face and look into her eyes.

  He found out. Emma McKinley removed her glasses then looked up and saw him standing in her doorway.

  Conner grinned sheepishly, feeling a lot like he had when he was twelve, the day his mother had caught him in the swamp with Rayleen Doucet.

  “Evening, counselor.”

  “A little late for appointments, Sheriff,” she returned tightly.

  “I brought you a beer,” he said as he waltzed into her office. Ignoring her little snort, Conner fell into the chair across from her and plopped a cold six-pack on the desk. “You said you were partial to beer.”

  “I’m also partial to drinking alone.”

  “That’s not good for you.” Conner sighed as he took a bottle from the carton. Bracing the cap against the edge of the desk, he brought his hand down on the bottle, flipping its top. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a swallow, just to fend off the explosion of foam trying to escape. All the while, his eyes held hers.

  With a definite challenge in his eyes, Conner carefully took the bottle away from his lips and offered it to her.

  Her hesitation lasted about a nanosecond, then she accepted the beer. Her lips, which no longer shone with gloss as they had earlier in the day, parted as she raised the beer to her mouth. Her eyes never left his.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  Conner opened a bottle for himself. “I figured you would have a lot to do.” He shifted into the seat, crossing his legs pretty much to keep her from noticing that he was interested in more than just her intellect. “So, what happened at that high-powered New York firm you used to work for?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Elgin said something to Judge Crandall, who said something to Wayne, the bailiff. Wayne told Sue, the clerk—”

  “This is very fascinating,” Emma interrupted him. “But I have no intention of sharing gossip with you.”

  “I don’t engage in gossip. I just listen to it,” He watched her stiffen at his attempted humor.

  “Rumors can be dangerous things, Sheriff.”

  “Conner,” he corrected. “My friends call me Conner.”

  “But we aren’t friends,” Emma pointed out.

  “Are you always so prickly, or is it just me?”

  “I’m not prickly. I am simply trying to politely let you know that I’m not interested in anything other than a professional, working relationship when the need arises.”

  “We played a little rock-paper-scissors-gun in the parking lot, but I don’t recall having asked you out, Emma.”

  “Don’t call me Emma.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because only my friends call me Emma.”

  “My mamma was right,” Conner sighed.

  “Right about what?”

  “She always said a good education ruins a good southern woman.”

  Her smile was breathtaking. It brought a sparkle to her eyes that warmed him in places he was trying to ignore.

  “You have a nice smile, Emma. You ought to practice using it more often.”

  “I smile a lot,” she told him.

  It was the first time he had heard her voice without that edge. It was a soft, deep, feminine sound that was real pleasing on the ears.

  “So.” He took another swallow. “What did Jeanine want?”

  Her smile faded and her expression closed tighter than the barred doors of his jail.

  “How did you know Jeanine was here?”

  “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “When I don’t understand the motivations of the person interrogating me.”

  Conner chuckled. “You are a suspicious little thing, aren’t you?” He raised his hand, silencing the lecture he sensed she was planning. “I take back the ‘little thing’ part.”

  “I offered Jeanine a job.”

  “Here?”

  “No.”

  She took another drink of beer. His eyes followed the path of the drink, along the tapered smoothness of her throat.

  “I need a housekeeper.”

  “So you hired Jeanine,” he concluded. “You some sort of social worker?”

  “You’re the second person to ask me that today. And for the record, no, I am not a social worker. My motives are more selfish. I don’t like to cook or clean.”

  “You really aren’t much of a southern belle, are you, Emma?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Conner leaned forward and spoke in a provocatively low tone. “I don’t think you could disappoint me, Emma.”

  “Don’t do that,” she told him, though her protest wasn’t quite as fervent as it could have been.

  “Do what?”

  “Make insinuations.”

  He leaned back, taking a drink in hopes he could wash away some of the desire knotted in his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman on sight. He wondered why he wanted this one. She wasn’t even close to his type. Babes with attitude were always more trouble than they were worth. And this one definitely had attitude.

  “So, want to go to a party with me?”

  Surprise registered on her face immediately. His invitation had definitely caught her off guard.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “To be neighborly,” he suggested with a grin.

  One of her pale brows lifted. “You seem to put a lot of emphasis on being neighborly.”

  “My mamma raised me with a true appreciation for southern hospitality. Didn’t yours?”

>   He almost missed the tightening of her delicate fingers holding the bottle. He marveled at her control. He wondered why she kept such a short leash on her emotions. The notion of exploring this woman’s personality was almost as appealing as the thought of exploring the blatant sensuality she seemed so hell-bent on hiding from the world.

  “My family wasn’t much on appearances.”

  “Very good,” he said, raising his bottle in a pseudo salute. “Nice lawyerly non-answer.”

  Emma leveled her gaze on him. “Maybe that’s why I am a lawyer.”

  “Good one, too.”

  He’d found it. This woman wasn’t interested in his comments on her beauty. She hadn’t exactly welcomed his half-hearted attempts at seductive banter. Complimenting her professional abilities brought a softness to her features and a relaxed smile to her mouth.

  “Thank you.”

  “You made an ass out of Curtis Hammond.” Conner laughed aloud, recalling the deputy’s tirade back at the station following his disastrous court appearance. “He spent most of the day cursing you every way to Sunday.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “He’ll probably try to get even with you.”

  “Really?”

  Conner nodded. “I’m guessing you’re in for more than your fair share of traffic tickets.”

  “I’ll make a note,” she groaned.

  Her head tilted to one side and her hair caught the light as it fell across her shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to put in a good word for me?” Emma asked.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you go to the party with me.”

  “What kind of party is this?” she asked.

  She didn’t say no. That was good. That was very good. “It’s something of a coming out party.”

  Her lips curved into a frown. “One of those southern debutante things? No thanks.”

  “The guest of honor is definitely southern, but I don’t think she’s hankering for debutante status.”