Murphy's Law

by Rebecca Sinclair

  The loss of control gnawed at Murphy. She shifted uneasily on Garrett's lap. Her legs were wedged between his, and she was careful not to jar his thigh. Moonshine had curled up on the floor of the front passenger's seat. More precisely, the cat had wrapped his huge, furry body around both their feet. While the feline kept Murphy's toes warm, it was nothing compared to the hot, dizzying effect of being cradled protectively to Garrett Thayer's chest.

  “How long has it been since we got stuck?” she asked, surrendering to a sudden need to talk. The path her mind had been wandering down for the last few minutes wasn't helping to calm her chaffed-raw nerves. She needed a distraction. The low, husky sound of this man's voice was the only one available.

  He shifted, and she knew without looking that he'd glanced at his watch. She liked the way his voice rumbled in the hard chest she'd cushioned her head against when he replied, “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Really? Seems like it's been longer. An hour, maybe two.”

  “You know what they say. Time flies when you're having"—Garrett grunted when he changed positions again, distributing Murphy's weight more evenly on his good leg—"fun.”

  “Help isn't coming, is it?” It was another question Murphy didn't really want answered, another question she felt compelled to ask. “If it was, wouldn't it have gotten here by now? It's been, what? Over three hours since I called the police?”

  “Probably.”

  “Probably? Probably? Darn it, Garrett couldn't you at least try to sound more concerned? If help doesn't show up soon we're going to freeze to death!”

  “I know.”

  “You know,” Murphy echoed flatly, shaking her head. Her sigh misted the air in front of her face. “Know, but don't care, is that it?”

  “No.”

  “Sounds that way to me.”

  “I care, Murphy. Of course I do.” The sternness of his voice wasn't compromised by the way he sniffled loudly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “The thing is, I don't see how there's a hell of a lot we can do about it. This car isn't going anywhere. Your legs are fine and, hell, even you admit you can't walk all the way back to the house in this weather. There's no way in hell I could. Have I missed an option somewhere? Have you thought of a way out of this mess I haven't? Because if you have, sweetheart, by all means share it. God knows I'd welcome any—Ouch! Son-of-a-Goddamn—!”

  Murphy straightened abruptly, her gaze scanning Garrett's face with concern. “What? Did I bang against your leg again?” How could she have? She hadn't moved!

  “No. That thing you call a cat just used my ankle as a scratching post,” Garrett explained through gritted teeth. “Should have left it behind like I told you to. You know I'm allergic.”

  “That ‘thing’ is my cat,” Murphy corrected tightly. “And it's not my fault you're allergic to him. I've already told you there's no way I'd leave Moonshine behind. Given a choice, I would take him over you any day.” Her gaze raked Garrett coldly. “At least I know him.”

  The muscles in Garrett's jaw bunched and his lips thinned as he averted his narrowed gaze to the snow-covered passenger window. “Right. I forgot. Aside from your brother, it's the only family you've got.” Sucking in a deep breath, he shook his head. “Crazy family, if you ask me.”

  “I didn't.”

  “Fine. But…Jesus, sweetheart, I have to ask. What the hell kind of family consists of a brother, a cat, and nothing else? Don't you have parents?”

  “Of course. Doesn't everyone?” Murphy felt herself bristle, the same way she'd done in grammar school whenever the subject had been broached. It had been broached painfully often. “My parents are no longer around.”

  “Oh.” From the collar of his brown leather bomber jacket, a trace of a blush crept up Garrett's neck until it reached his harshly carved cheeks. He squirmed. “Sorry, I didn't know.”

  She shrugged stiffly and leaned against him again. Her chilled-to-the-bone body greedily soaked up the furnace-like heat of his.

  “When did they, die?”

  “They didn't. At least, not as far as I know.”

  “Then…?” He shook his head, sighed. “Never mind. None of my business.”

  “You're right, it isn't.” She fisted the blanket tightly beneath her chin, settled herself snugly against the hard cushion of his chest, and ground her chattering teeth together. She didn't intend to elaborate. He was right, it was none of his business. Still, after a few seconds had slipped tensely past, she surprised even herself by confiding, “My father abandoned us when my brother was six, and my mother was about five months pregnant with me. I don't remember either of them to be honest, but Tom tells me that our mother…well, suffice to say, Shirley McKenna wasn't exactly the maternal sort.”

  Garrett's head came around slowly, and Murphy felt the brunt of his gaze rest warmly on the top of her head. “You mean she gave you and your brother up for adoption?”

  “Too simple,” she replied with a brisk shake of her head. “Shirley was never big on bravery. She took the coward's way out and did what my father had done a couple years before. She just…left.”

  “Left?”

  “Left. You know, took off and never came back,” she confirmed, her voice oddly steady. She thought about snapping her fingers for emphasis, but changed her mind. Her fingers were shaking too much. From the cold, of course. What else? “There one day, gone the next. That sort of thing.”

  His sigh puffed oh, so warmly against her scalp. “What did you do?”

  “I was only a couple of months old at the time,” she said, and her chuckle was soft and derisive. “What could I do? Tom, though…he was older. He pretty much handled everything. After a few days passed, we started to run out of food. I guess it was about then he realized Shirley wasn't coming back—which, he told me only a few years ago, he'd suspected all along—so he called the police. It took two days to march us through bureaucratic red tape, then shuffle us off to a foster home.”

  “Jesus!”

  The vehement way Garrett spat the word surprised Murphy. For reasons she couldn't explain, she rushed to reassure him. “Hey, it wasn't so bad. Tom and I were never abused, and we were able to stay together, which is what we always considered to be the important thing. My parents—” she cleared her throat, “make that my foster parents are very nice people. Shortly after they took us in, they took in three other kids. Tom and I even had…I don't know, I guess you'd call them ‘foster siblings'?”

  “Sounds like one big happily family,” Garrett muttered.

  “Not quite. Other foster siblings came and went over the years. Only one other boy, and my brother and I, stayed with the Jennson's permanently. Tom and I learned early on that there wasn't much consistency to life, but we also always knew things could have been a lot worse for us. If nothing else, it taught my brother and me that we were the only ones we could ever depend on.”

  “Until you found Moonshine.”

  “Moonshine found me,” Murphy said, then grinned, remembering. “But that's another story.”

  “Feel free to share it. God knows we've got plenty of time.”

  Murphy shook her head. She felt awkward with what she'd already told Garrett. Not that any of it was extremely personal, but what had possessed her to say all that? She never talked so much about herself. It made her uncomfortable. So why hadn't it this time? “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  Was it her imagination, or was his voice edged with caution? “Do you have a family?”

  He nodded, but didn't elaborate.

  “A large one?” she prodded.

  “Define ‘large'.”

  “Large as in…bigger than one brother and a cat.”

  “I have a large family.”

  “How large?”

  He sighed. “Two parents. Four sisters. Two brothers-in-law, a few ex-brothers-in-law. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins…Y
ou name it, I've got it.”

  “That's large.” She felt a split-second pang of envy. What was it like to be surrounded by that much flesh-and-blood family? It was something she would never know.

  A minute slipped past, the time ticked by on the steady beat of Garrett's heartbeat in her ears, and the breath that soughed in and out of his lungs.

  In the last fifteen minutes the temperature in the car had dipped dramatically. A shiver skated down Murphy's spine. One of Garrett's arms tightened around her, while his other palm made quick, brisk strokes up and down her left arm.

  “Tell me something,” he said finally, thoughtfully. “Who's waiting for you at home?”

  “My brother and his wife and Dana.”

  “That's not what I meant.”

  “Um…What did you mean then?”

  “Are you married?” he asked, is voice low and husky. Was he in pain, she wondered? Well, obviously he must be. Yet, for some reason she felt sure pain wasn't the emotion she heard etched in his tone. “Engaged? Involved with anyone?”

  The question took her off guard, and her surprise was echoed in her tone. “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Why?”

  Garrett hesitated a beat before answering. “Damned if I know. Are you?”

  “No. I have enough problems to deal with right now, thank you very much. The last thing I need is a"—she shuddered as her tongue stumbled over the word—"relationship. That would really mess things up.”

  “You sound like me.”

  “Do I?” She pulled back a bit and glanced up at him. The muted light in the car caressed his face, made his eyes shimmer an iridescent shade of dark blue. “How so?”

  He shrugged. “Let's just say I've never had much luck with relationships and leave it at that, okay?”

  “No, it isn't okay.” She smiled up at him, but he didn't smile back. “Then again,” she said, changing her mind, “maybe it is. What about you?”

  “Huh?”

  Without thinking, she stroked the tip of her finger over the hard, square line of his jaw. His whiskers abraded her fingertip. They both shivered as she asked, “Are you married? Engaged? Involved?” When he didn't answer, she reminded him firmly, “Fair's fair. I answered your questions.”

  He angled a glance down at her, one sandy brow quirked accusingly high. “One of them,” he reminded her. “You didn't answer all my questions, sweetheart. In fact, you skirted the one about your job quite nicely.”

  She had the decency to blush. Gathering the blanket closer around her shoulders, she cuddled her head back on his chest, where she wouldn't have to look him in the beautiful-blue-eyes. “Okay,” she relented, “if you answer this one, I'll answer that one. But only if you promise to tell me the truth.”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  The question, oddly enough, didn't take her by surprise. The answer that sprang instantly to mind, did. How could her initial opinion of this man have changed so swiftly?

  “No,” she said, and meant it, “I don't think so. What's the point?” She shivered, and couldn't help but notice how his warm, hard body absorbed the tremor. “It's only a matter of time before we freeze to death out here.”

  “Will you stop saying that? It's not going to happen.”

  Murphy disagreed. Silently. It was now almost half an hour since the Rabbit had gotten stuck. The snow was still falling hard, the wind gusting ferociously. More and more, she was convinced help was not coming, that she and Garrett were not going to get out of this predicament alive. The thought fostered a companionable honesty between them. A last confession of sorts.

  She couldn't help but admire the way Garrett was rock-steady in his belief they would get out of this car, this storm, this whole, horrible situation. Eventually. Somehow. She was simply having trouble believing it—more so with every frigid moment that slipped past. Of course, she'd be lying if she said his relentless optimism didn't make her feel the tiniest bit hopeful.

  “Well? Answer me, Garrett. Are you committed to someone or not?” And why, she wondered, did she all of a sudden want—no, need!—to know so badly?

  “I was.”

  “Was. Past tense,” she defined, intrigued. “Who was she?”

  “My wife.”

  Murphy gulped. Until that second, it hadn't occurred to her Garrett might be married. Her memory raced, trying to find a wedding ring on him. If he wore one, wouldn't she have noticed? “I didn't know you were married.”

  “I'm not.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said was. Past tense, remember? I'm divorced.”

  “Oh.” There was a logical explanation for the relief Murphy felt surge though her. Of course there was. Pity she had no idea what that explanation could be. “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be. Cheryl and I were only married six months. Besides, it happened a long time ago.”

  “Six months isn't very long.”

  “Long enough to know we weren't compatible.”

  Murphy rolled her lips inward. It was none of her business. She shouldn't ask. But she knew, should or shouldn't, curiosity would get the better of her and she was going to ask anyway. “I know this is going to sound like a stupid question, but if you two weren't compatible…um, why did you get married in the first place?”

  Garrett seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. His tone, when he did, was seeped in reluctance. “She was pregnant. We didn't have a choice.”

  “There are always choices,” Murphy said, thinking of the children who shuffled through her office, battered and bruised, their souls beaten by parents who hadn't wanted them born in the first place.

  “When you're nineteen years old,” he said finally, softly, “in college, still living with your parents, and you find out your girl is carrying your baby…well, in a situation like that, back in those days, there were no choices, Murphy. Our only other option was an abortion. Cheryl didn't want that.”

  “Did you?”

  “Doesn't matter what I wanted.” In the small confines of the car, his surprise was tangible. “It was her body. Her decision. She wanted the baby, and that was her right.”

  “I see. So, you married her and had the baby?”

  “Sort of. I married her.” His pause was long and strained. “We didn't have the baby. She miscarried in the middle of her third month.”

  “Oh, Garrett, I'm so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” he growled irritably. “You asked a question, I answered it. Period. There's nothing for you to be sorry about. Cheryl and I stayed together for a few months afterward, tried to make a go of it. I think we knew from the start it wasn't going to work. We found out pretty fast that except for great sex"—Murphy gulped—"the baby was all we had in common. The divorce was fast and friendly; damn rare in this day and age, eh?”

  “Very.”

  “Cheryl's remarried now. Last I heard, she'd gone back to school and became a legal secretary. Somewhere along the line she landed herself a wealthy lawyer husband and had two point something kids. Now she drives a Volvo and is living happily-ever-after somewhere in Vancouver.” He glanced down at her. “Now, about that job of yours…?”

  “Ah, well…There's not a lot to tell, really. I'm thinking about quitting. No big deal. I'm sure everyone thinks about it at one time or another. Mind you, I won't be quitting anything if help doesn't arrive pretty soon and get us out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “Look around you, Garrett. We're stuck in a ditch, in the middle of a blizzard with no—”

  “That's not what I meant, sweetheart, and you damn well know it. Why are you thinking about quitting your job?”

  “For a variety of reasons.” The evasive answer was automatic. She winced. This man had just been painfully open with her, didn't he deserve the same honesty? She sucked in a shaky breath before adding, “I screwed up. Big time.”

  Murphy held her breath, waiting for him to prod. He didn't. That surprised her. Were th
e situation reversed, she would have.

  While she was grateful Garrett was giving her the option of elaborating, she also found that, oddly enough, she wanted to. Why that was, she couldn't be sure. She hadn't even told Tom the whole story about what had happened, and her brother had been hounding her for the information for weeks.

  Maybe it was simply time she opened up and talked about it all? Or maybe, just maybe, it was Garrett Thayer she felt the need to unburden herself on.

  “I told you I'm a social worker, right?” she asked, and felt him nod. Although she couldn't see it, she felt the heat of his gaze warming the top of her head, the beat of his breaths puffing hotly against her scalp. She had an urge to glance up at him, but resisted. Saying this was hard enough; looking into those striking blue eyes of his while she did it would be impossible. “Well, part of my job is following up on reports of child abuse.”

  “Like when a teacher calls about a child with suspicious bruises and really poor excuses,” he said.

  It was her turn to nod. “Exactly! How did you know?”

  “I'm a cop.”

  “Right, I forgot for a second.” Her hands were in her lap; her fingers anxiously twisted the scratchy hem of the blanket. “Six weeks ago I got a report. Not from a teacher, it was a neighbor who said the eight year old boy who lived next to her kept sporting bruises that she didn't feel the mother could adequately explain. I made an appointment to see the neighbor, an appointment to consult with the boy's teacher, scheduled a visit to his house, called his pediatrician. Everything I'm supposed to do.

  “Anyway, the boy's house is in Barrington, an upper-crust suburb of Providence. The parents and the boy were all home when I arrived, at my request. I like to see how the child interacts with both his parents, and siblings, if there are any. Billy, the boy, didn't.”

  “Interact?”

  “No, have any siblings.”

  “Oh. How did Billy interact with his parents?”

  Murphy's voice cracked as more and more of an incident she'd rather not remember—but always would—assailed her. “Fine. They interacted fine. He"—ahem—"had a broken arm that was in a sling, and a few bruises and scrapes, however none of that's abnormal for an eight year old boy. Well, bruises and scrapes aren't. Broken bones are more rare.” She took a deep breath, and forced herself to continue. “The mother said Billy had fallen out of his tree house. Billy said that was exactly what happened, and from what I could see he didn't seem to be covering up. The mother even showed me the tree house. The explanation seemed logical enough. The tree house was high; a fall from it could easily have broken Billy's arm and would also account for the bruises.”