by Gina Wilkins
Her thoughts obviously far away, Ryan toyed with her food. “What should we do?” she asked finally.
Realizing that she was still concentrating on the children, Max gave a mental sigh and shook off the thoughts that would only get him into trouble with her. She’d made it clear enough that she wasn’t exactly ready to fall into his arms. No matter how eager he was for her to do so.
If Ryan wanted to talk about the kids, they’d talk about the kids. At least she was talking to him again. When they’d parted the night before, he hadn’t been at all sure he’d have this chance again. He’d gone to bed alone last night, wondering if he was losing his touch.
“The logical answer would be to report the situation to the proper authorities,” he said, knowing as he spoke that she wouldn’t like the suggestion. “Tell them what we’ve observed, suggest that they look into the situation.”
He was right about her reaction. Her eyes darkened, and that intriguingly dimpled chin of hers lifted stubbornly. “Do you know what would happen to the children if we did that?”
“Foster care, most likely. If there was evidence to indicate that they’ve been abandoned, they would become wards of the state.”
Ryan shuddered. “That sounds awful.”
“It’s a system designed to protect children,” Max commented. “To give them a safe home and close supervision.”
Ryan frowned. “But do we really have the right to interfere in that way? What if they haven’t been abandoned? What if their aunt really does love them and wants the best for them? What if she believes Mrs. Culpepper is watching them closely?”
“There is that possibility,” he agreed, though he didn’t particularly believe it. If the aunt had been all that concerned about the kids, she wouldn’t have left them under these conditions.
“If only we could find at least one of their aunts.” Ryan had asked the children for their relatives’ names before she’d left. Opal Coleman—same surname as the kids’—was the one who’d taken off for California two weeks ago. Her sister, Essie Smith, lived in Boston, according to Pip, though he’d had no specific address to give them.
“Mrs. Culpepper said she couldn’t find a listing for Essie Smith,” Ryan mused, as though thinking aloud. “I wonder how I could track her down without a phone number.”
Max was wondering how he could get Ryan’s full attention. She hadn’t really looked at him since she’d interrupted his football game. Her attention was all for the orphaned siblings.
Studying her across the table, he felt that now-familiar tug of attraction. He wondered what it was about her that he found so appealing. Sure, she was pretty, but he’d known more-beautiful women. She had a nice smile and a great body, but so did plenty of others.
She’d certainly given him little encouragement. Though there had been times when she’d looked at him with what he would have sworn was an interest similar to his own, she always retreated before he could follow up on her signals. He didn’t know what he’d done to make her cut him off so rapidly last night after the movie, and he’d begun to wonder if she’d ever let him get close enough again to find out.
What he needed was a reason to spend time with her, to find out what it was about him that spooked her. A chance to convince her that they could have fun together if she would just loosen up and give him the opportunity to show her a good time.
It had been several months since he’d been involved with anyone, even superficially. Ryan was the first woman who’d really interested him in quite a while. He suspected that they could have a great time together, at least until the excitement ended. And it always ended.
If only he could think of some way to convince her to give him a chance…
“I wonder if my brother could help contact their aunts,” Ryan said, still concentrating on the children.
Max lifted his head as an idea occurred to him—a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. He could do something to help those cute kids and give Ryan a reason to stay in contact with him at the same time.
“I have a friend who could possibly help us out,” he said as he reached for his drink, his expression deliberately casual. “Her name’s Juliana West.”
Ryan looked cautiously intrigued. “What can your friend do for us?”
Pleased that he had her attention now, Max explained. “She’s a former police officer turned private investigator. It’s possible that she can get us something to go on. I’ll give her these names, see what she can find out about them. In the meantime, you can stay in touch with Mrs. Culpepper and make sure the children are being properly cared for. I’ll call you to check on them.”
“But their rent runs out in four days. What if your friend hasn’t located their aunts by then?”
“At that point we can assume that the children have been abandoned, either by design or some sort of accident. We’d have no alternative then but to contact the authorities. If we don’t, their landlady certainly will.”
Ryan nodded reluctantly. “I suppose you’re right. Someone has to make sure the children aren’t turned out on the street.”
“You’re sure you want to pursue it in this way? You don’t think you should contact the authorities now?”
Ryan hesitated only a moment before shaking her head. “I want to wait. At least another day or two. As you said, we can monitor the children through Mrs. Culpepper for now. To be honest, I’m tempted to just take them home with me until we find out something about their aunts.”
“And risk a kidnapping charge?” Max asked bluntly, unable to believe she’d actually consider such a step.
She didn’t even know the kids, when it came right down to it. Cute as they were, how could she consider taking them in? She was young and single; she probably knew little more about taking care of a couple of kids than Max himself did. “You have no authorization for that, Ryan.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just…”
“You’re worried about them,” he said understandingly. “And rightly so. So let’s do what we can for them—legally.”
He felt the faintest twinge of conscience, but he ignored it. Okay, so maybe he was using the children to get closer to Ryan. In the long run, both of them only wanted the best for the tots. He’d have Juliana look for their aunts, and if that failed, then he’d convince Ryan to turn the kids over to the proper authorities. Someone would take care of them.
Ryan thought about it a moment, then nodded. “All right. I’ll call Mrs. Culpepper to make sure the children are supervised after school tomorrow. You’ll let me know as soon as your friend finds something, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He smiled winningly. “Now, since we’ve gotten ourselves caught up in a common problem, why don’t you tell me more about yourself, Ryan Clark.”
He figured it was well past time to get the conversation back to personal matters.
Ryan swallowed a mouthful of her salad and looked at him questioningly, obviously caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. “What do you want to know?”
“Are you from this area originally? What’s your family like? Why did you decide to open your doll shop and what do you want to accomplish with it?”
Is your skin as soft as it looks? Your hair as silky? Does that pouty mouth taste as good as I think it would? When—if ever—will I have the chance to find out?
“You certainly ask a lot of questions,” she said, unaware of the ones he’d left unspoken.
He only smiled and waited for her to provide some answers.
She speared a cherry tomato with her plastic fork. He could tell that she had to make an effort to take her mind off the children and answer him. “I am from this area. I have one brother—Nick, the attorney. My mother died several years ago, but my father still lives nearby. He’s a retired attorney. Nick took over his practice a few years ago.
“I opened my shop because it’s always been my goal to be self-employed and because I love dolls. I hope to own a small chain of Beautiful Babies sto
res eventually. In the meantime, I’m offering doll-making classes starting in the spring, and I hope to expand my current inventory to include more doll clothing and accessories, perhaps a select line of stuffed animals.”
“It sounds as though you have your future all mapped out,” Max commented.
“I have since I graduated from high school when I was twenty,” she agreed after swallowing the tomato.
It took a moment for Max to realize what she’d said. “You were twenty when you finished high school?”
She nodded casually. “I was in a car accident three months into my junior year. It took over a year for me to fully recover from my injuries. I could have finished with a tutor, but I didn’t want to miss out on the experience of having a senior year, so I went back to school as soon as I was physically able.”
“And then what?” he asked, intrigued by the determination he heard in her tale.
“I spent the next two years traveling and working abroad. The Philippines. New Guinea. The Fiji Islands. Europe.”
“You’ve been to Fiji?” Max was genuinely surprised. He would have bet good money that Ryan Clark was a sheltered, pampered young woman who’d rarely been more than a hundred miles from her family home.
Obviously, he would have been wrong.
She smiled at his expression. “Yes, I’ve been to Fiji. It’s lovely there.”
He was growing more fascinated by her with every revelation. “And then what did you do?”
“While I was in Europe, my mother passed away,” she continued, a trace of grief deepening her voice. “I came home to spend more time with my father. I enrolled in the local university and earned a degree in business. I worked for a large toy-store chain for a couple of years while I prepared to open Beautiful Babies, which I did six months ago. I’ve already told you the rest of my career plans.”
“You’ve accomplished quite a bit in twenty-eight years.”
Her eyes were shuttered. “I had my reasons.”
He would have liked to ask what those reasons were. Something told him she didn’t want him to—and wouldn’t answer if he did.
She didn’t give him a chance to find out. “What about you? You aren’t exactly what I’d expected of the famous M. L. Monroe.”
Again she’d managed to surprise him. “How did you know?”
“Your friend Gayle mentioned it at the park earlier. She said you were one of her favorite writers. My brother’s quite a fan of yours, as well. I’ll have to tell him I’ve met you.”
“I, er…” He was never quite comfortable when someone addressed him as M.L. the writer, rather than Max the person. Writing had been something he’d stumbled into almost by accident. It had given him financial security and the freedom to set his own working hours, to a great extent.
The fame was something he could have done without.
“What do you mean I’m not what you expected?” he asked.
“Nick said your books are bestsellers and there’s even a movie deal pending. You’re quite famous, and yet you’ve spent most of the past week hanging out at the mall or playing touch football at the park. I would have expected the creator of the fast-living Montana to lead a more adventurous existence.”
Max was taken aback. Was that the way she’d read him? A lot of people would be surprised to hear her accuse him of leading a boring life. Especially those concerned friends and family members who’d often wondered aloud if he risked his life so regularly because he secretly placed too little value on it.
He lifted his chin in an arrogant way that those others would have instantly recognized. “And if I told you that I’ve been taking a few months off to write and mentally recharge before moving on again? That I’ve climbed some of the highest peaks in the world? That I’ve sailed in two international races? That I’ve played polo with a prince and gone deep-sea diving with a famous news-magazine anchor? That I’ve jumped out of planes and off mountains, raced cars, bicycles and motorcycles, tried my hand at rodeo, downhill skiing and bungee jumping?”
It was her turn to look startled. “Have you done all that?”
“Yes.”
And more, he could have added. And still there was an empty feeling inside him, as though something was still out there waiting for him, something he’d been looking for most of his life and hadn’t yet found, some as-yet-undiscovered adventure he needed to experience before he could feel satisfied.
Now it was Ryan who looked taken aback. She bit her lip and sighed. Max wondered why she looked so resigned when she smiled faintly and said, “Then I take back what I suggested about your life being staid. Why haven’t I seen you in the society pages hobnobbing with the addictedly adventurous?”
He shrugged. “I’m not particularly photogenic.”
She looked at him with a wry expression. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Right.”
He finished his sandwich, seeing no need to tell her how valuable his privacy was to him. About the freedom he found in relative anonymity, in having few expectations to live up to, no responsibilities to tie him down, nothing to keep him from picking up at a moment’s notice and chasing his latest whim.
He was living a life most men only dreamed of. And if there were times when it didn’t seem enough—well, that was only because he hadn’t yet experienced everything out there.
Fiji, for example. He’d never been to Fiji.
“What about your family? Are they living in this area?” Ryan asked.
“There’s my mother and my sister, mainly. My father died ten years ago. My mother’s in Chicago now living with my aunt, and my sister’s in Hawaii with her military husband and their daughter. I grew up here, moved away when I turned eighteen, then bought a condo uptown a couple of years ago when I decided I needed a home base to write from between trips.”
“Sounds like an average background,” she commented, toying with her salad.
He crumpled a napkin in his hand. “As a matter of fact, I come from a long line of miserable males and discontented females,” he replied, avoiding her eyes. “Plenty of money, but little real joy. I learned early on that life is too short to spend it behind bars—emotional or otherwise.”
He didn’t know why he felt obliged to say that; it wasn’t exactly a warning to her. Ryan had made it clear that she wasn’t interested enough in him to require the usual carefully worded precautions about having lots of fun, but not making any promises.
“That wasn’t the lesson I learned from my own life experiences,” she said quietly.
“Oh?” he asked a bit too courteously. “And what valuable lessons did you learn?”
“That life doesn’t mean much if you don’t accomplish something worthwhile while you’re here. It shouldn’t all be fun and games.”
“Didn’t you enjoy your adventures overseas, Ryan?” he asked lightly.
She smiled. “I enjoyed it very much. My service with the Peace Corps has been the most-fulfilling experience of my life so far.”
The Peace Corps. His smile faded. He’d assumed that her travel had been pleasure based, much as his own had been. Instead, she’d been out doing her part to save the world.
No wonder she had so quickly and naturally taken on responsibility for these two orphaned children she’d known only a matter of days. She was used to that sort of thing.
Keeping his expression only politely interested, he asked, “And are there any other lofty goals you’ve set for yourself—other contributions you’d like to make during this all-too-brief existence?”
“Yes,” she replied simply. She didn’t elucidate.
He figured she’d already demonstrated clearly enough that they couldn’t be more different in their approach to life.
His attraction to her was still powerful, and he had a great deal of respect for her. But he knew better than to let it go any further than that. Max was the let’s-have-fun-while-it-lasts type, Ryan was of the long-term-commitment persuasion.
Oil and water.
For now, they had a
common goal: making sure no harm came to Pip and little Kelsey, and finding out what had happened to their missing aunts. Surely that was a noble-enough cause to satisfy even Ryan Clark for the moment.
When it was done, Max would move on, perhaps feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction that for once in his fairly hedonistic life he’d done something worthwhile.
6
RYAN WASN’T SURPRISED that Max lived in one of the more upscale apartment buildings in the city. He didn’t ask her inside when she dropped him off; she wouldn’t have accepted if he had.
“I’ll call Juliana as soon as I’m inside,” he promised. “Why don’t you give me your home number in case I need to reach you?”
As she had with Mrs. Culpepper and Pip, Ryan wrote her number on the back of a business card. “You’ll let me know as soon as she finds something?” she urged. “Or even if she doesn’t?”
“I’ll be in touch,” he promised.
She nodded. “Max…thank you. It’s reassuring to know I’m not the only one who cares what happens to Pip and Kelsey.”
He smiled, oddly disconcerted by her words. “I’ll call you,” he repeated, and stepped away from the car. “Good night, Ryan.”
“Good night, Max.”
He didn’t look back as he walked away from her.
MONDAY WAS LYNN’S day off from the shop, so Ryan and Cathy handled business that day. It wasn’t as busy as it had been during the weekend, of course, but sales were still brisk. Ryan was glad to stay busy. It kept her from worrying all day about Pip and Kelsey—or worse, thinking about Max Monroe.
She took advantage of a midmorning lull to call her brother’s office. He’d been out of town for the weekend, so she hadn’t been able to reach him earlier. His secretary put her through. “Are you tied up for lunch tomorrow?” she asked as soon as he came on the line.
“I’m afraid so. Important luncheon meeting. But I’m free Wednesday.”
