by Delia Latham
“I wish I could answer that for you. All I know is, he did. And then he didn’t. Neither of them did.”
“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” She nodded toward the counter. “Have you ordered?”
“Yes. Didn’t even have to wait in line, which is another miracle, wouldn’t you say?”
“Pretty close to one, yes. This seems to be a night of unexpected happenings.”
“Yeah?” He captured her gaze. A little furrow across his forehead hugged her heart. “Something I don’t know about? I have two big ears and a couple of fairly broad shoulders if you need them.”
She wanted to laugh. Big ears? Fairly broad shoulders? Surely the man knew he was dangerously close to perfect. Dangerous for her and, most likely, every other unattached woman in Jack’s.
“No, nothing like that. I just…I’ve been a little broody the past couple of days. And yet tonight, not a cloud seems to remain in my sky. You’ve been good for me, Marcus. I’m glad you and Juliet showed up. Glad for Donovan especially—I usually have to coax him harder than I like to make friends. But I have to admit, I’m glad to see you too.”
“That makes two of us. You’re always a sight for sore eyes, but tonight, I was super glad to see your pretty face. You and that little man of yours kept me from embarrassing my daughter by showing up to play with her in public.”
Norah couldn’t help laughing at the image that induced.
Marcus shared her laughter, and by the time their order numbers were called—one right after the other—they were as comfortable together as were their children. Donovan and Juliet bounced into the booth a moment later.
“Hi, Mr. Conley!” Donovan greeted Marcus as he reached for a slice of cheese pizza.
“You know my dad?” Juliet grabbed a wedge off the same pan.
“Wait, Juliet! That’s theirs. This one’s ours.” Marcus tapped the edge of their pan.
“Chicken and pineapple?” Juliet made a face. “Donovan, can I eat with you?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I don’t like chicken on my pizza either. Or pineapple. Ugh.”
Norah placed a hand over her mouth and shot Marcus a sympathetic glance. He rolled his eyes.
“Fine, then. Norah, can I eat with you? I don’t like chicken and pineapple either, but I thought my daughter did. Oh!” He lifted a slice of Canadian bacon and jalapeno from the box but looked at Juliet. “Honey, I want you to meet Norah Bradley. I see you’ve already met her son.” He grinned at Donovan. “He’s my buddy.”
“Hi, Mrs. Bradley. It’s nice to meet you.” Juliet offered a sweet smile, and then frowned at her dad. “How come you didn’t tell me about Donovan already? I’ve been waiting to meet him ever since we moved here.”
Donovan coughed and laid down his pizza. “You have? How did you know about me, and how come you wanted to meet me?”
Juliet held up a finger. She finished chewing the bite in her mouth, swallowed and sipped at her soda before answering. “I didn’t know who you were, and I didn’t know your name. But I knew you were out there somewhere, and that we were supposed to be friends. I thought you knew too.”
Norah’s gaze froze on her son. What did one say to such an unusual statement?
But Donovan simply stared at his new friend in silence for a moment. Then he nodded. “I knew. But I didn’t think we’d meet for a long time—like, you know, years.” He grinned and reached for his discarded slice of Italian goodness. “Sure am glad I was wrong.”
Norah moved her disbelieving gaze to Marcus, only to find him watching her. The dazed and bewildered look in his eyes said his confusion equaled her own…maybe even exceeded it by a smidge or two.
She shrugged and grinned. “I’m glad he was wrong too. Now help me eat this, Marcus.” She eyed the chicken and pineapple offering in front of him. “As for that…watch this.”
Before she could think better of it, she slid out of the booth and picked up the pizza tray. Holding it high above her head and shouted out across the room. “Anybody like chicken and pineapple? We ordered the wrong kind.”
Several people yelled out in the affirmative, but a young father at the next booth quickly stood and relieved Norah of her burden. “Thank you!” he grinned and returned to his own table, where two little boys and a tiny girl with a head full of natural red curls pounced on the unexpected blessing.
A round of applause sent Norah scurrying back to her seat, where she slid below seat-back level and covered her face with both hands.
“Nicely done, Norah of Norah’s Garden and Greenhouse.”
She peeked through her fingers. Marcus wiped his lips, tossed the napkin on the empty tray, and downed half a glass of soda in one gigantic drink. Then he grinned. “I see you continue to plant good seeds even when you’re not at work.”
Norah straightened, and narrowed her eyes. “Not another word about this, you hear? I can’t believe I stood up and raised my voice like that! Chances are, I will never do anything so bold for the rest of my life. So please…do me the honor of never mentioning it again?”
Marcus shook his head. “Sorry, I never make promises I probably can’t keep. That was too good to let die.”
The cad! A grin that huge should, by all rights, break his handsome face.
But deep down, she had to admit to being really glad it didn’t. She rather liked Marcus’ perfectly perfect face. Exactly the way it was.
* * * *
Juliet and Donovan ran ahead to the cars. Turned out they were parked side by side.
Marcus caught Norah’s arm. He didn’t want to ask his question in front of the boy, in case Norah disappointed him. “Have you given any further thought to whether Donovan and his green thumb can help me plant those Juliets?”
“Well, I…” she nibbled at delectable lips, and Marcus caught his breath. “I suppose he can. He and Juliet seem to be getting really close though.” She shot him a mischievous grin. “How do you propose to keep them apart long enough to get the rose bushes planted?”
“Oh.” He frowned. The lady made a good point, one he hadn’t considered. Then he turned the frown around. “I guess you’ll have to come with him, won’t you? While he teaches me to plant a rose bush, maybe you can show Juliet the secret to making out-of-this-world chocolate chip cookies.”
When she laughed, stars danced in eyes within a hairsbreadth of purple. And that sweet curve of lips that couldn’t possibly be as silky soft as they looked…what would it be like to kiss them?
Not going there. My daughter is the only female I need in my life right now.
Juliet’s mother already walked out on both of them. The child didn’t remember Tina leaving, but Marcus did. He’d suffered the pain at the time. His daughter endured the same heartbreak and more, not having a mother every day of her short life.
Norah seemed unaware of his momentary lapse.
“What makes you think I make chocolate chip cookies any better than your daughter?”
“Just a hunch. You can do whatever you want, as long as it keeps her occupied for a half hour or so.”
“Hmm. Do you have plants in your house, other than the ones you bought at my nursery?”
“Nope.”
“Then we’ll start there since you say she loves them. And who knows…we girls may have a cookie or two up our sleeves, as well.”
She gave him a grin that sent his world a little bit off-kilter, left him the slightest bit dizzy. Maybe having Norah over wasn’t such a great idea.
If his return smile looked as sick as it felt…
“Hey, look. I don’t want to rope you into anything you don’t want to do. But I would love for Donovan to come, if only to visit with Juliet.”
“Hey, look.” She shot his words back at him, planted both hands on her hips and narrowed those spectacular eyes to slits. “Are you seriously trying to get out of this…whatever it is…before it’s even properly arranged?”
Marcus chuckled and then laughed out loud. “No, ma’am. I can’t wait for you
and Donovan to come. I’ll text you the address. How about tomorrow night? We both work on Monday, and I’m not sure the kids can wait another week to see each other again.”
“You know, on second thought, maybe you’re right. This may not be a great idea…”
Marcus growled a little.
She burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. See you tomorrow.”
~ Chapter 13 ~
“T
IME TO GO, YOU TWO.” Norah pushed a button on her key fob to unlock the car door. “Say good night. You’ll see each other again soon.” She held the door until Donovan pried himself away from his new friend and climbed inside. “Buckle up, kiddo.”
Calling out another quick good night to Marcus, she circled to the driver’s side of her vehicle.
“No…not again!” A horrified whisper burst from between lips gone suddenly numb. She whirled to scan the parking lot and surrounding area. No one looked familiar or suspicious.
But someone had taped a piece of paper to her door handle. She jerked the raggedly torn note off the car and shoved it into her pocket.
“Everything okay?”
Norah jumped, caught her breath, and turned toward Marcus. He’d pulled his vehicle to a stop behind hers and now peered out his window with obvious concern—and curiosity.
“Yeah, sure. I just remembered something I should’ve done at the house.” Like, maybe, stay there. “Good night, Marcus.” She bent a little to smile at her son’s new friend. “Night, Juliet.”
They drove away, and Norah climbed into the car.
“Are you really okay, Mom?” Worry edged her son’s quiet voice.
She gave him a bright smile. “Of course. Never better.” A change of subject was definitely in order. “Guess where we’re going tomorrow night?”
“Umm…to see Watchmen of the World, the Return!” His eyes shone even bluer than their usual deep cobalt.
“Nope. But we’ll do that soon. I promise.”
“Then where?” He frowned, and Norah sensed a mood in the offing. That was quick, considering he’d been so ‘up’ all evening. Then again, coming down from a natural high could make for a pretty hard fall sometimes. She’d need to get him straight to bed when they got to the house.
“Well, you remember Mr. Conley wanted you to—”
“We’re going to Juliet’s house?” Donovan bounced on his seat, all signs of impending moodiness gone.
“Yes, indeedy, little sweetie.”
“But—” He cast a sideways glance her way. “I was ’posta go by myself.”
Norah wasn’t sure how to feel about her son’s reluctance for her to be a part of his time with Marcus. This was a first, and probably a positive sign of Donovan’s growing into a well-rounded individual. Still, it rankled a bit.
“Well, but now you know Juliet. I need to be there to keep her occupied while you and Mr. Conley plant her roses. Otherwise she’ll want to be where you are, and that would spoil the birthday surprise, wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”
Norah couldn’t help but laugh a little. Donovan always wanted things to “make sense.” Anything that lacked a reasonable explanation left him a little off balance. If he or Norah could fix the situation, all was well. If not, he grew anxious and mentally worked at the “problem” for days. Eventually he’d let it go. Norah was never sure why. Perhaps he found satisfactory reasoning in his bright little mind. Or maybe his more-than-sufficient intelligence helped him figure out that no solution existed.
She’d taken him to several medical professionals. One of them indicated Donovan would grow out of “a possible case of extremely mild obsessive-compulsive disorder.” He also mentioned certain characteristics commonly seen in Asperger’s syndrome, of which Donovan manifested only two—social anxiety and dislike of making eye contact. He assured Norah that many little boys demonstrated minimal social anxiety but outgrew it before they reached puberty. The others were unanimous in their diagnosis: Nothing was wrong. Donovan simply liked order in his life and in his surroundings—and many perfectly normal adults had difficulty making eye contact because of shyness or a lack of self-confidence. As long as his symptoms didn’t become detrimental to his development, to his daily routine, or to those around him, they saw no reason for treatment.
“Mommy?” Donovan wasn’t yelling, but he was loud, and clearly frustrated. How many times had he tried to get her attention?
Her head whipped to the right. “What is it, sweet boy?”
“Who left the note on your door?”
He’d seen. She’d hoped otherwise.
“I don’t know. Probably an ad of some kind. I’ll check it out when we get home.”
“Okay.” But he sounded less than reassured. “You got one of those the other day at the Garden too.”
Donovan always referred to the nursery as “the Garden.” Norah rather liked the way he said it, but right now, his voice reflected a concern far beyond his years.
“They’re only notes, sweet boy. Someone out there thinks they’re funny, I guess. Nothing to worry your little noggin over.”
“No, Mommy, they’re not just notes. Somebody isn’t nice. I feel it.”
Once again, her son’s intuition proved far deeper than that normally expected of a boy not quite eight years old. She’d never believed in extrasensory perception, but could it be Donovan’s tendency to shut out the surface sounds of the world around him—most of the time—rendered him more keenly in tune to what lay beneath the visible?
Norah didn’t laugh. She’d learned not to do that.
“What do you feel, Donovan?”
He scrunched his shoulders forward as if trying to make himself smaller.
“A bad person. He’s…dark—in his mind, I mean.” Even Donovan’s voice seemed shrunken, as if body, soul and spirit were muffled inside the envelopment of those tiny shoulders. “He wants to hurt you…us. He dreams of hurting us.”
A chill zipped from Norah’s head to her toes in a heartbeat. This wasn’t the first time her son had seemed to see into someone’s psyche. He didn’t go into this place often, but when he did, things always played out exactly as he’d said. This time, however, his words terrified her, and she could see they frightened Donovan too.
“You’re tired, son. It’s a little scary to find notes, especially when they’re not signed to let you know who sent them. But I’m sure it’s nothing that serious. We’ll get some sleep tonight, and tomorrow will shine a better light on all this.”
Donovan said nothing, but a tiny negative motion of his head made it clear he disagreed.
She prayed he wouldn’t ask her to read the note aloud when they arrived home, especially since she had no idea what was written on that ragged paper. To her extreme relief, he did not. He showered, donned his Watchmen of the World jammies, and climbed into bed.
Norah tucked him in and kissed his forehead. “How ’bout I read you a Watchmen story?”
He shook his head and turned to face the wall. “Will you sing to me?”
“Sure. What would you like to hear?”
“The one about God taking care of us.”
Norah bit back a cry of protest. That note was eating at her child’s peace of mind—and no wonder, considering what he’d told her about the person who left it on her car door. Whether he was right or wrong, Donovan believed what he’d said to be unalterable truth. How intensely frightening that must be for a little boy.
“My Mighty Friend”? That’s a good one. I like it too.
He nodded, clearly not interested in a conversation. Donovan wanted to hear the song.
So Norah sang as she stroked her little boy’s hair.
He’s the light of this world
He is salvation’s Pearl
My defender, my Savior, my Friend
When I face the enemy
He can’t get to me
’Cause he can’t get through my Mighty Friend
God is my protection
I will not fear
I will not be afraid
He’s my sword, my shield,
My strongest weapon
He fights for me
Shines bright for me
in darkness until day
“Again,” Donovan mumbled.
By the time Norah stopped singing, he slept, though his furrowed brow revealed trouble in his mind. She kissed him again, breathed a fervent prayer of protection over him, and moved into the kitchen. Once there, she forced herself to fix a cup of hot tea before sitting down to take her first look at the second note.
Hangout with me, baby.
An alarmed cry burst through her lips. She set her teacup on the table to keep her trembling hands from sloshing hot liquid over the edge. No doubt remained in her mind.
Chandler Dunn was her stalker. She punched her brother’s number into her cell phone,
* * * *
“Be careful, sis. He could be dangerous.” Deep concern edged James’ voice.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he’d been institutionalized.” Norah chewed at her lip, growing more frightened by the moment.
“Why would I worry you with that? He’s not your husband, and he was locked up here—well, in Phoenix. A long way from where you are. Besides, it was hearsay. I still can’t swear to the truth of it.”
“Why would anyone make up a story about him being committed to a mental facility? How long ago did you say you heard this?”
“Oh, three…maybe four years ago.”
“Then he could’ve been released long ago.”
“True. Which is why you need to keep your eyes open. If he’s in Ruidoso, he’s there for you. I think you should go to the police.”
A bark of laughter surprised her and rattled around the room like a bouncy ball. “And tell them what, big brother? That my husband of a whole three weeks, eleven years ago, has decided he wants me back, after over a decade of absolutely zero contact? Not only that, but he’s mentally unstable? Oh, maybe I should also tell them my eight-year-old son says there’s darkness in the mind of whoever’s writing these notes, and that the dark person wants to hurt us. Yeah, that should convince them. They’ll think I’m out of my mind, and maybe I’ll get to live in one of those places for a while myself.”
