A Kid to the Rescue Read online

  With no observation room for them to chat in, Shannon presumed that was the man’s subtle way of giving them some privacy to talk about Ryan.

  Greg got down on one knee to say goodbye to the boy. “I’ll see you again soon, okay? But I’m leaving you your own sketchbook. That way if you want to draw more before I come back, you can.”

  Ryan threw himself against Greg, wrapping his arms so tightly around the man’s neck that Greg swayed off balance. His strong forearms went around the small torso, and he enveloped the child in a return hug.

  Shannon swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Ryan had never hugged her like that.

  Greg rose to his feet, giving Ryan a final pat on the head. Shannon followed Greg down the stairs, holding his stuff as he slipped his shoes and jacket on.

  Outside, he stopped on the concrete porch, leaning against the black metal railing. He pulled Ryan’s picture from the sketchbook. “See this?” He pointed to the figure at the bottom corner. “That’s Ryan. This picture illustrates how inadequate he feels. The superhero is huge, and yet he doesn’t see the boy who needs help. So, Ryan’s still feeling overlooked. The kid is starved for some physical affection. That wasn’t a hug he was giving me, it was a near strangulation. Do you have a counselor, Shannon? For yourself? If not, I’d suggest you get one.”

  She snorted. “Yeah. Right. With all my spare money. My savings are rapidly dwindling because of all the time I’ve taken off from work. If it weren’t for your discounted fee to help Ryan, we wouldn’t be able to afford you, either. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” She nudged the sketchbook. “What did you learn about me from my drawing?”

  He exchanged the papers. “You made every figure the same size. Length of hair is the only thing that varies. That’s despite the fact that two of these are your parents, and the other two are you at six and your sister. So, you should have been smaller.

  “What does this tell me about you? It tells me that you thought you could scam me. I’ll bet this lake doesn’t even exist, does it?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  He shook his head. “You, Shannon Vanderhoff, are a control freak. And that’s affecting your nephew.”

  “A control freak? I’m not a control freak. I’m totally Zen. I take what life hands me, I accept it, hold it, embrace it, then let it go. Nothing is ours to keep.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Would you repeat that?”

  “Breathe in, take what life hands you, accept it, hold it, embrace it for a moment, then breathe out and let it go. Nothing is ours to keep.”

  “Oh, Shannon.” He stared at her with his soulful eyes. “And you wonder why you’re not bonding with him?” His fingers caressed her cheek. When he let them skim along her jawline, then linger beneath her chin, she had a fleeting moment of wondering what his mouth would feel like on hers—strong and assertive, like him? Gentle and caring, also like him? Would he be as playful, as skillful, in his lovemaking as he was with his drawings?

  “Ahem.” Shannon glanced down at the new arrival on the bottom of the porch steps.

  “I’m looking for Shenandoah Vanderhoff?”

  “Yes? I’m Shannon Vanderhoff.”

  The young man in dark pants and a collared polo shirt passed her an envelope. “Shannon Vanderhoff, you are served.” He turned and strode down the sidewalk.

  “Served?” Shannon opened it, skimmed the first page. Her knees began to tremble, and she swallowed hard. “Well, my lack of bonding with Ryan may not be an issue for much longer. Like I said, nothing is ours to keep.”

  She passed the documents to Greg, letting him read them.

  Lloyd and Patty had done it. They’d filed for custody.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHANNON DROPPED DOWN to the top porch step, the concrete cool through the seat of her jeans. Closing her eyes, she dragged in air until her lungs could hold no more, battling the pain.

  Let it go, let it go, let it go, she silently chanted as she exhaled. But her chest remained tight, the pain unrelenting. She sucked in another long breath.

  “Oh, no you’re not,” Greg said, his voice stern.

  A hand closed on her elbow and he hauled her to her feet.

  Her eyes flew open. “Hey! Not what?”

  “Quitting. Just like that. Without even a hint of a fight.”

  “I’m not quitting.”

  “Sure looked like it to me. Sounded like it, too.” Accusation blazed in his blue eyes.

  Shannon lowered her head. “I’m preparing myself for the inevitable.”

  “That’s what I said. Quitting. There is nothing inevitable here. Your sister chose you to be Ryan’s guardian if something happened to her. Listen—” he tucked the envelope under his arm and took hold of her other elbow as well “—that little boy up there needs you.” His voice softened. “And I think you need him, too. He’s the only family you have left. Remember your first drawing? You can’t let him go without a fight.”

  “I don’t know how. And what if I lose?”

  His fingers tightened their grip, and he shook her gently.

  Her head snapped up and she glared at him. “Cut that out.” She circled her arms up and over his, a neat little self-defense trick, disengaging his hold on her.

  He grinned slowly as he held up his hands, inching backward.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “There’s fight in you. Just takes some provoking to bring it out.”

  She shook her head. “You are…exasperating.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He held out the papers. “Well, Shenandoah Vanderhoff, what’s it going to be? Quit or fight for Ryan?”

  The memories of so many other losses—her mother, her father, Willow—taunted her. “What if I lose?” she whispered.

  Greg raised her chin with one finger, making her meet his gaze. “You don’t go into a fight expecting to lose. You go in with your fists high, knowing you’re going to win.”

  “I can’t afford a lawyer. Lloyd and Patty can afford great lawyers. You should see the dream team they’ve got defending Ryan’s father.”

  “Leave that to me. Are you free for lunch on Sunday?”

  “Lunch? On Sunday? What’s that got to do with a lawyer?”

  “Trust me. I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty. Let me help you. And Ryan.”

  If anyone could teach her how to fight, it was this man. “All right. But on one condition.”

  “Okay.”

  She propped her hands on her hips. “Don’t ever call me Shenandoah again.”

  Greg chuckled. “That’s the spirit. I’ll see you Sunday. Fight the good fight.” He offered his closed fist in the gesture she’d seen him do with his kids.

  After a moment, she lightly bumped knuckles with him. “Fight the good fight,” she repeated.

  The phrase left a sardine taste in her mouth.

  DAWN HAD JUST LIGHTENED the May sky, making it easier to navigate the parking lot as Shannon trudged toward the sidewalk. Living only a few minutes from the hotel where she worked 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. as a night auditor—at least for now, considering how annoyed her boss was over her frequent requests for time off—had its advantage.

  She eased the key into the lock, creeping into the apartment just in case Mrs. Kozinski, the older neighbor woman who babysat Ryan overnight while Shannon worked, was sleeping. Most mornings she was up and raring to go when Shannon came home. The strong aroma of fresh coffee as she climbed the stairs indicated this day was no exception.

  Mrs. K. met her at the top step, stainless travel mug in hand, expression way too chipper for the crack of dawn. She’d obviously had more than one cup of caffeine already. “He’s awake, too, dear. Neither one of us slept much last night, I’m afraid. Which could be good for you. Maybe he’ll sleep now.” The woman often crashed on Shannon’s bed during the night, more times than not with Ryan at her side instead of in his own bed. Shannon had gone through too much to find a reliable sitter to quibble over the fact that she let Ryan sleep in her bed.

  The television played softly, illuminating the living room with flickering shadows. Mrs. K. leaned over the back of the couch to tousle Ryan’s hair. “See you Tuesday night, Ry. You, too, dear.” She saluted Shannon with the mug, then headed down the stairs.

  On the couch in front of the TV, Ryan turned his bleary eyes toward Shannon. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” she said softly, wagging a finger at him. “Come on. I have to get some rest, and so do you. Let’s go.”

  Before Ryan, she hadn’t headed directly for bed after coming home from work. She’d eaten dinner—or rather, breakfast—and unwound before hitting the sack. But she’d had to adapt, trying to grab some sleep in the early-morning hours, when the boy was usually still asleep.

  It hadn’t been working too well for either of them.

  After tucking him into the futon in the second bedroom, Shannon stumbled into her room, pulling the shades and drawing the curtains, then peeling off her clothes. After yanking on a nightshirt and matching shorts, she slid between the cotton sheets, exhaustion quickly overtaking her.

  The creak of the door and a crack of light coming in from the hallway roused her some time later. Faint footsteps scuffed across the rug, and the double mattress shifted as Ryan slipped in on the other side.

  Too tired to return him to his own bed as she usually did when he snuck into hers, Shannon tugged her sleep mask on and rolled to her side, letting sleep reclaim her.

  GREG RAPPED on the apartment door a third time, then checked his watch. 11:35. He’d told her eleven-thirty, right?

  His mother wasn’t happy when people were late for Sunday dinner.

  While contemplating his next move, the door inched open, and a freckled face appeared in the space just above the doorknob. “Hey there, sport. I was starting to think you guys had stood me up. Aunt Shannon’s probably still getting ready, right?”

  The boy shook his head, then opened the door wider. He still wore navy pajamas. The boy’s hair splayed in multiple directions, and he boasted a faint chocolate-milk mustache.

  “Shannon?” Greg called as he entered the apartment. “We’re still on for lunch and a lawyer, right?”

  At the top of the stairs, Greg paused. On the dining-room table, a half-full glass of chocolate milk sat beside the remains of a bowl of soggy cornflakes. Drips of chocolate and stray flakes dotted the tabletop; the open cereal box lay on its side. The only noise in the apartment came from the television in the living room. “Where’s your aunt?”

  Gesturing for Greg to follow him, the kid went to a door and pushed it open, pointing inside the cavelike room.

  Concern knotted the muscles along his neck. Shannon had her issues, but being a neglectful guardian wasn’t one of them. “Shannon,” he called softly. “Are you okay?”

  No response. The hair on his arms stood up and he tripped over scattered clothes on the floor in his hurry to reach her bed. Using the light from the hallway as a guide, he fumbled at the nightstand before turning on the small lamp.

  Shannon lay on her back, left arm sprawled out, right hooked up over her head. A comforter tangled at her waist. The gentle rise and fall of her chest reassured him—until he noticed that the thin nightshirt she wore left no need for X-ray vision. He could see the swell of her breasts and the rosy outline of her nipples quite clearly without superpowers.

  And what breasts they were. His palms tingled with the urge to see if they fit his hands as perfectly as they promised.

  Feeling more than a bit voyeuristic, he forced his gaze higher, to her face. A royal-blue satin mask covered her eyes, so only her nose and mouth showed, coral-pink lips slightly parted.

  He wrestled with the asinine impulse to lean over and wake her with a kiss, but the realization that a six-year-old stood in the doorway quickly subdued it. This woman, with her nothing-lasts attitude, was not what he needed. She was the antithesis of that woman. Kissable lips and cuppable breasts be damned.

  “Shannon, wake up. It’s late.”

  When she still didn’t stir, he grabbed her left arm and tugged. “Shannon, come on. Wake up.”

  Everything exploded. She bolted upright and wrenched away at the same time, ripping off the mask while shrieking at the top of her considerable lungs. Her features distorted as she shrank from him.

  He held his hands out. “Easy, it’s just me. Greg. Ryan let me in and—”

  A sound rumbled behind him, a cross between a cry and a growl, something a wounded animal might make. The next moment, a small body leaped onto his back, hammering him with little fists. Teeth sank into his shoulder, and fiery pain radiated outward from the spot. “Ow! Whoa there, buddy. It’s okay. I’m not hurting her.”

  Greg seized the child, dragging him around and wrapping him in a bear hug to bring him under control. “Everybody take a deep breath, here.” Ryan wailed, keening his distress. He squirmed, freeing his arms, then flailed, reaching out toward his aunt, who was still wild-eyed herself.

  “He thought I was hurting you,” Greg explained.

  Understanding dawned, and she held open her arms. Greg released the boy.

  She gathered Ryan in an embrace, rocking him on the bed. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I was just scared. As any woman would be if she woke from a sound sleep to find a man standing over her.” Shannon narrowed her eyes at him over Ryan’s head.

  “The door was unlocked and Ryan let me in.” A defensive note crept into his voice. “You should keep your door locked.”

  “It was locked. The babysitter must have left it open this morning.”

  Greg eased himself down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the spot where teeth marks undoubtedly remained. “Sport, I would never hurt your aunt. Or anyone. I’m sorry I scared you guys. Man, Ryan, that was brave. I’m proud of you.” Inwardly, Greg wanted to cheer. A sure sign of progress. Progress they desperately needed.

  Ryan twisted his head from Shannon’s chest. His tears had stopped, and his expression was quizzical. A far cry from the daggers Shannon was now launching in Greg’s direction.

  “Yep,” he hastily continued, “totally brave to defend your aunt like that when you thought she was in trouble. Way to go.” He held out his hand, and Ryan slapped him a weak high five. “Now, why don’t I help you get ready? That way Aunt Shannon can get herself together before we’re late for our lunch.”

  Ryan scrambled from the bed and was out the door in the blink of an eye.

  “Ah, the resiliency of youth. They bounce back better than RubberMan.” Greg rose to follow him. “Can you be ready in fifteen minutes? The cook where we’re going can be temperamental about people who don’t arrive on time.”

  Tossing aside the covers, she swung her feet to the floor, giving him an eyeful of lean, long legs. Then she stood and raised her hands over her head, interlocking her fingers and stretching in a way that pulled the nightshirt tight against her chest.

  Greg’s own clothing suddenly felt snug. He dropped his gaze to his toes. Down, boy. No sense in starting something that wasn’t going to work out, setting himself up to lose.

  Still, the attraction was getting harder to ignore.

  She grabbed some clothes from the closet and brushed past him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “I can hardly wait,” he muttered.

  SHANNON LET HIM SUFFER in silence during the ride. The man was unbelievable. Praising Ryan for attacking him? What was next? Martial-arts lessons? Fights with broomsticks in her living room?

  And yet…Ryan had not only cried but cried out. A tiny step in the right direction that might force her to forgive Greg for scaring the snot out of her.

  Besides…she needed him. Much as it pained her to admit it. She hadn’t needed anyone or anything in a long time, and the idea didn’t sit well.

  He swung his Tracker off the country lane onto a tree-flanked dirt driveway. “I thought we were going to lunch. Where are we?”

  “Home,” Greg said. “Well, not that I live here anymore. But this is where I grew up. Welcome to the Hawkins’s nest.”

  “You’re taking me home for Sunday dinner?”

  Numerous vehicles edged the driveway as they drew closer to the cedar-sided house. Greg parked. “Best Sunday dinner in town. Lunch and a lawyer is what I promised, and that’s what you’ll get.”

  “Just how many people show up at your house for Sunday dinner?” Shannon asked as she got out of the car.

  He shrugged. “Depends. Mom likes to gather the tribe at least once a month if she can. Not everyone’s here. Alan couldn’t make it, and I don’t see Bethany’s SUV, either.”

  Ryan ran past Shannon, falling in step with Greg and lifting his hand, which the man took in his as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “So, the rest of your brothers and sisters will be here?” She did a quick mental calculation. “That still leaves eight sibs.”

  “Along with significant others, kids and assorted strays they might have brought along.” He winked at her.

  She slowed her pace. “I—I don’t know about this. I wouldn’t want to intrude on family time. Besides, I didn’t bring anything. It’s rude to show up empty-handed. You could have warned me.”

  “And risk you not coming? Not a chance. Don’t worry about not bringing anything. There’ll be plenty to eat, I promise you. My brother Derek’s kids are here for Ryan to play with. They’re eight, six and three. There’s a trampoline out back and a pond…all sorts of great kid stuff. But the rule is you have to have an adult watching you near the pond, and on the trampoline. Okay, sport?”

  Ryan beamed up at Greg, nodding enthusiastically. Shannon winced. The child was setting himself up for more pain. The poor kid would be crushed without Greg in his life. Or when Ryan left to live with Lloyd and Patty.

  Ryan had already lost his mother. And, God and the justice system willing, his father. Shannon didn’t want him to know the pain of losing more.

  So until she learned how to fight well enough to keep Ryan with her, she was stuck with Greg Hawkins. That the idea appealed to her made her all the more nervous.