Time to Heal (Harlequin Heartwarming) (3 page)

But she wasn’t here in her capacity as a volunteer. She was here to get a job, a real job. A job
where she would earn a paycheck. A job she hoped would keep her thoughts fixed on something—anything—besides Scotty.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched on the strap of her bag. She wondered if she looked right. Glancing down the hall at the double glass doors separating the business offices from the rest of the hospital, she gave herself another keen inspection. Straight cinnamon-colored linen skirt, cream silk blouse, midheel cinnamon pumps and no jewelry except for her watch and small pearl-and-gold earrings. She’d dressed in the outfit Suzy suggested, and Suzy ought to know, she reassured herself.

She was acting like a teenager on a first date. With an impatient toss of her tawny hair, she pushed the door open.

“Rachel!” Ron Campbell stood, his face lighting up. “This is a pleasure. Come in, come in.” He started around his desk toward her.

“Hello, Ron.” Rachel closed the door softly behind her, putting her hand in his outstretched palm.

“How are you, Rachel? You haven’t been by in so long that we wondered if you’d forgotten about us.”

“No, it’s just—” Her smile collapsed.

His face sobered suddenly. “Of course. I’m so sorry. It’s unbelievable that something like that can happen right here in Tidewater.”

“Yes, it is.”

He smiled at her again. “Here, sit down. Can I get you anything? Coffee? A soft drink?”

“No, nothing, thanks.” She sat down, holding tight to her bag.

Ron didn’t go to his chair. Instead, he leaned against his desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. Gray argyle socks, she noted, just right with his loafers and his horn-rimmed glasses.

“How’s Jake?”

“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “He’s fine.” Jake and Ron had never particularly liked each other. Rachel suspected it was because they were so different. Jake was so straightforward and up-front, a what-you-see-is-what-you-get sort of man. He was direct and uncompromising, excellent qualities for a lawman.

Ron, on the other hand, with his ready smile and feel for people, seemed to have more patience in… The word
manipulation
came to mind, but she rejected it quickly. It seemed unfair to Ron, and she liked him. He was an adept politician, more so than Jake. It was an asset in his dealings with the board and the physicians on staff and in managing the employees of the hospital. She knew he could be tough when the situation called for it, and that was why she knew getting a job wouldn’t be the piece of cake Suzy thought it would be.

“What can I do for you, Rachel?”

She laughed uncertainly. “This is turning out to be every bit as difficult as I imagined.”

He frowned slightly while still smiling. “What is?”

She drew in a breath. “I’m here for a job, Ron.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment or two. Then he moved away from the desk and went around to his chair. Strangely enough, it made Rachel feel more comfortable. She relaxed slightly.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I wish I knew. I don’t feel particularly qualified for anything, Ron, but I’ve spent years volunteering here. I’m familiar with all the services and facilities of the hospital. I even know most of the employees. I’ve decided to go to work, and I’d like it to be here.” She laughed nervously. “I’m trying the banks next.”

“Is that blackmail?”

“No! I don’t have enough to offer for that.”

“Suppose you let me be the judge.”

There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite decipher. He was eyeing her thoughtfully while fingering a gold pen, tapping it on one end and then reversing it. Over and over.

“Can you type?”

“Actually, yes, I can. And I’m familiar with the public health database you use here at the hospital, too. I guess I should have mentioned that, but I thought you’d suggest something like public rela
tions or patient liaison—or manning the information desk.”

“Glorified candy striper, you mean.”

“Well, it seemed logical.”

“I think you’d be bored in two weeks. Besides, it would be a waste. Don’t you have a degree?”

“I have a BA in psychology.”

Ron looked interested. “How would you like to work in Emergency?”

“I’m willing to work anywhere. What would I do?”

“The clerical duties would be no challenge, but there’s more to it than that. I should warn you that Emergency is not like a doctor’s office. We get a lot of accidents, drug overdoses, indigents and the like. But with your training, you should be good at handling scared, sick people. And occasionally,” he added, “freaked-out ones.”

For the first time since Scotty disappeared, Rachel felt a stirring of interest in something other than her loss, her pain. She’d grasped at the idea of a job for one reason only, to distract herself. What if she should actually like it, actually do something?

“Well, would you like to think about it?” Ron asked.

“I don’t need to think about it, Ron. I’ll take it.”

M
ICHAEL HOPED
he wouldn’t throw up. He was so nervous about what would happen in the next
few minutes that he felt sick. He’d already thrown up lunch, but he hadn’t told anybody. It had been a Big Mac, too. He hadn’t been able to afford a Big Mac in so long that he used to dream about them when he was hitching down to Florida. His dad had sent one of the deputies out to get lunch. That was nice. Having his lunch bought by his dad. And that was how he thought of Jake, even if he wasn’t sure Jake quite believed he was who he said he was.

Michael climbed into the front seat of the squad car, fumbling to buckle his seat belt while Jake buckled his. He hunched forward a little, his fingers clutching the strap of his knapsack. He couldn’t quite relax enough to lean back. This was it. They were going home. At least, Jake’s home. He closed his eyes for a second or two. Everything hung on whether or not they believed him. If they didn’t, he didn’t know what he was going to do.

He felt the thrust of power as the car pulled out of the spot marked Sheriff. Any other time he would have flipped out at the chance to ride in a squad car. He fixed his gaze on the dash. He’d always wondered about the radio equipment in police cars, the radar stuff used to nab speeders, the lights and the siren. If he got to stay, he would ask his dad to show him how it all worked.
If
he got to stay.

He glanced at Jake. His dad seemed okay, but
Michael sensed he wasn’t a man who showed everything on his face. Like when he’d responded to Michael’s question about the picture of the lady and little boy on his desk. The boy was his son. Scotty. Michael didn’t think he’d ever forget the look on Jake’s face when he’d said Scotty’s name. Blank, sort of. As if he would never smile again. He understood why. It was too bad about the kidnapping. It must be awful to wonder whether Scotty was okay or…not okay. He drifted off into a dream where he was instrumental in finding Scotty and bringing him safely home. For a few moments, he basked in the fantasy of having Jake and Rachel lavishing smiles and goodwill on him, delighted by his part in restoring their son to them.

“There’s the high school,” Jake said. The sound of his voice startled Michael. He looked at the low, sprawling white stucco walls. Everything seemed so white around here. So bright.

“It’s already the end of May—you missed most of this term.” Jake stopped for a red light and looked at Michael. “Let’s see, fourteen…. Are you in eighth or ninth grade?”

“I’m in the ninth. I started school early because my birthday’s in October.”

“Then you’re almost fifteen.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jake nodded toward the white building. “Rachel
does some substituting at the high school, now and then.”

Rachel. Michael repeated the name a couple of times in his head. He liked the sound. It was…soft, sort of. He hoped she would be a nice person, like her name. She was pretty, too. Especially her hair. It was exactly the color of corn silk. He ought to know because he’d seen a lot of corn in Iowa. As they turned into a residential area, he scanned the clipped green lawns, his eyes troubled as he thought of Rachel. He could just imagine how she was going to feel when Jake introduced him. His stomach churned at the thought, and he held his knapsack tight against his middle. Sometimes that helped when his stomach got this way.

Jake slowed and turned into a street divided by palm trees in the middle. Two boys wheeled by on ten-speeds and waved. His dad waved back. They were probably getting close. He forced himself to think of his brother. He was filled with a sort of wonderment mixed with sadness. All these years he’d had a little brother and he hadn’t even known it. He refused to think he would never get to know Scotty. Miracles did happen sometimes. Just look at him today. Where he was. Who he was with.

He stared absently at the houses as they passed, preoccupied with his thoughts. He used to imagine being part of a real family, having brothers and sisters, living in a neighborhood like this. He’d
never dreamed it might really happen. His eyes started to get wet and blurry. He looked down, fixing his gaze on his hands. His knuckles were white as they gripped the strap of his knapsack. He’d better go easy dreaming that kind of stuff, because it still might not happen.

“Here we are.” Jake braked suddenly and turned into a long driveway. The whole side of the yard was covered with bushes loaded with bright pink flowers. At the edge of the house there was a wood fence, which separated the front from the back.

“Do you have a dog?” Michael asked, thinking a fenced yard would be a good place for a dog. He could hear one barking.

Jake got out of the car. “No, but our next-door neighbors have a Labrador retriever. That’s him making all that racket now.” Straightening, he waited until Michael had gotten out of the car. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly. He just senses a stranger in his territory. He’ll soon get to know you.”

Michael slammed the car door and hefted his knapsack onto one shoulder, then came around the front of the car where his dad waited. He wasn’t worried about making friends with the dog next door. He liked animals and they liked him. What worried him was making friends with the lady who was married to Jake.

“Michael—”

He looked into his dad’s face.

“Look, son…” Jake put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to my wife yet. I think it would be a good idea to give me a few minutes with her before I introduce you. Do you understand?”

Michael nodded. “Sure. Do you want me to walk around the block or something?”

Jake smiled. “No. No, I don’t think that’s necessary.” He pointed somewhere beyond Michael’s shoulder. “There’s a gate in the fence. Go through it along the side of the house, then follow the brick walk and you’ll come to the patio and pool in the backyard. There are chairs and a table. Just make yourself at home while I…” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “This will be hard for Rachel, Michael. It may take a while before she—”

“I understand, sir.”

For the space of a few heartbeats, Jake simply stared at him. Michael waited a moment more and then turned, locating the gate. He took a step.

“Michael—”

He faced Jake. “Sir?”

“I don’t think I told you…”

Michael waited, his heart thumping.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

J
AKE WALKED SLOWLY
along the brick path that led to his front door. Fifteen years ago he’d bought this house for Rachel, and he still loved it. It was a popular style in Florida—low, sprawling stucco painted a soft coral with red tile shingles, a style reminiscent of the Spanish explorers whose influence was seen the length and breadth of the state. Originally, there were only three bedrooms and no den, but as he and Rachel prospered, he’d added a big family room on the back and put in a pool. A couple of years later, he’d added a roomy master bedroom with a lavish bathroom, complete with a sunken tub, which Rachel loved to use. His fingers clenched on his keys. Slowly, a little unsteadily, he put his key in the lock and, giving a little shove, pushed the door open.

Something smelled good. It took him back for a minute. For weeks he’d been coming home to no dinner, or at best something thrown together with little regard for his or Rachel’s taste, something that took little effort and less imagination.

“Rachel, I’m home.”

Rachel came in from the direction of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Hi, you’re a little early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, a little.” He tossed the jacket he was carrying on the seat of a chair in the foyer. Rachel used to greet him with a kiss when he came in at night, but that along with lots of other little demonstrations of affection had stopped with Scotty’s disappearance. “Something smells good.”

“Roast beef. It’s been a while since we had it.” She hesitated and, looking at her, Jake narrowed his eyes, wondering. Then he realized that she was smiling. Almost. She hadn’t really smiled in a long time, but this was close.

“How about a drink before dinner?” she suggested.

“Sounds good.”

When she turned to the family room, he followed. “I’ll fix it,” he told her.

“Okay. I’ll have some wine.”

He looked at her. Rachel hardly ever drank anything, not even wine. “Are we celebrating something?”

She did smile then, a quick, soft curve of her lips. It was gone almost instantly. “We are.”

He had the whiskey in his hand, ready to pour. He stopped, looking at her. “What is it, sweetheart?”

She shook her head, gesturing to the bottle and
his glass. “No, fix your drink first.” She reached up and got a wineglass. “Don’t forget mine.”

He splashed a good double shot into his glass and then, working the cork free on a bottle of chardonnay, poured some for Rachel. She took it as he lifted his own.

“Here’s to—” he looked at her questioningly “—what?”

With her glass poised, she said, “I got a job today.”

He didn’t move. “Well, that’s great, honey. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” She leaned forward and clinked her glass gently against his. “Wish me luck.”

“You bet.” With his eyes locked on hers, Jake sipped his drink.

“It was a lot easier than I expected. You can’t imagine how nervous I was.”

He cleared his throat. “Which bank?”

She set her glass aside. “Neither. I went to the hospital instead. Suzy called as I was trying to decide. She reminded me of the years of volunteer work I’ve done at the hospital and suggested Ron Campbell would probably think that counted for real experience.” Rachel smiled. “He did. I’m working in the emergency room starting Thursday.” With a lift of one shoulder, she made a little face. “That’s because their payroll is set up for the first and fifteenth of the month, and Thurs
day is the first. I would have started tomorrow morning—or even fifteen minutes after I got the job—but I guess I can use the time to polish up my typing and check my clothes to see if I’ve got the kind of things you wear to an office.”

She hadn’t spoken so many words with so much zest in ages. “What are your hours?”

“Just regular office hours. I told Ron I didn’t think I’d like the midnight hours and, of course, the evening shift—three to eleven, you know—means we’d hardly see each other.”

“And would that have mattered?”

She looked at him, then turned away, taking her wine with her. “Yes, it would have mattered, Jake. I feel that I turned a corner somehow today. I don’t know if getting out of the house and into a job or if testing myself in some capacity other than as an extension of Sheriff Jake McAdam will change anything, but for the first time since…it happened, I feel hopeful. I’m going to do this. My mind’s made up. I hope you understand. If you don’t…”

Jake looked down at the whiskey in his hand. He didn’t want to hear the end of that statement. He’d waited weeks—months—for Rachel to decide she wanted to keep on living, and now it had happened. She had color in her cheeks, hope in her heart. Both would be wiped out when she heard what he had to tell her. Why today? Why not six
months ago? Or six months in the future? He drew in a deep breath.

“Rachel, we need to talk.”

“Oh, Jake, don’t ruin this for me! Why can’t you understand that—”

“It isn’t about your job, Rachel.”

She looked at him. “Then what is it?”

“Come on, let’s sit over here.” He walked to the couch and stood waiting. After a moment, Rachel moved toward him. With her eyes on him, she sat down slowly.

“Something happened today, Rachel.” He turned his head and stared out the window he’d planned so carefully. It overlooked the patio and lawn to the pool beyond. The whole backyard area could be seen from the family room. There was no sign of Michael. He was keeping out of sight. Jake wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. His heart twisted at the emotions that must be eating at Michael as he waited. He moved to the windows.

With his back to her, he asked quietly, “Do you remember the time in Miami when you left me?”

“What?”

“It was over fifteen years ago.”

“Yes, I remember. Of course, I remember. How could I forget?” Frowning, Rachel studied the rigid line of his shoulders. “Jake, what—”

“I was working a case, a big one. Ramirez, the Colombian Connection, Rick called it.”

“All I remember is you almost got killed.”

He turned then and looked at her. “I was never sure about something, Rachel. If I hadn’t been shot, would you have come back to me?”

She stood and went to the bar. The stem of the wineglass almost shattered as she set it down. “Why are you bringing all that up now, Jake? It was a hundred years ago. I did come back, so what else is there to say?”

She hadn’t answered his question, and both of them knew it.

“I didn’t force you to leave the DEA. You decided it without a word to me.” Her mouth thinned. “Par for the course. In those days you made all the decisions.”

“Deciding to stay married was a big decision, and you made that one.”

“That was a difficult time for me,” she said quietly. “When you announced you were leaving the DEA, I thought of it as a second chance for us, for our marriage. Whether I loved you was never in question. I did. I do. That lifestyle was one I never felt I’d chosen. I think that was a major part of the problem.”

He took a deep breath, wondering if his next words would mark the end of their marriage once and for all. Being forced to accept choices she hated had almost driven her away once.

“I had a visitor today. A boy.”

The color drained from her face. Reaching for support, she put her hand on the bar. “Scotty,” she whispered. “You’ve heard something about Scotty.”

“No. Rachel—” He went to her, pulled her against him, groaning as he felt the shudders that racked her body. He rubbed her back and shoulders as if he could stroke away her tremors. “It’s not Scotty. This doesn’t have anything to do with Scotty. Sweetheart, don’t…”

She pulled away. “I’m all right.” She put a hand to her throat. Her mouth wasn’t quite steady as she said, “What is it you’re trying to tell me, Jake?”

“The boy who came today…” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes. “I… That time when you left, I went to a bar. There was a woman there. I knew her. She was a DEA contact on the Ramirez case. We had a few drinks, too many drinks.”

He dared a quick glance at Rachel’s face. It was a frozen mask. Her hand was still at her throat, unmoving. As still as death.

“We went to her apartment.”

“I don’t want to hear any more.”

Her tone almost undid him. “I have to, Rachel. We spent the night together.” He sent her a pleading look. “It was just that one time. I knew it was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything. It… She… I didn’t even remember her at first when—”

“When what? What!”

“The boy who came to my office today, Rachel. His name is Michael. He’s almost fifteen years old.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. “What are you saying?”

“Rachel, he’s my son.”

The enormity of it was almost too much for Rachel to take in. Suddenly the bar was not enough to support her. On trembling legs, she moved to the couch and sat down again, sinking deep into the cushions. She wished for a crazy moment that she could sink all the way to China.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Jake said quietly.

She stared at her hands. “How can you be sure?”

He sat down on the couch, not too close, before answering. “I’m sure. There’s a letter from his grandmother, some other documentation and a birth certificate. It’s—”

Rachel burst into tears. Finally, when she could speak, Rachel asked coldly, “Where’s the moth—the woman?”

“Anne-Marie D’Angelo is her name. She—”

“Who cares about her name? Where is she?”

“She’s dead. She died when he was five.”

“Then his grandmother. Where is she?”

“She died two months ago. He’s alone, Rachel. It took him six weeks to find me.”

She bent over suddenly and put her face in her
hands. “I don’t care! You can’t just come in here and tell me this, make this sordid confession and expect me to…” She stopped and raised her head to look at him. “What
do
you expect me to do, Jake?”

“He doesn’t have anybody, Rachel.”

Her eyes teemed with emotion. “What do you expect from me? Answer me!”

“He’s my son.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking in anguish. Jake put out his hand, moving closer.

“Don’t touch me!”

“He’s waiting outside, Rachel.”

“He can wait until doomsday!”

Jake was silent for a minute. “You’re tired and shocked. I don’t blame you. I’m—”

“Don’t blame me!” She gave him an incredulous look.

“I’m sorry,” Jake went on firmly. “Would you like to go to the bedroom? You can meet Michael when you’re a little calmer.”

She stood up. “I’m never going to be calm about your extramarital affairs or your ‘son,’” she said through gritted teeth.

He took another step, bringing them nose to nose. Catching her by the arm, he said softly. “Don’t ever take that tone about Michael again.”

She stared at him wordlessly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He let her go.

“Now. I’m not going to leave my son outside like a homeless person. Not when we have three thousand square feet in this house and two extra bedrooms.” He headed toward the French doors that opened onto the patio.

“We only have one extra bedroom,” Rachel said.

He stopped. “How is that, Rachel?”

“Because that’s how it will be when you move into one of them.”

Jake was dead silent for an awful moment. “You’re saying I’m not welcome in our bedroom?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” For a minute, she thought he would do something violent. He looked that fierce.

“Are you sure?”

Some of her rage abated. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Jake.”

A bleak, almost tortured look was in his eyes. And then it was gone. He straightened. “So be it, Rachel.”

M
ICHAEL SAT ON THE GRASS
with his back against a tree trunk well away from the broad expanse of glass that he guessed was the family room. He was lost in wonder at the scene before him. He’d seen places like this in movies, naturally, but never in person. A patio with flowers and furniture and a swing. A lawn that looked too green to be real.
He’d actually bent down to see if it was artificial turf, the stuff they used on football fields. But, no. It was real as rain. Best of all was the pool, of course. A real, live pool. Big, too. One thing he excelled at was swimming. He’d never had the time to devote to practice so he could be on the swim team in Iowa, but the coach had once asked him. He couldn’t wait to try out that diving board. Man, it was something! Jeez, he’d landed in heaven.

He glanced uneasily at the French doors leading into the house and wondered if he’d be invited in or if Jake would have to take him to the office to sleep somewhere until he could figure out what to do with him. He didn’t think he’d like to sleep in jail, even as a guest. He’d seen the jail. One of Jake’s deputies had given him a tour, making a big production out of it.

He pulled his knapsack tight against his belly and fought off the images of the home he’d left. Mama Dee kept everything neat and clean, but the place was rented and the faucets leaked, there was never enough hot water for a long shower, the heater needed better venting and made the place smell like heating oil most of the winter. His eyes fell on twin air-conditioning units situated in a little wooden ell that matched the fencing. He bet Jake never had any trouble like that. His dad never had any duns from the utility company, either, he bet, where they threatened to shut off
the electricity. And Scotty and Miss Rachel—as he’d decided to call Jake’s wife—probably never shopped for groceries with food stamps, either. Resting his head against the rough bark of the tree, he squinted through the pink flowers of the tree to blue sky and sunshine. And dreamed….

J
AKE OPENED
the French door and stepped soundlessly onto the patio. Michael was propped against the base of a squatty palm. Moving closer, he realized the boy was sleeping. Something twisted inside him as he gazed upon the youthful features. He hadn’t thought to ask Michael where he’d spent last night, but he knew it couldn’t have been a hotel. More likely on the beach, sheltered by some stranger’s pier. It had rained, Jake recalled suddenly. Not a soft spring shower, but a torrential downpour. Common enough in Florida, but hardly what Michael was used to in Iowa. Fortunately, it was May. The temperature hardly ever dipped below sixty-five at night. He drew in a deep breath, thankful for small mercies.