Remember My Touch

“You did?” Jenny asked, smiling at her.

Mandy nodded, her blue McCullar eyes widened with the pleasure of having news that exciting to share with her beloved Aunt Jenny. “On a pallet on the floor by their bed.”

Jenny glanced at Chase’s face, and his expression was more revealing than he had intended, she was sure. Her gaze moved automatically to Matt Dawson and found the same quick amusement she had felt at Mandy’s words reflected in his harsh features.

“That’s…wonderful,” Jenny said. She had had to fight answering Matt’s amusement, had had to force her eyes to return to the little girl. Mandy’s hair was loose, tangled from sleep, blond curls trailing over the thin white lace-trimmed gown. Her eyelids were still just a little puffy with sleep and her feet were bare.

Amanda always looked just exactly as a little girl should look, Jenny thought. Small and sweet and infinitely happy. She didn’t think she could have loved a child of her own any more than she loved this one. Maybe that was because Mandy looked exactly like the babies Jenny had always dreamed she and Mac would have.

Jenny McCullar’s lips tilted slightly in remembrance of those long-anticipated babies, and then suddenly, the unexpected and unwanted surge of emotion caused by that memory caught her by surprise, making her eyes sting.

Disgusted with her seemingly constant urge these days to cry every time she thought about Mac, she looked up, determinedly blinking away the hated moisture. Her eyes met and then locked with the dark intensity of Matt Dawson’s.

There was no amusement in his features now. There was something there, some emotion, but it had been too quickly hidden for her to be certain what it had been before it disappeared.

“That was Samantha’s idea,” Chase said.

Jenny knew from his tone that it certainly hadn’t been his. “Mandy’s more than welcome to stay with me,” she offered sincerely. She put her hand on the small blond head and glanced down to smile at her niece.

“Can I, Daddy?” Mandy begged.

“We’ll see,” Chase hedged, his expression softening as he looked at his daughter, a daughter he hadn’t even known existed for almost four years. “Run on back inside and get some clothes on,” he suggested. “It’s too cold out here to be running around barefoot.”

“Yes, sir,” Mandy said. “Mama said to tell you to come in for breakfast in fifteen minutes. You and Mr….” The child paused, obviously having forgotten the unfamiliar name Samantha had told her.

“Mr. Dawson,” Jenny supplied.

Mandy’s gaze swung upward to meet her aunt’s. “Do you know my daddy’s friend?”

“We’ve met,” Jenny explained.

Involuntarily, her eyes sought the tall, scarred man standing in the shadowed doorway. She hadn’t thought about Mandy’s eyes automatically following hers, and she was the only one who could possibly have heard the child’s sharp intake of breath when they did. Jenny put her hand around Mandy’s shoulders and squeezed her upper arm reassuringly. She hoped Samantha’s training in good manners would stand the little girl in good stead.

“Mandy, this is Mr. Dawson,” Jenny said softly. “He’s your daddy’s friend.”

The little girl’s hesitation was only a fraction of a second too long to be put down to shyness. “’Lo,” she managed, her normally confident voice almost a whisper.

Matt Dawson’s gaze was on the child and no longer on Jenny. She should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. She had no doubt, despite Mandy’s gallant effort at maintaining the politeness she had been taught, that he knew exactly what the child was thinking. He didn’t respond verbally to her greeting. The tightening at the corner of his mouth was minute, and he then simply nodded.

Mandy shrank a little closer to Jenny’s jeans-covered leg at his almost-forbidding silence. “Go on inside,” Jenny urged her softly. “Mind your daddy. It is too cool out here for bare feet.”

Apparently grateful for permission to leave, Mandy turned and ran toward the small house. The three adults watched as, carefully holding up her nightgown, she climbed the low steps and disappeared through the screen door.

“That’s a pretty little girl,” Matt said into the uncomfortable silence she left behind.

Jenny turned to smile at him, but he was looking at Chase.

“She took after her mother,” Chase said.

“Then you should thank God for His favor,” Matt responded, his features absolutely expressionless.

Chase’s laughter in response to the insult reminded Jenny of Mac’s, and that memory, too, was painful, but at least Matt’s teasing comment had broken the tension Mandy’s unease had caused.

“DEA?” Jenny asked again. Her voice was pleasantly inquiring as if she were only picking up the thread of the conversation they had been having when Mandy interrupted them. Both men turned to look at her, but neither answered. “That is what you’re doing down here, isn’t it?” she prompted.

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