Her Second-Chance Man

Of course, that was the point. He was trying to intimidate her. And it was working—not that she would ever let him see that. She tilted her chin a little more, gave her curls another careless toss.

But his voice, when he spoke, was hard and cold, the voice of a man too accustomed to giving orders and being listened to. Which of course only deepened her own determination not to see anything his way.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea if I let her win on this one.”

“Really?” Jessica said, and set her legs wide apart in a posture that mirrored his, exactly. “She looks to me like a kid who could use a few wins. If it’s not too hard on your ego, that is.”

“It’s not about my ego,” he said, every word bitten out.

“So, if it’s not about you, should I assume it’s about me? For some reason you’ve decided I can be trusted with a dog, but not with your niece, is that it? Was she right? Do you think I have a little hemp patch over by the compost?”

“That is not it! I don’t remember you being difficult!”

“You spent less than two hours with me, fourteen years ago. You never gave me a chance to show if I could be difficult or not.” But he remembered correctly. Oh, no, she had not been difficult. Not at all. She had been falling all over herself trying to get him to see who she really was. And for a mad moment, under the moon, she thought he had. She was certain of it. She had seen a light come on in his eyes, had seen him lean toward her, had felt his breath in her hair when he’d whispered, I’ll call.

“Jessica, I didn’t give you a chance because I was a dumb kid. I was superficial and self-centered, and I doubt if I’m much improved. But you’ll be thrilled to know there is justice. Here you are surrounded by sweetness and flowers, and I’m picking up drunks and spending half my life in a car that smells like puke and, well, worse things.

“You know what else? Not one of those kids who thought the world revolved around them has what you have here.”

“What do I have here?”

He hesitated. He looked around. His tone softened. “Michelle saw it. I can see it in your face. In this place. Some kind of peace.”

Ha. Until half an hour ago!

“So, since I’m Mother Theresa’s little sister,” though hopefully better looking, “what is the problem with having Michelle stay?”

“I never forgot what you did for that dog that night, and I need you to help my niece keep her dog, if that’s at all possible. And it’s not that I don’t trust you with her. Let me tell you, my job requires instant judgements of people. My life sometimes depends on whether I’m right or wrong. You have that look that is eminently trustworthy.”

“What look is that?”

“Oh, you know. The kind of miffed librarian look.”

“Really?” she said, and felt her lips pursing up just like a miffed librarian.

“Don’t take it the wrong way. There aren’t nearly enough people devoted to doing the right thing. Who are good. And kind. And gentle.”

“Don’t forget spunky,” she said, since he was making her sound about as exciting as A Child’s Little Book of Prayers.

“That remains to be seen.”

Did it? That could be interpreted in the very same way as I’ll call by someone with the least inclination for romance, which of course he had cured her of long ago. Thank goodness.

“I don’t want her to stay here with you in case the damned dog dies,” he said, his voice suddenly low, looking cautiously over Jessica’s shoulder. “I don’t think she can take much more.”

Jessica sighed. It really wasn’t about his ego. She could see the worry etched in his eyes.

Firmly, she said, “Brian, it’s not up to you to decide how much she can take, or can’t.”

“It’s my job now to protect her!”

The fierceness with which he said that actually made her feel the teeniest desire to be nice to him. Just for a few minutes. Until she got her way.

“There are some things that aren’t even remotely in your job description,” she told him. “Believe it or not, the sun rises and sets without your help. You seem to have a few control issues. They won’t help you with Michelle.”

“Better than hocus-pocus.”

Her guard snapped firmly back into place. “That’s what I do. Hocus-pocus. You knew it when you came here.”

“A dog is different than my niece.”

“Brian,” she touched his arm, “you can’t protect her from life, not unless you’re prepared to lock her in a closet. Even then, a tree could fall through the roof.”

“Hey, guess what? I already figured out I can’t protect her. If I could, don’t you think her mom and dad would still be here?”

“Leave her here,” Jessica said. “We’ll heal the dog, or we’ll help him die. Either can be an incredible experience. Trust me. Just a little bit.”

He looked at where her hand rested on his arm, and she went to move it away, but he laid his own hand over top of it. She could feel the leashed power in that hand, feel her own yearning.

“Okay,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

“Okay,” she said.

“Maybe she’s better off out here,” he conceded reluctantly. “I hate leaving her alone when I’m on night shift. She says she’s too old for a baby-sitter.”

“She is. She could be baby-sitting herself, for heaven’s sake.”

“Well, not for anyone who liked their baby.”

“She does okay with the dog.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s just me that she’s mean as a rattlesnake to.”

“Probably.”

“So,” he said, “are there weapons in your house? Or illegal drugs?”

“I’m the miffed librarian, remember?”

He touched the side of her cheek with the palm of his hand. The gesture was unexpected and made her heart race anew. He studied her.

“That was a mistake. More like Tinker Bell, with fairy dust.”

“Does that bring us back to the illegal drugs?” she asked, trying to hide the way his hand on her cheek made her feel. Feminine. Beautiful.

He seemed to realize he was touching her face, so he dropped his hand and then shoved it in his pocket. “I have this parenting book that I read under my covers with a flashlight and it says not to be afraid to ask. You know. About the drugs and weapons.”

“Brian,” she said taking pity on him, “it won’t help you to be a cop around your niece. I understand that you care about her, and that’s why you conduct these inquisitions before you let her do things, but even that crack about the baby-sitting shows you don’t trust her judgement. Doesn’t the book say anything about that?”

“I haven’t got to that part yet. I’m not much of a reader.” He shook his head sadly. “I had no idea she named the pup after a writer. I bought her the candy bar after she named him that. I didn’t know why she didn’t eat it.”

Jessica felt a terrible stab of tenderness for him. He was trying so hard.

A shiver went up and down her spine, but she shied away from the thought that followed it. No, she owed him nothing. For the child and the dog she would do her best.

But Brian Kemp? Healing him was way out of her league.

Still, what could it hurt to offer an opinion?

“I just feel,” Jessica said, choosing her words carefully, “you would make more headway with Michelle if you were able to tell her the truth.”

“About?”

“The way you feel about her. Instead of grilling her friends and looking at her pupils with a flashlight you need to tell her you love her more than the earth, and that you’re worried about her.”

He actually flushed, a lovely shade of crimson that moved up his neck. “If I told Michelle that, she’d tell me to take a leap. And then she’d go dye her hair green and say, ‘Do you still love me now?’”

“And wouldn’t you say yes?”

“No. Okay. Maybe.”

“Let her know you love her.”

“She’ll use it against me.”

“You look like a big, strong guy. You can probably handle it,” Jessica said dryly.

“You know, the truth is not always the best policy. For instance, when you do an interrogation, you always tell the bad guy that his friend spilled the beans, so he might as well give. It’s generally a bald-faced lie, but sometimes it works. So, it’s a lie but it accomplishes something good.”

“Well, yes, maybe on the bad guys, which your niece isn’t.”

“She seems to think I am! You haven’t been living with us for the last six months. She doesn’t like me much.”

Jessica reminded herself, firmly, that his healing was not her business. On the other hand, there would be places, and probably many of them, where his healing and Michelle’s would be interwoven like threads in a tapestry.

“Look what happened the last time she loved,” Jessica reminded him softly. “They died.”

“Are you telling me she’s scared of caring about me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“She sure as hell doesn’t act scared. What makes you think she’s scared?”

Because I loved once, too. Oh, yes, it was a teenage love, more a fantasy than a reality, but that hurt made me afraid to give my heart again, too. How much worse must it be for Michelle?

“Good old hocus-pocus,” she lied.

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