okay,” he said. “A lady named Paula was trying to drop him off at your place. I said he could stay here ’til you showed up.”
That would be Paula Layton, Skip’s foster mother. Apparently she hadn’t bothered to call. “She left him with a complete stranger?” That was scary. Just because someone lived next door didn’t make him trustworthy.
“She saw my picture in the paper last year when I got a commendation.” Hale had been honored for recognizing an L.A. robbery suspect at the supermarket. He’d quietly called for backup and trailed the man outside to collar him without endangering shoppers. “What can I say? I stick in some people’s minds.”
“Like a piece of chewing gum on their shoe,” Connie mocked. Of course, she’d been impressed by Hale’s actions, too, but admitting as much would only give him an advantage in their ongoing game of one-upmanship.
Skip seemed to find her remark funny. His laughter bubbled up, wonderfully free and open. He retained a warm spirit, despite a history of neglect that included removal from his birth home after neighbors repeatedly called social services about his lack of supervision. He’d been returned to his parents briefly, until their arrest for selling drugs. Eventually they’d agreed to relinquish custody.
“The kid’s been here about an hour,” Hale added. “This Paula person said her daughter was in labor and she had to rush off to the hospital. She wasn’t sure but he might have to stay overnight.”
“She might have phoned!” Connie wondered what the woman would have done with Skip if Hale hadn’t been available. “I understand her desire to be at the hospital, but she could have made babysitting arrangements. Her daughter’s full-term, so this hardly comes as a surprise.”
The real problem wasn’t today’s drop-off but Paula’s increasing inattentiveness to her ward. With a grandchild on the way, the woman seemed to have lost the motivation that had inspired her to begin foster parenting in the first place.
As his foster mom became emotionally detached, Connie became more attached to Skip. Maybe he’d awakened her long-dormant maternal instincts. Maybe his personality, combined with the approach of her thirtieth birthday, had done the trick, but regardless of the reason, she’d grown to love him. And from there, an impulse to provide him with a home had developed into a powerful longing.
Foster parents had priority in an adoption. However, in response to Connie’s inquiry, Paula, whose married daughter had then just announced her pregnancy, had conceded that she might be willing to give him up. To learn whether she’d be allowed to adopt as a single parent, Connie had consulted a lawyer. He’d explained that school-age children were hard to place compared to infants and toddlers, and someone like her who’d already formed a connection with Skip ought to encounter no problems.
She’d applied to adopt and undergone the required home study. Then, to her disappointment, Paula had changed her mind. Her grandchild-to-be was a girl, and her husband liked having a boy around. Yet however sincere Mr. Layton’s interest, the trucker spent weeks at a stretch on the road.
Still, Paula’s lackadaisical style hadn’t quite crossed the gap into negligence, and her opposition would doom any attempt to gain permanent custody. Since Connie couldn’t afford a legal battle and wasn’t sure she’d win, anyway, she simply did her best to provide support.
“Okay if I take you to the store with me for a couple of hours?” she asked Skip. She maintained a stash of toys to occupy customers’ children.
“Sure!”
Connie removed the snack bag and rolled it shut. “Let’s eat at my place. Frozen dinners okay?” She hoped he liked fish or chicken. Those were all she’d stocked.
“Cool!”
Hale tugged an old T-shirt over his head. Clinging to his damp torso, it revealed almost as much as it hid. “I’d offer to watch him myself if I didn’t have plans for the evening.”
“You’ve done plenty already.” The boy needed stability and order. The less contact he had with this man, the better, in Connie’s opinion. “Thanks for filling in.”
“No problem.” He flashed a teasing smile. “I’ll stop by a garden center tomorrow and pick out your posies. Nothing I enjoy more than spending a Sunday afternoon digging in the dirt, getting back to my ancestral roots as a farmer.”
Under the circumstances, Connie decided not to comment on the greater likelihood that he’d descended from some notorious scoundrel. “I’d appreciate it.”
She shepherded Skip out of the house, her mind racing. There was barely time to call Paula and explain that they’d be at the shop—as if the woman gave the boy a second thought!—and to heat the dinners.
As she opened her door, she recalled Hale’s mention of plans for the evening. Those probably involved one of the women she occasionally glimpsed on his property or whose voices drifted over the wall from the swimming pool. His female interests always appeared to have great fun, but as far as Connie could tell, none of them lasted long.
Well, the man’s love life didn’t concern her. The two of them moved in entirely different spheres, and she meant to keep it that way. No matter how terrific he looked without his shirt.
HALE FISHED OUT another handful of cheese puffs. The party at the captain’s place didn’t start for an hour and he was hungry. Perhaps he should have insinuated his way over to Connie’s for one of those frozen dinners.
Bad idea. He grimaced at the memory of plunging into her flower bed. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with just grass? As for her house, a man couldn’t swing his arms without upending half a dozen china or glass doodads.
Noticing cheese crud on his T-shirt, Hale stared down in displeasure. Oh, well, he had to change into fancy duds in a few minutes, anyway, to mingle with the upper crust at the gathering.
Villazon’s relatively new police chief, Willard Lyons, encouraged his brass and detectives to hobnob with the town’s leaders. In view of the police department’s image problems—there’d been a couple of scandals—tonight’s cocktail party hosted by Captain Frank Ferguson counted more as public relations than as entertainment.
Much better to spend the evening tossing back beers with a few buddies, or even better…Wait! Wait! Hale tried to short-circuit the scenario that sprang to mind. No use. In his king-size bed lounged Connie Simmons, blond hair spread across the pillow and luscious breasts threatening to burst from beneath the sheets. Lips parted, waiting breathlessly for him to peel away the covers.
A cheese puff slipped through his fingers, this time straight to the floor, which already cried out for sweeping. Hale stared downward, still tantalized by his vision.
He couldn’t fathom why his fantasies never quite revealed Connie’s nudity, since he’d been drawn to her ever since his buddy Joel had introduced the sensual beauty seven or eight years ago. Instead of being an only child, why couldn’t he have sisters who brought home friends like that? If he’d gotten to her first, well, no guarantees about anything long-term, but for sure he’d have satisfied his curiosity.
Grumbling under his breath, Hale went on a hunt for the vacuum cleaner. Must have loaned it to somebody. Unable to find a broom, either, he got down on his hands and knees and used his hands to scrape the kitchen detritus into a pile, which he then pushed onto a spatula.
The
