it. Sorry about that.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“Me? Do?”
“Yes. There wouldn’t be any mud on the sidewalk in the first place if you hadn’t insisted on bringing in those planters along the walkway.”
“I didn’t realize they’d overflow if we got too much rain,” Maya said. “Relax. Tommy’s not hurting anything. He’s just a kid.”
Gregory was adamant. “He has no business riding that bike all over town, let alone being out in this kind of weather by himself. Why don’t his parents look after him?”
She joined her boss in the center of the compact office before answering, “Tommy’s parents are dead. He’s in foster care with Beth and Brandon Otis.”
“Aren’t they responsible for him?”
“Yes, but as far as I know, that’s already his third placement and he can’t be more than six years old. The poor kid must feel pretty lost. My brothers and I really foundered after our parents were killed, and we weren’t children. I was eighteen at the time and my brothers were even older.”
“That’s still no excuse for allowing him to run loose. If he’s this unruly now, what will he be like in his teens?”
Mentally contrasting her wandering brother, Clay, with their other, more stable sibling, Jesse, she said, “Tommy’ll be fine. He just needs to sow a few wild oats, or in this case, run through a few puddles. It’s hot and muggy out there, so he won’t get chilled. And the storm seems to be slacking up. It’s no big deal.”
“It will be when he throws mud on my building or loses his balance and crashes into the window or a parked car,” Gregory insisted.
Just as he finished speaking, thunder boomed in the distance and made Maya jump. “Or gets hit by lightning. Okay. I’ll go shoo him away.” She raked her slim fingers through her feathery, light brown hair and let it fall back into place naturally.
“Will I have to listen to you moaning about your ruined hairdo if you get rained on?”
“You might.” She wanted to add that her short cut was easy enough to dry and style in minutes, but she wanted to make a point. She was a professional business assistant, not Gregory Garrison’s servant or gofer.
“Never mind,” he said flatly. “I’ll send the little pest packing myself.” He slipped off his expensively tailored suit jacket and handed it to her without another word.
Smiling in spite of diligent efforts to keep a straight face, Maya watched Greg stride to the door, jerk it open and step out onto the sidewalk.
The rain was now coming down so hard it nearly obscured her view of the park across the street, but Maya could still see her boss through the plate-glass window. Although he was standing fairly close to the building, his blue silk shirt was plastered to him in seconds and looked every bit as wet as the boy’s striped T-shirt.
“Serves you right,” Maya muttered. “Imagine that. A grown man picking on a poor little kid.”
Her grin widened. If Tommy Jacobs was half as wily and agile as her brother Clay had been at that age, the fastidious Mr. Garrison was in for a big, big surprise. She could hardly wait to see him get his comeuppance.
Greg paused under the carved limestone overhang of his historic building’s facade. The wind-driven water found him with a vengeance just the same, making him wish he’d had the foresight to install a wide awning the way many of the other businesses on Main Street had. He should have known he’d need it. He’d grown up in High Plains and had experienced hundreds of similar Kansas storms.
Then again, he mused, disgusted, anybody with a lick of sense would have stayed inside until the rain had stopped for good—mud or no mud.
He shouted and waved to the boy. “Hey! You. Tommy. Come here.”
The child slid his bike to a stop on the brick-paved roadway, almost overcorrecting and taking a tumble when his front tire bumped the curb.
It amazed him to see that much athletic prowess in one so young. Maybe the boy was older than Maya thought and merely small for his age.
Moderating his tone, Greg tried again. He didn’t know a lot about boys, other than having been one himself. “I just want to talk to you for a second, Tommy. Come here. Please?”
The freckle-faced boy shook his head, sending droplets flying from his hair and the end of his little nose. “No way, Mister.”
“Don’t make me come over there and get you,” Greg warned. “All I want to do is talk. Honest.”
“My dog’ll bite you if you touch me,” Tommy replied. “Charlie takes care of me.”
For the first time, Greg noticed a medium-sized, black-and-white mongrel standing beside the boy. That poor dog looked even more soaked than Tommy. If the dog weren’t panting and looking extremely pleased with its current adventure, he’d have assumed it was suffering.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Greg assured Tommy. “I just wanted to ask you why you were trying to mess up my building?”
“I dunno. ’Cause it’s fun?”
“Not for me, it isn’t.”
“Oh.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Guess so.” He straightened the handlebars, put one foot on a pedal and leaned to the side, obviously getting ready to ride off.
“Wait,” Greg said, eyeing the blackening sky and recalling similar unsettled weather conditions from his own childhood. “How far is it to your house?”
“I don’t have a house. I’m an orphan.” The boy’s words were clipped, angry-sounding.
“I mean the place where you live right now.”
“None of your business.” Tommy winced as the first bits of hail began to pelt him. “Ouch!”
“Get in here under cover,” Greg shouted, realizing the danger. “That stuff can get big enough to knock out a full grown cow.”
Ignoring him, Tommy dropped his bike and began swatting uselessly at the pellets of ice that were now falling in far greater numbers. “Ow, ow, ow!”
At the end of his patience, Greg took four long strides and made a grab for Tommy while he was distracted. The wind had picked up and was driving the already nickel-size chunks of hail at them with stinging force. There was no more time to argue.
A siren began to wail. Bending against the wind and struggling to stay on his feet, Greg hunched over the boy to shield him and glanced down Main Street where a distant police car had begun flashing its red-and-blue lights.
Townspeople were scattering right and left. Umbrellas were turning inside out with a quick snap, making them worse than useless. Passersby had pulled jackets and whatever else they had at hand over their heads and were scrambling
