him. “Good night, Brett. Thank you for coming over to play with me.”
Brett smiled, relishing the scent of childhood, ice-cream sundaes and daydreams. “Sleep tight, pumpkin.”
As she turned to go, he added, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
Emily stopped in her tracks and turned. “What are bedbugs?”
Oops. He hadn’t meant to freak her out before bedtime, make her have nightmares about critters climbing in her bed. So he tapped his finger on the tip of her turned-up nose. “They’re little cooties that like to sleep with naughty boys who don’t take baths and don’t mind their mothers.”
Emily smiled, revealing two cute dimples. “Then they won’t get in my bed.”
“I’m sure they won’t.” He had the urge to give her another hug, but that felt a little too daddy-ish. And God knew he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.
“Did the bedbugs used to sleep with you when you were little?” she asked.
A smile tugged on his lips. “Not when I was your age.” But if his cootie explanation held true, his bed would have been bombarded with them when he was a hell-bent teen.
“Okay, young lady. Off to bed.” Caitlin took her daughter by the hand, then looked at Brett. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
He nodded, then watched them head down the hall, his focus on the pretty mother, on the sway of her hips, the way the hem of her dress brushed against shapely calves.
Now was a good time to leave, to thank her for dinner, then be on his way. But for some stupid reason, he waited on the living room sofa for her to return.
He scanned the room, spotting the framed photographs of Emily on the mantel and on various tables throughout the room. He snatched one from the lamp table to his right and studied the picture of a bald-headed baby with a bright-eyed smile and sparkling-clear dribble on her chin.
Without any hair, she kind of looked like Justin had, when he was a baby.
Had Kelly taken a ton of pictures and placed them throughout her house, too? Probably.
Brett put the photograph back, grabbed the deck of cards off the coffee table and began to shuffle them over and over, just for something to do.
When Caitlin returned, she took a seat in the easy chair that rested by the fireplace.
Good move. It saved them both from feeling awkward. Well, it had saved him, anyway. Caitlin hadn’t given him much indication that she found him as attractive as he found her. And that was a good thing. It made keeping his distance easier.
“Do you have any idea how long your motorcycle will be out of commission?” she asked.
“Not long,” he lied. The mechanic from Hog Specialists said it would take a month or so, since the parts had to be ordered and weren’t always easy to get. But he didn’t want Caitlin feeling any guiltier over that damned accident than she already appeared to. “I’ll probably rent a car anyway.”
A look of remorse settled over her pretty face, and he wanted to see it lift. The accident had been mostly his fault, no matter what she thought.
“I’ve been wanting to buy an SUV,” he said, “so this is the perfect opportunity to try one out before I fork over the cash.”
She nodded, then managed a half smile. “I’d be happy to give you a ride to the rental place, if you need one.”
That would be great. He didn’t like being grounded. And being stranded was even worse. “Maybe, if you have some free time, we could go tomorrow.”
“I have to work in the afternoon, but I can take you in the morning.”
“Thanks.” He studied his motorcycle boots for a moment, thinking about how tough it must be to raise a kid alone, to have to worry about babysitting and child care. Then he looked up and caught her eye. “Who watches Emily for you, while you work?”
“Gerald and Mary Blackstone, the retired couple who live in the end unit. They’ve become surrogate grandparents.”
He didn’t know why he asked. Curiosity, he supposed. “What about her father?”
Caitlin paused, then blew out a whispery breath. “Emily doesn’t know her father. He hasn’t been a part of her life.”
Brett sat up straight, suddenly interested in Caitlin’s past. In the man who’d walked away from Emily.
It wasn’t any of his business, and he shouldn’t ask, but he wanted to know more. “Does he, Emily’s dad, pay child support?” Somehow it mattered a lot. Brett wanted to know the man was doing right by the little girl and looking out for her the best way he knew how.
“No,” Caitlin said. “He doesn’t pay anything.”
Brett couldn’t leave it alone. “Does he contact her at all?”
“No.” Caitlin stood and walked toward the window, looked out upon the darkened complex lit by Tiki-style lamps. “But he wants to.”
“And that bothers you?” Something twisted in Brett’s gut. He sensed trouble coming down the pike. Hadn’t he experienced enough domestic squabbles of his own?
His mom and dad had spent years in court fighting over every damn thing imaginable, while their son got caught in the crossfire until he rebelled the only way an angry teenager knew how.
“Yes, it does bother me. The idea of her father popping into her life tears me up inside. She doesn’t even know him.”
Brett figured Kelly would probably feel the same way, if he contacted her now and said he wanted to have a relationship with Justin. Call it an experiment, but getting a handle on Caitlin’s feelings seemed like a good way to gauge how things would pan out if he approached his ex.
Caitlin had grown quiet, solemn, as though she was still hurting from the divorce.
Or maybe from her ex-husband’s desertion.
Like a hound closing in on a buried bone, Brett couldn’t seem to let it go. “Maybe Emily’s dad had a good reason for not sticking around.”
Did it tear the man up inside to walk away from his kid, like it had Brett? Did he get an ache in his chest each time he saw a child about the same age as his own?
Brett had to stop beating himself up. According to Harry Logan, the retired detective who’d managed to stop Brett’s downhill slide into the juvenile justice system, Justin was happy.
And if anyone knew what made a boy tick, it was the guy who’d helped a dozen or more delinquents get their lives back on track. A guy who’d put his heart where his mouth was, opening his arms, his home and his family to boys with nowhere else to turn. And Brett was happy to count himself as one of the bad-boys-turned-good-guys.
According to Harry, who’d done a little investigating, Justin’s stepfather was good to him. Maybe not better than Brett would have been, but at least David was home every night
