dark-haired girl shrugged her shoulders. “He locked me out.”
“Locked you out?”
When Sam licked her face, the child grinned. “He kissed me!”
“Your father locked you out of your house?” Megan asked patiently, determined to find out why the girl lacked a chaperone.
Bobbing her head in affirmation, the little girl asked, “What’s your name?”
Realizing she wasn’t likely to get a satisfactory explanation to her own questions, Megan followed the girl’s lead.
“I’m Megan, and this is Sam. We live down the street in the red brick house.” Megan pointed toward her house, but the girl ignored the gesture, her attention absorbed by Sam. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Caitlyn. I wish I had a dog, but Daddy won’t let me. He says dogs is too much trouble, and the last thing he needs now is more trouble.”
Megan mulled over the child’s remark about her father not wanting more trouble and factored in the vague comment that her mother had gone away someplace. Other people might consider Caitlyn’s home life none of their business and bid the girl goodbye as they walked away.
But not Megan.
As a teacher, she was duty-bound by law to investigate and report neglect. To her, those who looked the other way were as guilty as negligent parents.
“Come on, Caitlyn, let’s go see your daddy.” She took the child’s hand and led her across the street, making a point of reminding the girl to look both ways before they crossed.
Sam trotted along beside them contentedly, his ears perked and alert. He seemed intrigued by the change of course, and his nose searched the air for new smells.
“You know what?” Caitlyn skipped as they crossed her yard.
“What?”
“This mornin’ when Daddy was making breakfast, our toast caught on fire!” Caitlyn giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, my!” Megan clapped a hand to her cheek, adding the sort of animated and enthusiastic look of surprise her first graders loved. “What did he do?”
Caitlyn’s eyes twinkled with a mischievous gleam. “He threw the toast in the sink like this. Oo, ah, ow!” The little girl imitated her father juggling the burnt toast from hand to hand. “Then he said a bad word! Wanna hear it?”
Surveying the girl’s impish expression, Megan lifted an eyebrow. “No, thank you. I feel sure it’s a word you shouldn’t be repeating.”
Caitlyn shrugged. “Yeah. That’s what Daddy said, too. He said it was a grown-up word, and it slipped out on accident.”
Megan figured she had to give the girl’s father credit for at least trying to cover his gaffe. But he still had a bit of explaining to do for his inattention to his daughter’s whereabouts at the moment.
They tramped up the brick steps to the front porch together—woman, child and dog—and Caitlyn wiggled the doorknob. “See? Locked out!”
Megan pounded on the front door. When no one answered after a few moments, she pounded again.
“Are you mad at me?” a tiny voice squeaked.
Glancing down at the girl, Megan met a wide, dark-eyed gaze that melted her heart. Tears puddled in Caitlyn’s eyes, and Megan caught her breath. “Oh, no, darling. I’m not mad at you. Really.” She knelt beside the girl and tugged on her ponytail. “I just want to be sure you are safe and that your daddy knows where you are. Okay?”
She flashed Caitlyn an encouraging smile, winning a bright grin in return. Finally the doorknob rattled, and as the front door swung open, Caitlyn sidled behind Megan.
Turning her gaze toward the portal, Megan encountered bare feet and a pair of long masculine legs. Her gaze drifted upward, past a damp blue towel wrapped low on lean hips, to a broad, bare chest. Tiny rivers of water trickled down the firm, flat stomach to disappear beneath the towel.
Megan’s mouth went dry. Images of the stripper’s gyrating hips flickered in her memory. Yet where the stripper had evoked terrifying memories, this wet, masculine body stirred a more innate female response, something physical and wholly unexpected. Unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
“Can I help you?”
The question jerked her attention back. She gasped and rose to her feet. The man at the door dwarfed her by several inches. As Megan gaped, an awkward flip-flopping in her gut, water dripped from his hair and puddles collected at his bare feet.
“You…w-were in the shower.” Megan grimaced and gave herself a mental thump on the head for stating the obvious.
“Uh…yeah.” A lopsided grin, much like Caitlyn’s, tugged the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize. I—”
He shrugged a muscular shoulder dismissively. “Whatever. Lately, finishing much of anything without interruption is a rarity.” His smile turned wry, exasperated. “So—” He raised a palm. “Was there something you needed or can I go back to my shower?”
Just like that, the reality that she was standing there conversing with this nearly naked man slammed home.
Megan swallowed hard, and the bravado she’d mustered to challenge his parental negligence slipped.
If his dishabille bothered him, he didn’t let on. He had the presence of a man who knew how to wield control of a situation.
But Megan hadn’t felt truly in control of her life in years. She slid a hand into Sam’s thick fur to draw strength and comfort from her canine protector’s presence. Squaring her shoulders, she mustered the presence of mind to meet the man’s hazel eyes.
“I presume you’re Caitlyn’s father?” Megan reached behind her and guided the girl into view.
His brow furrowed, and his gaze flew to the little girl. “Caitlyn, what have you done now?”
“Nothing!” Caitlyn whined.
“Did you know she was outside…by herself?” Megan placed meaningful emphasis on the last words. “Locked out?”
He looked baffled for a moment. “No. How—? She was supposed to be locked in! Caitlyn, how did you get outside?”
Caitlyn ducked her head and picked at a scab on her arm. “The window.”
“What window?” her dad asked, frustration rife in his tone.
The child aimed a finger at a sill where the screen had been popped out, cockeyed.
The man’s eyes rounded. “Caitlyn! How’d—”
He stopped and drew a slow breath before raising his gaze to Megan’s again. “Thank you for bringing her home.”
Warmth
