psychology to know that he was losing the first inning with Deanna Drake.
“I hope Penny likes chocolate milk,” Steve said as he set a glass in front of her. The child’s guarded look went from her mother to Steve and back to the milk. Then she set her little lips in a stubborn line and made no move to touch the glass.
Steve watched her while pretending to give all his attention to his own glass. As much as the little girl might want to drink the chocolate milk, she wouldn’t touch it. Why? What held her back? What was fueling her willpower and resistance? Although he’d had remarkable success working with traumatized children, he knew that when a psychosis was deeply-seated, the psyche protected itself at all costs.
Steve had read newspaper accounts of Benjamin Drake’s murder in the file, and he knew that they had found the child whimpering in a terrified state on her balcony, but whatever had happened on the night that Penny’s father had been shot still remained a mystery. She must have been a witness to the crime. Who knew what secrets were buried in Penelope Drake’s pretty little head? And equally important, would the child be put in danger if he was successful in breaking her silence about them?
“Would you like a cookie, Penny?” he asked, placing one beside the little girl’s untouched glass of milk. Then he took one for himself and laughed as he sniffed it. “Don’t they smell good. Freshly baked.”
Deanna tried to control her impatience. When she’d heard about Dr. Steve Sherman, the child psychologist who had just moved to the Denver area from California, her hopes had risen like released balloons. Maybe he was the miracle she’d been praying for. Maybe he had the expertise needed to help Penny be herself again. But as Deanna studied the man across the table from her, her high hopes were more like helium balloons sagging from slow leaks. The relaxed psychologist’s attention was on pouring chocolate milk and offering cookies, as if the gravity of the situation completely escaped him.
Steve met her frown with a smile. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Deanna Drake had come to him because she was desperate, and he could tell that she had already written him off as another false and painful disappointment. No doctor in a white coat. No clipboard filled with charts. No reassuring medical trappings. A waste of time. Disappointment radiated from her.
“You live in Eagle Ridge, Colorado?” he asked in a conversational tone, as if they had all the time in the world.
“Yes.” It’s in the file, Deanna silently replied as her chest tightened. Everything was in the records, including her hotel management degree and her five-year marriage to a man fifteen years her senior.
“I’m not sure where Eagle Ridge is.” He raised a questioning dark brown eyebrow. “I guess you know I’m new to Colorado. I’m determined to take some time and enjoy these magnificent mountains.”
“Eagle Ridge is northwest of Denver, about fifty miles. It’s a small mountain town that survives on tourist dollars winter and summer. I inherited a small resort hotel from my late husband. Of course, if you’ve read Penny’s case history, you know all of that.”
“Sounds like a wonderful place to raise children,” he said, ignoring the slight edge to her voice.
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else,” she admitted, and then added quickly, “But I’d move in a minute if I thought it would help Penny.”
“Those are my sentiments as a parent exactly,” he agreed. “That’s why I left California. I wanted something better for my son, Travis. I’m also a single parent. I lost my wife when Travis was less than two years old. His grandmother helped raise him, but she passed away last year, so it’s just the two of us.”
So the handsome Dr. Sherman was a widower, thought Deanna. Why they were spending time on his personal life, she didn’t know, but the fact that he also had a child was, in a way, reassuring. “How old is your son?”
“Travis is seven. I’m hoping he’ll really take to Colorado. I’ve promised to take him hiking and fishing this summer, and next winter we’ll hit the ski slopes.” He grinned at Penny. “He’s never thrown a snowball. And he wants me to buy him a sled. He’s always singing that song about Frosty—you know the one I mean, Penny?”
The little girl’s eyes flickered slightly with interest, but she didn’t answer. Deanna silently fumed. Where was he going with all of this chitchat? Since her father’s murder, Penny seldom interacted with anyone or anything.
“Do you want me to sing it for you?” he asked with a grin. The change in the little girl’s stare was almost imperceptible, but Steve’s trained eyes caught it. So far, so good. Penny Drake is bright and receptive. He leaned toward her and whispered in a confidential tone, “I don’t know all the words. Do you?”
Her mouth remained closed.
Deanna watched them both. Steve didn’t seem to notice Penny’s silence or feel rebuffed by it. He carefully broke his cookie into tiny bite-size chunks before eating each piece with delighted exaggeration. “Mmm, good.” He winked at her, but Penny’s expression remained guarded, and she continued to sit rigidly without touching cookie or milk.
Deanna deliberately looked at her watch, a pointed reminder that Dr. Sherman was using up time for which she was paying. She was impatient with the psychologist’s apparent lack of direction and his total disregard for the gravity of the situation. Disappointment created a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
At that moment, there were three short knocks at an inner door and Steve smiled as if he’d been expecting someone. He called out, “Come in, Travis.”
As a small boy poked his head into the room, Steve motioned him over to the table. “Come on in, Travis. I want you to meet Penny and her mother, Mrs. Drake.”
Travis had the same wide grin as his father, and the same wayward russet hair that had a will of its own. His face was lightly freckled, and dark eyelashes and eyebrows framed an alert pair of brown eyes.
“Hi,” the boy said brightly.
“Would you like some cookies and milk, Travis?”
“Sure,” he said as he plopped down on a pillow next to Penny. Then he eagerly reached into the pile of stuffed animals in the center of the table, and drew out two puppets, Kermit the Frog and Cookie Monster. “Here”, he said, thrusting the blue puppet into Penny’s hands. “You can feed Cookie Monster. See, he’s got a pocket for cookies. Take one for him, and one for you.” Leaning toward her, he said in a conspirator’s whisper, “That way you get to eat two.”
Penny took the puppet, and her expression changed to one of wonder as she watched Travis put a cookie in Kermit the Frog’s lap and pop one in his own mouth. “Peanut butter cookies are the best!” he announced happily.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Steve chided gently, silently patting himself on the back. Good move, Steve, old boy. Using Travis to help diagnose the little girl’s social patterns looks like a winner. Penny still didn’t eat a cookie or feed the puppet, but her listless manner had been replaced by a notable flicker of interest as she watched Travis.
“Son, remember the pictures of those huge Colorado mountains?” Steve asked casually. “That’s where Penny lives.”
Travis’s brown eyes widened. “Really? Wow!”
“I bet Penny would like to see those clay mountains you made for our train set.”
