damn stupid on his part.
It was obvious by the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes that she felt the same. He heaved a weary sigh and bid her good night.
After taking the books and leaving the house, he drove home deep in thought. He couldn’t alienate the tempting social worker. She was far too important in the life of his newly acquired family.
He realized he’d never considered that she might have worries of her own. He could sympathize with her concern over her daughter. It was far easier to tell others how to manage their affairs than figure out how to handle your own problems.
The evening had slipped into dusk by the time he arrived at the house. The lights inside beckoned him.
Going to the door, he saw the kids were in the living room, all with books in their hands, their faces identical expressions of concentration.
A surge of warmth hit his heart as he went inside.
He had to be careful, he realized. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize their right to live here, such as make a fool of himself over their counselor.
Caution was called for. He was good at strategy, he reminded himself sternly, and the best strategy was to keep his distance and maintain a grip on his libido.
Saturday morning, Caileen carried her coffee outside and sat under the vine-covered arbor. The sun was up, and the day was supposed to be warm. She basked in the peace and quiet. Her tenants—a young couple, both teachers—on the other side of the house usually slept late on the weekends, so she had the place to herself.
As soon as the neighbors were stirring, she would get the grass mowed and do some pruning of shrubs. She’d written up the reports she’d scheduled to do that morning, so she was caught up.
She’d also come to terms with her illogical behavior with Jeff. Worry. That’s what it was. The passion had been a release of her pent-up fears.
To err is human; to forgive, divine.
Around midnight she’d taken the old adage to heart and decided to forgive the loss of control that led to her inappropriate actions of the previous evening. Besides, going over and over the event hadn’t solved a thing.
Next, she’d determined to get some sleep. Amazingly, she’d fallen into bed and into a restful slumber. Although it was early, she felt as if she’d slept a solid eight hours and was ready for the new day.
An hour later, she pushed the reel-type mower through the grass and finished the backyard in record time. After mowing the tiny patch of lawn in front of the duplex, she worked the rest of the morning on pruning bushes and removing the mulch from flower beds so the sun could warm the ground and wake the plants from their winter’s rest.
At noon, she showered and put on fresh slacks and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then ate a sandwich, again choosing to sit on the back porch.
Around the neighborhood, families worked on flower beds, washed cars or chatted over the low fences between yards. Caileen inhaled the wonderful aroma of fresh-cut grass and that of baking bread. Her neighbor two doors down loved to cook and favored everyone with the delicious results.
Caileen glanced at her watch. It was after one. Ignoring the faint maternal prod of concern, she decided to go to the grocery store while she still had the car.
After checking supplies and making a list, she drove to the supermarket and did the weekly shopping. She wondered how Tony’s hamburgers and gelatin side dish had been received by Jeff and the other two.
In line at the checkout counter, she realized she was smiling as she thought of them. She touched her lips as if to be sure the smile was real. It was.
When it was her turn, she stacked the groceries on the moving belt and ran her credit card through the machine while Thelma, who’d worked there for the twelve years she’d lived in town, scanned the items. She was signing the credit slip when an ambulance rushed by, its siren warning others to clear a path. She and the clerk glanced up.
“I hope no one was injured in an accident.” Thelma frowned and shook her head. “My grandson got arrested for drag racing last weekend. My son is thinking about grounding him for life.”
“Teenagers can be reckless,” Caileen agreed.
“Ah, well, they grow out of it.”
Thelma finished bagging the groceries and loaded them onto the cart. Caileen left the store, her gaze going toward the street and the small hospital that served the community.
At the emergency portico, she saw the paramedics lift out a gurney and wheel it inside. The sunlight reflected from the plastic IV bag that dangled above the patient.
On the way home, she found herself dwelling on the scene and realized it was worry over her daughter that troubled her. After all, a trip to the hospital could be a joyous occasion—for instance, the birth of a child.
She remembered how frightened she’d been on the way to the hospital to have her baby. She’d been not quite twenty-one years old and alone. Brendon had gotten a job at a construction site that summer and was working long hours.
At home, she stored the food, her mind still on the past. As inexperienced parents, she and her husband had been terrified of the tiny child now in their keeping, but they’d both fallen in love with her.
Caileen finished her task, then paused and considered those long-ago days and two months of fatigue before Zia had slept the night through. Brendon had been good about helping then. When had things gone wrong for them?
When she’d wanted a stable home and a steady source of income. When she’d decided it was time for them—both of them—to grow up.
Maybe she’d expected too much.
Before she could dwell on this, the telephone rang. She grabbed the wall phone at the end of the counter. “Hello?”
Expecting her daughter’s voice, she was surprised when a masculine voice inquired, “Mrs. Peters?”
“Yes?”
“This is Sammy. Uh, Zia’s been hurt.”
“Hurt? How? Where is she?”
“At the hospital. You’d better come down. She asked for you before she, uh, passed out.”
Caileen wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she refrained. “I’ll be right there,” she promised and hung up.
Grabbing her purse, she dug out the keys while she ran to the car. On the road, she wouldn’t let herself go more than ten miles over the speed limit even though she wanted to floor the pedal. She parked at the curb near the emergency room and dashed inside.
“I’m Caileen Peters,” she told the woman behind the admitting desk. “My daughter, Zia, was brought in a short time ago?” Her voice trailed upward into a question.
“Mmm, Peters, yes. The surgeon is with her. I have some forms for you to sign.”
“What happened?” Caileen demanded, ignoring the forms as panic rose inside her. “Why is she in surgery?”
“A
