in rich hues. The breeze carried the scent of the junipers.
Zach inhaled deeply. Sadie’s promise that she’d have a place waiting for him had seen him through the bleakest days. He had just never imagined there would also be a woman who captured his imagination the way Léa did.
Her petition to adopt a child seemed just like her, even though he hardly knew her. Easily, he imagined her in the role of a mother. Zach didn’t know anything about adoption law, but he figured an ex-con wouldn’t rate as a suitable potential father. Thinking about the kind of men he had served time with, that made sense.
What didn’t make sense was his even thinking about fatherhood or why he’d give an instant of thought to a long-term relationship with Léa Webster. Not for the world would he subject any child to the kind of father he’d had as a role model. Stern, disapproving, authoritarian. After his parents divorced, he had been shuffled between them until he ended up living with his dad after his mother remarried. To this day, he was thankful his dad’s older sister Sadie had taken an interest in him. Despite that, he was pretty sure most men grew up to be like the fathers who raised them. No way did he want any kid of his to feel like a perpetual disappointment. Best way to avoid that was to avoid having children.
Zach went back to the tool shed, opened the double doors, and went to work cleaning things up. From the film of dust on the windows to the rusty condition of shovels and hoes, everything needed maintenance. He worked until he had to turn on the light, then he continued working until hunger made him quit for the night. He warmed up a frozen dinner in the microwave, a meal that filled him with about the same amount of satisfaction prison food had. It was time to learn to cook. Just that fast, Léa was back in the center of his thoughts.
Determined to exert some discipline over his mind, Zach turned on the television. Within minutes he found the sitcom he’d tuned into boring, so, after he was finished eating, he turned off the set and wandered outside. Almost at once he felt more calm, admitting to himself that he relished the idea that he could go outside whenever he wanted. He walked around the yard, liking the feel of the lawn against his bare feet. Eventually, he settled on the swing that hung on one end of the porch. Alone in the dark, he imagined that he might be dreaming, because everything was as he had imagined it would be.
From down the block he heard someone’s TV through an open window, and the intermittent bark of a dog farther away. A couple of doors down the street, the rhythmic sound of a sprinkler was accompanied by the distinctive aroma of water flowing through a hose. From within the spruce tree in the yard came the chirp of a robin as it settled in for the night. He inhaled, trying to find the scent of juniper and piñon that he had smelled after leaving Léa’s earlier.
So much for not thinking about her.
Across the street Léa’s car was gone, her porch light casting a welcoming glow. Against his better judgment, Zach wondered where she was. Logic dictated it didn’t matter. He wondered, anyway.
Once more, he worked to regain control over his thoughts, closing his eyes and listening for the cattle in the pasture behind the house.
A car door slammed, and Zach opened his eyes. A police car was parked in front of Léa’s house. Dark as it was, Zach recognized the man in uniform heading for her front door. Foley Blue.
Foley rang Léa’s doorbell, then went to the living-room window where he cupped his hands around his eyes to peer in. Zach figured he must realize she wasn’t home since her car wasn’t in the driveway. Foley came off the porch and went around the side of the house. Scant seconds later he returned, the set in his shoulders conveying irritation. He looked up and down the block, his hands on his hips. Then he looked across the street, and Zach knew the instant Foley spotted him.
The cop stood there a minute, then came across the street and up the walk to the house.
“What can I do for you, officer?” Zach said without getting up.
“Just wondered if you had seen my wife this evening.” Foley stepped close to the porch, his face still in shadows.
“Léa, you mean?”
Foley put one foot on the step and leaned an elbow across his knee. “Yeah.”
Glad that Foley had qualified the time frame, Zach shook his head and truthfully said, “Haven’t seen her.”
“And you don’t know where she went.”
“Nope.”
Foley swore. “I told her I’d be by when my shift was over.”
Zach figured that might explain why she was gone. “I’d be happy to let her know you dropped by,” he said blandly. He had no doubt that Foley had tried to get into her house through one of the now-secured windows. The idea of it made Zach seethe.
Foley looked up, his light-colored eyes glittering despite the nearly black shadow he stood in. “You don’t have to do that. She doesn’t need anyone coming around. Not this time of night.”
“No, I don’t suppose she does,” Zach agreed.
“You sitting out here in the dark for a reason?”
“Just getting a little fresh air before I turn in.” He managed to keep his voice rock-steady, though the question rankled. Telling Léa’s ex that it was none of his business would likely cause trouble, the one thing Zach was determined to avoid.
“Uh-huh.” Foley shifted from one foot to another. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he turned around and headed down the walk toward his car without so much as a good night.
FIVE
“Hi, Gram.” Léa kissed her grandmother’s cheek, then said hi to the others sitting in the dining room of the nursing home. Frank Morris had looked a hundred years old since her first memories of him as a child. Alice Parker had broken her hip several months ago and was finally well enough to come to the dining room in a wheelchair.
“I think my eyes are deceiving me,” Frank said, his wizened face creased into a wide, toothless grin. “It’s the prettiest girl in town.”
“Get yourself a chair,” Alice said to Léa. “And ignore this old coot.” She patted Gram’s arm. “Nothing like a man making a fool of himself.”
Gram smiled, and Frank laughed.
“After all this time, you’d think he’d have something original to say,” Alice continued while Léa retrieved an unused chair from a nearby table. “He’s buttering you up because he hopes you brought us dessert.”
“Did you?” Frank asked, his voice hopeful as a little boy’s.
“I had to check with the cook—”
“Who has more rules about what we can eat,” he said, “than Carter has Little Liver Pills.”
Léa grinned and pulled a round tin out of her totebag. “She thought these might be okay.”
“Well, open it, dear,” Alice said while Frank folded his arms over his bony chest.
“Are peanut butter cookies okay?” Léa opened the tin and held it out to her grandmother.
Smiling,
