building, following the police officers and her children. Sawyer caught up to take her elbow. She had to be feeling terrible.
He was surprised when she recoiled, yanking her arm out of his reach. “Don’t!” she said, fear visible in her eyes and the sharp line of her mouth.
He dropped his hand immediately. He’d never frightened anyone that he could recall, except maybe those who’d misused Abbott Mills Foundation funds.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
The fear left her expression as she exhaled. “That’s all right,” she replied, apology in her tone. “I’m just not very…physical.”
He nodded. “I was trying to do the gentlemanly thing by helping you up the stairs. My stepmother is European and raised my brothers and me to open doors for women, walk on the street side of the sidewalk, offer a steadying arm on stairs and across streets.”
She smiled pensively, probably thinking that he was odd. But he got that a lot, so he was used to it.
“And that’s charming,” she said. “But I’m quite agile.”
“I’ll remember that.” He walked up the stairs beside her.
“I’m sorry this is wasting time you should be spending with your family,” she said.
He shook his head. “I called and explained. We’ll connect later. I’m surprised our paths have never crossed before. I’m at the hospital all the time. Are you new to Losthampton?”
“Ah…a couple of months.” She gave him that look again. “I’ve been filling in on odd shifts. Fortunately, my neighbor will baby-sit any time I need her. You’re there all the time as a patient, or for some other reason?”
“Sometimes as a patient,” he admitted with a little laugh. “I’m sort of the Evel Knievel of Long Island. Or Abominable Abbott, as my brothers like to say.”
She smiled. Her teeth were square and very white, the left front one overlapping the right just a little at the bottom. She seemed warm and kind, but he had the feeling she probably didn’t smile very much.
“Abominable Abbott,” she repeated. “That’s a terrible way to go down in history.”
“I don’t think I’ll make the history books.”
Draper held the door open for her and ushered her through a small, crowded office to an even smaller office on the other side. The walls were green and all the furnishings gray. He frowned at Sawyer. “Apologize for holding you up,” he said under his breath. “But we need to make a point here.”
Sawyer nodded. “I agree.”
“You making time with my little perps’ mother?” Draper asked with a grin.
“Why?” Sawyer returned the grin. “Is it against the law?”
“The way you risk your life, it is. This pretty lady’s got enough troubles with her imaginative children.”
Draper moved ahead to take Sophie and the children to a waiting area with wooden chairs. As they sat down, Sophie in the middle and the children crowding close to her, Sawyer saw them in a new light.
Up until now, they’d been a surprising, somewhat fun diversion on an ordinary afternoon—if you didn’t consider how Sophie had been frightened and how he’d been made to look like a completely gullible idiot. He loved children, and he liked women in his life—at least, on a temporary basis. Commitment to one would require a basic change in his life he wasn’t ready to make.
Right now, his time and energy were focused on the Abbott Mills Foundation and the best dispersal of its funds. It was a heavy responsibility, and he took it to heart.
Added to that, life at Shepherd’s Knoll had been very distracting lately. In the past month alone Killian had brought his bride back to Shepherd’s Knoll after a three-month separation, Sawyer had been practicing a ski jump for the Children with Cancer fund-raiser and broken several ribs, Brian had saved his life and taken his place in the family as their half brother and China Grant had appeared on their doorstep the very day of Sawyer’s accident and said she thought she was their sister, Abigail.
Suddenly the Abbott family’s life had superseded his personal life. He’d done his best to support Killian and Cordie’s renewal of their marriage, to spend time with Brian and get acquainted with China. After all, he’d always felt responsible for her disappearance in the first place. That is, if she was Abby.
He pushed that thought away, trying to refocus on Sophie and her children. Understanding what was going on here was important to him. Helping anyone in trouble was a family commitment.
There was something particularly appealing about Sophie, Eddie and Emma. And he felt a curious compulsion to know more. While the children had done an inadvertently cruel thing, he had to admire the cleverness of their scheme.
And what had it been about marriage that had made Sophie Foster not want another husband? Maybe the guy had been a rat.
Sawyer had gotten the impression, when she’d told him her husband was gone, that she’d wanted to let the matter go at that—as though he’d simply walked away. Then Emma had added that he’d gone to heaven. The expression in Sophie’s eyes had said she didn’t think so.
Sawyer followed them to the row of chairs, determined to know more about Sophie. She was very pretty in a delicate way, yet she looked as if she’d struggled through or endured something difficult. He knew that being a mother required toughness. Chloe, his stepmother, was a beautiful, genteel woman who could be as hard as necessary when the situation warranted it. But she’d had his father to help until he’d died, then she’d had the support of her son and her stepsons.
Sophie had the love of her children, but he’d gathered from this afternoon’s antics that she had her hands full keeping them from harm—or at least, incarceration.
She looked lonely.
He sat on the other side of Eddie just as a nearby office door opened. The police chief stood in the doorway, his expression severe. Until he saw the children. Then his posture relaxed and he said in a firm but quiet voice, “Edward and Emmaline Foster?”
Eddie raised his hand.
“Come in, please,” he said. “And bring your mother and Mr. Abbott.”
Sawyer knew Chief Albert Weston from the hospital board. He was average in height, but wide and balding, and he’d honed his police presence to a fine art. Sawyer had seen him talk to a knife-wielding man whacked out on drugs and alcohol for three hours. By the time the city had sent a hostage negotiator, Weston had the man in the back of a police car, sobbing out his rage over a lost girlfriend, a lost job, a lost life.
Weston’s office was like a room in a law enforcement museum. He had photos and citations on the wall from his years as a police officer in the city. He’d come to Losthampton ten years ago.
On a shelf behind his desk were trophies from the Long Island Officers Bowling League, and taped to the wall was artwork his grandchildren had created. Sawyer knew he and his wife were raising a nine-year-old abandoned by their daughter, who was living with a musician somewhere
