to back. Her portion of it consisted of the postage-size entry, with the bedroom, bathroom and utility room stretching down one side of the house, and the living room, kitchen and pantry down the other.
What it lacked in size, it made up for in character, however. The old wood floors had aged to a burnished, golden hue and the high plaster ceilings boasted ornate crown molding.
But Colleen’s favorite feature was the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the living room. Her brother Joe might consider “all that glass a break-in just waiting to happen,” but Colleen loved being able to look out on her small garden. Like the park next door, it wouldn’t be long before the first crocuses began to appear, followed by the constantly changing tableau of blooming flowers, bushes and trees that would go on until the first fall freeze.
“Would you put the kettle on while I go change?” she asked Brett. She could hardly wait to shed her high heels and panty hose.
“Sure.”
“Help yourself to a glass of milk or a soda. And there’s some lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Who made it?”
Headed toward her bedroom, she stopped, turned and made a wry face at him. “My sister.”
“Great.”
Amused, she watched as he hurried toward the kitchen. Due to the brownstone’s high ceilings and wide doorways, she could see him perfectly well as he turned on the light and yanked open the appliance door. “Someday my cooking’s going to improve and you’re going to be sorry for your attitude,” she warned.
He straightened and turned, a casserole dish in one hand, a carton of milk in the other, and flashed her a grin. “I’m not holding my breath.”
Even as she warmed at the sight of that rare, sunny smile, her stomach clenched. The brightly illuminated kitchen revealed what she hadn’t seen before. The corner of the boy’s right eye and the cheek below were bruised and puffy.
She parted her lips to ask what had happened, then clamped them shut. She and Brett had been down this road before during the past six months and she knew what to expect. At her very first question, his smile would vanish and the usual guarded look would come over his face. Next he’d claim that he’d run into a door, or something else equally as lame. Then he’d make an excuse to leave.
And if she reported, as she had the last two times, her suspicions that he’d tangled with one of his mother’s boyfriends, he’d vanish. He’d go to ground on the streets, not showing up at school for weeks. And when he finally did return, he’d stick stubbornly to whatever story he’d told initially.
“Hmm.” Somehow she managed a smile. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” And with that she twisted around and slipped into her room. Shutting the door, she leaned back against it and allowed herself a sigh of frustration.
Darn it! How could she justify collecting a paycheck, much less live with herself, if she couldn’t find a way to provide help when it was needed? Brett was such a good kid at heart, but if something in his life didn’t change soon and for the better, there was a more than good chance she’d lose him. He already had two strikes against him—an absent father and an alcoholic mother. Add to that his tendency to keep things bottled up inside, and it was a recipe for disaster.
If only she could find—and convince him to accept—a good foster home. Or even provide him with a role model, someone to show him that real men didn’t have to resort to violence to get their way, that he could rise above his beginnings if he stayed in school, applied himself and didn’t give up.
Like a genie escaping a bottle, an image of Gavin popped into her mind. With absolute clarity, she recalled the warmth that had crept into his voice when he’d talked about the older man who’d helped him get started in the hotel business.
Transfixed, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course! What Brett and the rest of her kids needed were mentors. People who came from similar backgrounds, who’d faced some of the same things they confronted every day and had succeeded, anyway. What’s more, Gavin would be the absolutely perfect match for Brett.
She tried to push the idea away, but it wouldn’t budge.
Yet lodged with it was the recollection of the coolness that had been in Gavin’s voice when he’d spoken to her, the reserve with which he’d treated her, the hurried way he’d said goodbye the instant it was politely feasible. A dull ache blossomed in the region of her heart as she faced a truth she’d been trying to avoid for hours.
Whatever feelings he’d once had for her were dead. The best thing she could do for both of them was keep her distance so they could both get on with their lives.
And yet, if he could help Brett…
She instinctively glanced heavenward. “I don’t know if this is part of Your plan for me, but I’m not making any promises,” she warned Him, her feelings as tangled as a ball of yarn tossed into a roomful of kittens. “Except that I’ll think about it.”
For now that would have to be enough.
A nun.
Gavin stared unseeingly at the columns of January revenue figures laid out on his desk.
A nun. The word—and all it implied—had been rattling around in his head for the past four days, surfacing at odd moments to ruin his concentration.
And he was damned if he knew why. After all, as he’d proved at Nick’s wedding reception, Colleen meant nothing to him.
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