nameless husband,” she clarified when he looked at her, amused. She plucked two napkins out of the ceramic holder in the center of the small table, and tucked them beside the plates. “You mind if I take some of your world-famous stew for someone else?” She was thinking ahead to the next evening.
“Well, when you butter me up like that, how can I say no?” Her dad transferred a portion of the stew into a tureen, then placed that in the center of the table. “Do I get to know who this someone is, or is it a secret?”
“No, no secret,” she told him, sitting down. She spooned out a helping of stew for herself. “It’s for Tanner and his niece, when he gets back with her.”
Taking the ladle from her, Gunny followed suit, doling out a larger portion for himself. He’d built up an appetite cooking. He wasn’t one of those people who constantly sampled as they went. He claimed it ruined the appetite, not to mention that it produced fat cooks.
“Oh?”
“No, not ‘oh,’” she retorted, picking up on her dad’s inflection. “The sheriff’s going to have his niece with him, and something tells me he’s going to really need help dealing with this. I’ve got a feeling that he has no idea how to act around a little girl, and doesn’t know the first thing about what they need.”
Gunny’s expression gave no indication what he was thinking. “So you’re going to feed him and volunteer to teach him how to be a substitute dad.”
She looked at her father pointedly. “Someone once told me that if I see someone who needs a hand, I should stop and give him one.”
“Wise person, that someone,” he commented, pausing to wipe the corner of his mouth.
Lani laughed. “Yes, I always thought so. Wise and incredibly modest.” She got up to get herself a can of soda from the refrigerator.
Her father nodded. “Good combination. Hey, while you’re over there, why don’t you get your old dad a beer?”
Lani looked back at him, fisting her hand on her hip. Her eyebrows drew together in a pseudo scowl, emulating what she’d seen on the sheriff’s face. “What did I say about that?”
“Sorry. While you’re over there, why don’t you get your young dad a beer?”
“Much better. One beer coming up.” She pulled open the refrigerator door, thinking again just how very lucky she was.
Chapter Four
She looked just like Ellen.
Garrett felt his gut twist painfully each time he looked at the little girl.
He had placed his niece in the seat directly behind his own, since he felt that was the safest one in his vehicle. Glancing once more in the rearview mirror to make sure she was still all right, he was struck again by just how much Ellie resembled his sister at that age. It was almost as if one of Ellen’s childhood photographs had come to life.
But whether or not Ellie looked like her mom didn’t negate how awkward he felt around the child. And it still didn’t change the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to talk to a little girl. He barely had any conversations with adults, certainly not lengthy ones. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d talked to a child.
No matter how he approached it, it would have been an impossible situation at its best. And this was definitely not at its best.
Ellen’s daughter had been silent for the entire trip so far. It was almost as if she was afraid of something. Was that normal? He had no idea. Maybe he should have taken Chisholm with him. If nothing else, she would have filled the air with chatter, made his sister’s little girl feel more comfortable.
“You all right back there?” he finally forced himself to ask, looking at Ellie in the mirror.
Small brown eyes darted to meet his. “Yes, sir.”
Echoes of his past came barreling at Garrett out of the shadows. His stepfather had demanded that each sentence spoken to him contain the word sir as a sign of respect. Hearing his niece address him that way brought back bad memories.
“I told you you don’t have to call me sir,” he reminded her sternly.
“No, sir—I mean …” Ellie’s voice trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she nervously tried again. “What … what do you want me to … What do I call you, s—?”
Garrett heard the slight hissing sound that gave her away; Ellie was about to address him as “sir” again. He had no doubts that she’d had that drummed into her head by her father, just as his stepfather had tried to drum it into his—often physically. Garrett had met Ellen’s husband only once, while his sister was going out with him. Even then, the marine had struck him as a carbon copy of his stepfather, from his military bearing to his stark haircut, right down to the way Duffy ordered Ellen around.
Garrett’s dad had ordered his wife and kids around the exact same way. Except that Garrett hadn’t stood for it. When he was still small, the man had tried to beat him into submission. But the day finally arrived when Garrett was taller than his tormentor. After that last go-round, when they’d come to blows that didn’t automatically result in a victory for the dominating marine, he’d finally left home. Garrett had taken off in the middle of the night, knowing that the next confrontation would result in one of their deaths.
“Call me by my name,” he told the wide-eyed little girl now. “My name is Garrett.”
“I know,” she told him solemnly. “Mama used to talk about you.”
He shouldn’t have let all those years go by, Garrett thought now, his conscience pricking him sharply. He should have tried to get in touch with Ellen, to let her know that she had a way out if she wanted one. That she was more than welcome to come stay at the house with him.
Too late now.
Ellie had lapsed into silence again. “What did your mother say?” he asked her.
“That you were a nice man,” she answered, as if she was reciting something she had memorized, and practiced saying over and over again. “And that you used to look out for her when she was little like me.”
Another wave of memories came rushing back to him, playing across his mind. At the same time, emotions began to tug at him—emotions he wanted no part of. He didn’t know how to react to them or to the little girl sitting behind him.
But he had to say something, so he fell back on basic facts. You couldn’t go wrong with facts, right? “We’ll be home soon,” he told her.
But even saying that felt awkward on his tongue. By home he meant his home, his private domain. His sanctuary. Sharing his office with a talkative deputy was bad enough. Now he was being forced to share his home with a stranger, as well. She was his flesh and blood, true, but she was still a stranger. Forty-eight hours ago he hadn’t even known she existed. There seemed to be no place left for him to retreat to, no space, however small, to call his own.
But what choice did he have? In either case? He was stuck with Chisholm, unless she suddenly decided to quit. And as for Ellie, well, not even that would work. The little girl
