he went to the kitchen window and stared blindly out at the gray sky as the voice on the other end gave him the expected news. Nothing.
He figured as much. A dumped kid might be big news in Redemption but to the rest of the world, Davey was another insignificant statistic.
Acid burned his gut—an ulcer, he suspected, though he’d avoided mentioning the hot pain to the shrink. Being forced by his superiors to talk to a head doctor was bad enough. No one was going to shove a scope down his throat and tell him to take pills and live on yogurt. He didn’t do pills. Or yogurt. He’d learned the hard way that one pill, one drug, one time could be the end of a man.
He scrubbed his hands over his eyes. He was so tired. He couldn’t help envying Davey and Sheba their sound sleep. He ached to sleep, to fall into that wonderful black land of nothingness for more than a restless hour at a time. The coffee kept him moving, but no amount of caffeine replaced a solid sleep. He took a sip, grimaced at the day-old brew and the growing gut burn. Yeah, yeah. Coffee made an ulcer worse. Big deal. It wasn’t coffee that was killing him.
In the scrubbed-clean driveway outside the window, a deep purple Ford Focus pulled to a stop. The vehicle, a late-model job, was dirt-splattered from the recent rain, and the whitewalls needed a scrub. Why did women ignore the importance of great-looking wheels? The schoolteacher, brown hair blowing lightly in the breeze, hopped out, opened the back car door and wrestled out a bulging trash bag. Curious, Kade set aside his mug and jogged out to help.
“What’s this?” he asked.
The afternoon sun, weak as a twenty-watt bulb, filtered through the low umbrella of stratus clouds and found the teacher’s warm smile. There was something about her, a radiance that pierced the bleak day with light. Kade’s troubled belly tingled. She attracted him, plain and simple—a surprise, given how dead he felt most of the time.
Her smile widening, Sophie shoved the black trash sack into his arms. She had a pretty mouth, full lips with gentle creases along the edges like sideways smiles. “Davey needs clothes.”
“You went shopping?” She’d barely had time to get here from school. And why the hefty bag?
“No.” Her laugh danced on the chilly breeze and hit him right in the ulcer. “I know kids, lots of kids, all sizes and shapes, who outgrow clothes faster than their parents can buy them. I made a few phone calls and voilà!” She hunched her shoulders, fingers of one hand spreading in the space between them like a starburst. “Davey is all fixed up.” Perky as a puppy, she hoisted another bag. “This has a few toys in it. We were guessing size, so I hope something fits. The rest can go to the shelter.”
“Bound to fit better than what he’s wearing now.” She was going to get a kick out of his impromptu outfit.
“How is he?” she asked as they carried the bags inside.
“Exhausted.” Kade dumped his bag in a chair inside the living room and hitched his chin toward the ugly couch. “He’s slept like a rock most of the day.”
“What did the doctor say? Have we heard any news on where he came from? Where’s Ida June?” Shooting questions like an arcade blaster, Sophie moved past him into the room. A subtle wake of clean perfume trailed behind to tantalize his senses. Sunshine and flowers and—he sniffed once—coconut. She smelled as fresh and wholesome as she looked.
Amused by her chatter, he slouched at the bar and waited for her to wind down. “You finished?”
“For now.” She stood over Davey and Sheba, a soft smile tilting her naturally curved lips. “Is this your dog?”
“Was until this morning.”
She gave him that happy look again. She was lucky. No one had wiped away her joy. Life must have always been good in Sophie’s world.
“A boy and a dog is a powerful combination,” she said.
“Sheba’s a sucker for kids.”
“So is her master.”
“Me?” Where did she get such a weird idea? He did his job. Did what he had to. And a dose of retribution was only just.
“So tell me, what did the doctor say?”
“Dehydrated and run-down but otherwise healthy. Nothing rest and nutrition won’t fix.” He’d been careful to ask the right questions and the child showed no signs of physical abuse. No outward signs.
“What about his voice?”
Kade nodded behind him to the kitchen. “Let’s talk in here.”
“Sure.” Smart Sophie got the message. He didn’t want to talk near the boy, not with the suspicions tearing at the back of his brain. With a lingering glance at Davey, she followed Kade to the kitchen.
“Want some coffee?” he asked.
“It’s cold out.” She rubbed her palms together. “A hot cup sounds great if it’s already made.”
“Coffee’s always made.”
She raised a dark, tidy eyebrow. “Chain drinker?”
“Safer than chugging Red Bull.”
The answer revealed more than he’d intended. He went to the counter, more aware of her than he wanted to be and wondering, even though he didn’t want to, what it would be like to be normal again the way she was. Normal and easy in her skin. Maybe that’s what made her so pretty. She wasn’t movie-star beautiful, although she warmed the room like an unexpected ray of sun across a shadow. Dark, soft, curving hair. Soft gray eyes. Clear, soft skin. Everything about Sophie Bartholomew was soft.
“What did the doctor say about Davey’s voice?”
“He found no physical reason for Davey not to speak, though he did recommend a specialist.” Kade poured two cups and held up the sugar bowl. Sophie shook her head. Figured. She was sweet enough. Kade loaded his with three spoons and stirred them in. “We’ll have to leave that to social services.”
Sophie grimaced. He got that. Social services did what they could, but who really cared about one little boy?
“Then there must be something mental or emotional, and he doesn’t appear mentally handicapped.” She accepted the offered cup, sipped with her eyes closed. Kade, a detail man courtesy of his career, tried not to notice the thick curl of mink lashes against pearl skin. “Mmm. Perfect. Thanks.”
“Which leaves us with one ugly conclusion.” He took a hot gulp and felt the burn before the liquid ever hit his belly. The more he thought about what could have happened to Davey, the more his gut hurt. “Trauma.”
“I wondered about that, but was hoping …” Her voice trailed off. She picked at the handle of her cup.
“Yeah, me, too.”
Sophie’s fingers went to her lips, flat now with concern for the little boy. She painted her fingernails. Bright Christmas red with tiny silver snowflakes. How did a woman do that?
“You think something happened that upset him so much he stopped talking?”
Jaw
