very close to them.”
“Local?” he asked, thinking of that flinch. After ten years in the Bureau, he’d learned to read people pretty well and to trust his instincts. Those instincts now said there were nuances here that aroused his curiosity. Ms. Bishop might look put together on the outside, but inside, he’d be willing to bet, there were troubles.
He instantly chided himself. He wasn’t an agent anymore and she wasn’t a desperado. What had driven him to invade her personal space by asking about children? He made a mental note to knock it off.
“No, my family lives up closer to Seattle, in a little town called Westerly.”
“I imagine you’re planning to go home for the holidays,” he said, unsure why he kept questioning her, just intrigued by the undercurrents.
She blinked a time or two and said, “No, not this year,” and in what appeared to be a blatant attempt to get the discussion back to him, added, “I want to be honest with you. Even though I’ve only been in Shay a couple of weeks, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Don’t look so nervous.”
“Where did you hear about me?”
“Here and there. The teachers’ lounge.”
“Gossip,” he said.
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it that. Concern for Noelle, intrigue over you—”
“Me?”
She titled her head. “You’re a hometown boy who left the family ranch and joined the FBI. Plus you’re a bona fide hero.”
“That hero stuff is way overblown,” he said, repositioning his hat, hoping she’d let it drop.
“Modesty aside, you saved everybody on an overturned bus right here in your own hometown. That’s heroic.”
“Not everyone,” he said, glancing away from her blue eyes and down at Colin. The baby had abandoned the blocks and now lay sprawled against Faith’s breasts, fingers curled in her ruffled blouse, eyes drooping, perfectly content. What male wouldn’t be in such a position?
“I didn’t know,” she said gently. “I was under the impression everyone got out.”
“There was an older woman trapped under a seat—” He stopped talking again as his nostrils seemed to fill with the smell of gasoline, his head with the screams of the trapped woman. He shifted in his chair.
“I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable,” she said. “I didn’t realize…”
The truth was, he was used to being the one who knew things about other people, and he was finding he didn’t much like being on the other end of things. “It’s okay. People talk.”
“But not unkindly. You shouldn’t think that.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge,” he said. “Old news.”
His next thought made his blood run cold. Was it old news? It had happened less than five months ago when he came home to see his dying mother. There’d been a newspaper article, too, despite the Bureau’s attempt to keep it hush-hush.
What about Neil Roberts? All the escaped man had to do was hit a library computer and do a little digging.
Trip’s jaw tightened. He had to get back to the ranch, alert people, get a picture of Roberts and pass it around. But not now. For fifteen more minutes he was here to focus on Noelle, not Neil Roberts.
At first he was relieved when she brought the subject of the meeting back in focus. “Noelle is a great kid,” she said.
“Yeah—”
“A little shy, but you know that.”
“She’s been through a lot,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“I know.”
“But she’s resilient. She’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure she will. I know she will.”
“Losing her folks was hard on her,” he said gruffly.
“And on you, too, Mr. Tripper. Hard on all of you.”
Here it came, the “How To Help Noelle” speech. Hell, maybe she had an idea or two on how to fix him, too. Very carefully, he said, “I think Noelle is coping as well as can be expected. She needs stability and time—”
“Mr. Tripper? Please don’t get the idea I have anything negative to say about Noelle, or your parenting, either, for that matter.”
A big knot Trip hadn’t even been aware of seemed to unravel in his gut. “I guess I’m getting defensive,” he admitted slowly. “I’m new at this.”
“Noelle and Colin are lucky kids to have you. Not all uncles would be willing to change their lives and step in when needed.”
He nodded, feeling uneasy with accolades he knew he didn’t deserve. He’d done what needed to be done, sure, but he’d had to give himself a few stern lectures along the way. At thirty-seven years of age, it was no easy trick going from self-centered bachelor agent to single dad in the course of a day or two.
He glanced back at Faith in time to witness her smothering a yawn with her hand. She’d done it a couple of times already, and up close, bluish smudges showed under her eyes. When she caught him watching her, she shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Keeping late hours?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, intrigued.
She took a deep breath, seemingly on the edge of explaining, and then she shied away, glancing down at Colin again, running fingers lightly over his spiky hair.
Undercurrents. Issues. He’d bet the ranch she was in trouble, but what kind he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t seem the kind for trouble with the law—that left family, and she’d said she had no family here. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a boyfriend, however. So, what was worrying her at home? Something to do with the scars on her face and the limp?
“This isn’t fair,” he said.
“What isn’t?”
“You know all about me and I know nothing about you.”
“There’s not much to know,” she said.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Attached?”
“Mr. Tripper, really. The details of my life aren’t pertinent.”
“And yet, you aren’t getting enough sleep,” he said with a smile, to let her know he was
