that she expected him to answer. She couldn’t imagine the terror and grief that must have shocked the boy into such a sullen silence. She scanned the interior, much as she would a smoke-filled building, holding herself still and patiently waiting for some sound or smell to give away the location of any victims trapped inside.
Dorie must have mowed today. The air in the garage was pungent with the scents of cut grass and gasoline. But she detected no light, soap-water scent of boy. Until…
The creak of old wood and the rattle of metal on metal turned her attention to the workbench that had once belonged to Jim Mesner. Perched on top, with his short legs hanging over the edge, sat Matthew.
“Hey, big guy.” Meghan greeted him with a smile and walked slowly toward him. The tension in her stomach eased a fraction at having located the boy, but the sadness in his eyes kept her from celebrating. “What are you doing out here? You know the garage is a ‘no’ place. Dorie wants you to play outside or in the basement or in your room. With the van and the tools—” not to mention the pesticides and can of gasoline for the lawnmower “—this isn’t a safe place to play.”
His gaze drifted over to her shoulder without really looking at her. Meghan climbed up beside him on the bench. Maybe he was making progress, after all—he didn’t slide over or jump off to get away from her.
“I’ll bet you didn’t come here to play.” She knew he hadn’t. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually seen him holding a toy or chasing a ball or doing anything as carefree and therapeutic as letting loose and running through the yard with a child’s energy and abandon. She tucked her hands between her knees and continued in a gentle voice. “Did you come in here to be alone?”
She’d almost given up hope of getting any kind of answer when he slowly nodded his head. Meghan pressed her lips together to keep herself from startling him with an effusive smile.
“I like to be alone sometimes, too.” She shrugged her shoulders with an honest sigh. “Especially on a day like today.” She skipped any talk about the fire. “Did you know I was on TV? Dorie’s making a tape. I looked pretty silly holding that dog. Did you meet Crispy?”
Matthew was watching her face now. This was the kind of therapy his counselor had said he needed. Just keep talking to him. Keep interacting. Keep including him in day-to-day activities. Eventually, when he was ready, he’d join in. He’d start talking when he had something he wanted to say.
With his brown hair and brown eyes, Matthew was a miniature version of Gideon. Instantly the illusory pain in her belly returned.
Just keep talking. “I met an old friend of mine today.”
Well, not exactly a friend. Not anymore.
“He looks a lot like you. Dark brown hair. Dark eyes.” She offered him a gentle grin. “He’s taller, though. I imagine you’ll be just as tall one day.”
Nothing.
“His name is Gideon Taylor.” She’d steer away from his being a firefighter and wouldn’t mention his big family. That left her with, “He’s a very special man. Strong. Quiet, like you. Sometimes he communicates without using any words at all.”
Matthew made eye contact.
Meghan’s smile wavered. “I wish you could meet him.” He’d make a perfect daddy. “He’s patient.” Matthew’s eyebrows lifted into a questioning frown. “That means he takes his time to do things. He doesn’t push anyone to go faster than they need to.”
Her mind drifted back to all those evenings Gideon had worked with her after a training session to help her build her strength or to teach her a new skill. She thought of all those nights when he’d patiently shown her the way a man and woman could please each other. He hadn’t minded the scars that showed on her belly. He’d treated her as if he thought she was beautiful. She remembered all the mornings after when they’d cuddled in bed and talked.
He’d made her feel as if she was a beautiful person—almost.
“He was a wonderful teacher.” Her breath hitched on an unexpected gasp. Oh, God. Were those tears stinging her eyes? Meghan turned her head so Matthew couldn’t see.
She was the one who had screwed things up. She was the one who had broken Gideon’s heart without an explanation. He’d been willing to take a chance she couldn’t allow him to take.
She didn’t have the right to cry.
“The grass on that lawnmower must be getting to me.” She’d never had an allergy in her life. Meghan wiped her hand across her eyes. “You’d like him.”
On impulse, needing the human contact as much as she suspected Matthew did, she leaned over and hugged him. She squeezed him tight and pressed a kiss onto the crown of his silky fine hair.
Matthew didn’t hug her back. But he didn’t push her away, either.
This was as close as she’d ever come to having a child of her own. So she held him close a few moments longer, inhaling his sweet, clean scent and damning the fates for making her so flawed in the first place.
“Meghan!” Eddie’s young tenor voice nabbed her attention before he appeared at the side door of the garage. Was there a problem with Mark? Crispy? She left a comforting hand on Matthew’s shoulder and focused in on the rapid-fire delivery of Eddie’s words. “Dorie says you have to come into the house right away. There’s a phone call. It’s Alex. I think he’s in trouble again. She looks like she’s gonna pass out. You gotta come.”
Alexis Pitsaeli was the oldest boy who lived at the group home. He was all of sixteen and ready to take on the world. Unfortunately he didn’t always choose the smartest way to conquer it.
Meghan jumped down off the workbench and took Matthew’s hand. She never released him as he climbed down. Pulling him along behind her, she picked up Mark and followed Eddie into the house.
They found Dorie standing in the kitchen, grasping the disconnected phone in one hand and the counter in the other. Her skin had faded to an alarming shade of ash and her cheeks were splotched with color. This wasn’t good.
“What’s wrong?” Meghan asked, depositing Mark into Eddie’s arms and sending the three boys down to the basement. She hung up the phone and guided Dorie to the table to make her sit.
“It’s Alex. He’s at a police station in downtown K.C. The officer said he’d been in a fight.” Dorie breathed in shallow puffs of air and patted her chest. “I can feel my blood pressure going through the roof already. I hope he’s all right.”
“I’m sure he’s fine, or the officer would have said otherwise.” She hoped. “How can I help?”
“Will you go down to the precinct office for me? I don’t think I can handle the paperwork or his attitude right now.”
“I’ll go.” She turned Dorie’s wrist between her thumb and fingers and checked the older woman’s racing pulse. “You been taking your medication?”
“Yes. And watching my diet. There’s not a lick of salt in that spaghetti tonight.” Her vehement protest faded on a pant of breath. “It’s just stress. And my seventy-year-old heart.”
Meghan
