A Family for Christmas (16 page)

Without taking the time to dissect his gut response, Brock moved to the car seat and gathered the baby into his arms. He didn't want her going anywhere but
where she was. She was safe here with Allison…and with him.

Okay, buddy, you're losing it now.
He'd lost his edge. What was he doing there, enjoying the holly and the ivy and playacting downright domesticity, when he needed to be out there finding this child's birth mother?

He rested the baby against his shoulder. As if to prove her strength, Joy pushed her head back and stared up at him. He couldn't let her down. No, wouldn't. She didn't need his failure to add to that of the most important person in her life.

Brock glanced at Allison as she lowered the phone back to its cradle. She looked so tired, lavender half-moons of exhaustion suddenly apparent under her eyes. Until now, she'd been wearing her lack of sleep well, her contentment easily masking it.

“I guess you heard,” she said when she stood close enough to brush back the baby's sweaty hair.

“You've done your job. I need to do mine.”

She nodded, but he could see the sadness in her eyes. He needed to believe that her distress was over having to deliver the baby, not his leaving. She'd be making a huge mistake if she started to rely on him. If she did, that might tempt him to put his trust in her. That was something he just couldn't do.

A
llison's eyes burned as she descended the foster home's front steps. Her feet felt so heavy. Her hands…empty. So many times before she had left children in the loving care of foster parents, but it was different this time. It felt as if she'd left a part of herself with the bundled child and her stack of Christmas toys.

She couldn't say Joy wasn't in good hands. As soon as Allison had walked through the door, Margaret Ross had relieved her of the infant car seat, unbuckled its precious cargo and gathered the baby to her bosom. Her husband, Bob, appeared next to her and ruffled Joy's dark hair. Soon teenagers—the Rosses' biological and foster children—swarmed the living room to meet the new arrival.

There was plenty of love to go around in the Ross household, enough to share with an abandoned child. Too bad none of the warmth Allison felt there could
go with her as she walked out into the gray Christmas afternoon.

In her car, she switched on the radio but kept flipping through stations as all seemed to have dedicated their December 25 playlists to holiday music. That only reminded her of singing carols earlier with Brock, of sensing his nearness at she watched flames shimmying in the fireplace, of sharing Joy's first Christmas. Finally, she just shut off the radio.

Her dark mood followed her as she returned to her house, too quiet without the sound of a baby crying for her next bottle or Brock's deep, rich laughter. An emptiness enveloped her that even the twinkling Christmas tree lights couldn't penetrate. The empty silver picture frame that before had offered such promise only mocked her.

Maybe to torture herself further, she trudged down the hall to the room she'd always thought of only as “Mom's room,” at least until Joy had slept there. The portable crib still sat in the corner. All of it—the picture frame, the deserted crib, even the empty space beneath the tree—reminded her of the life and the family she would never have. She'd never missed the unknown so much before.

But it wouldn't do her any good to think about that now. Restless energy had her packing the portable crib into its case and collecting the remaining blankets to take to the Rosses' when they met for the court hearing that night at seven o'clock. She'd stalled as long as she could, but they were running out of time.

When everything was packed away, she returned to the kitchen and started capping bottles in the drying
rack by the sink. As she dried the last, she noticed the blinking light on the kitchen phone for the first time. How long ago had someone called? Was it Brock? She shook her head, determined to think sensibly. The call could have come from anyone—David, another friend, her boss or a representative of the court. Her sister could even have called. It wasn't unthinkable on Christmas Day.

But despite her plan to be sensible, her pulse raced when she read “Cox Co. Sheriff” on the caller ID box. She held her breath as she hit the answering machine button. A female voice came on, asking if she could collect some gifts left at the department offices for Baby Doe.

For the first time since she'd left Joy with the Rosses, she smiled. She shouldn't have been surprised that the people of Destiny were reaching out to the foundling, especially since Joy had become something of a holiday celebrity around town.

So many times Allison had resented her community's outpouring of support for the less fortunate at Christmas because those efforts assumed that people weren't hungry, lonely or suffering any other time of the year. Tonight, though, she sensed her friends' compassion as they reached out to Joy, just as she and Brock had. She wished Joy could grow up in Destiny and have the opportunity to be enveloped in such warmth.

She glanced at the tree again. It looked so lonely without that pile of gifts, as lonely as she felt in the house where she'd been mostly content until today. If not content, then settled. She was neither now.

If only she had accepted one of the many invitations from friends to share Christmas dinner so she didn't have to stay home. Her gaze shot back to the answering machine light that was no longer blinking. Well, there was one place she could be. Someone needed to pick up those gifts from the sheriff's department.

She wouldn't be going just to see Brock. Nor was the possibility of seeing him the reason for her getting ready for a shower and laying out her new red sweater with the bell cuffs and her favorite black slacks. She just wanted to get some wear out of the sweater, a Christmas gift from her sister, and red was a good color for the holiday.

She was just coming out of the shower when the phone rang again.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” her best friend's crooning voice filtered from the receiver.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, David. Why are you calling me? Is the dating schedule a little slow?”

David made a wounded sound into the phone and then laughed. “You know full well I'm suffering through the traditional Wright family Christmas gala. But speaking of social calendars, how's our Deputy Chandler?”

Allison swallowed hard and wished she hadn't talked about Brock last night when David had called. She'd convinced herself it had only been a casual mention, but David had this annoying habit of seeing through her.

“He brought the baby some presents this morn
ing.” She didn't mention the gift Brock had brought for her, but she smiled over her secret.

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

“He isn't here. Neither is Joy.”

“You placed her?”

Allison made an affirmative sound in her throat though her heart squeezed.

“Then you're free for Christmas dinner, aren't you?”

Getting out of her friend's invitation while sidestepping his questions took some fancy footwork, but she managed it while keeping most of her dignity.

Within minutes after hanging up, she stood with damp hair before the mirror, applying eyeliner and mascara that she usually skipped and reminding herself that Brock probably wouldn't even be at the office. He would be out on patrol or following up leads on the investigation.

But if their paths did happen to cross while she was there, then at least he would finally get to see her looking her best. Even the small prospect of seeing him again that day made her Christmas merry after all.

 

Just after noon, Brock gripped the edge of his desk so tightly that his fingertips turned red while his knuckles flashed white. Okay, it didn't feel as freeing as punching a wall would have, but it did take the edge off the stress mounting inside him. He released the desk and rubbed his fists against his gritty eyes. Something had to cut through the tension if he was
going to be able to take a fresh look at the investigative report.

Maybe he needed another blaring wake-up call like the one this morning to help him get his head on straight. That call from the foster parent had reminded him that, Christmas Day or not, it was time for him to get back to this investigation, even if the trail had gone colder than the temperature outside.

He'd sure needed some kind of wake-up call at Allison's, something to awaken him from the domestic way he'd sat there with her. Since when did he go around singing Christmas carols, anyway? But he didn't really have to ask, remembering well the music that was alive in Roy and Clara Chandler's living room.

Just thinking about this morning's cozy scene made him feel warm, as if he could still feel the heat of the fire's glow on his face. He could even smell the floral scent of Allison's shampoo as it had imprinted on his senses.

No wonder he couldn't come up with any new ideas for the case when his thoughts kept flitting back to her. Instead of feeling guilty over being distracted, all he could think about was finding a different excuse to see Allison now that she was no longer caring for Joy.

He would have continued to berate himself the way he deserved if the object of his distraction hadn't stepped through the glass door to the receptionist desk. She didn't look like herself with her hair all twisted and tied up off her neck, her face made up
and fancy clothes and a long dress coat in the place of her comfortable things. He couldn't take his eyes off her, but he couldn't decide if it was because he preferred this glamorous version of her or if he couldn't get over how she'd messed up a good thing.

“Excuse me, you're Jane Richards, aren't you?” Allison asked the dispatcher. “I'm Allison Hensley.”

The woman laughed. “I know who you are. I was in your mom's book club.”

Brock pretended not to notice how Allison conducted a conversation with the dispatcher but appeared to be studying him instead. Her cheeks became like twin berries when he nodded at her.

Jane glanced back and forth between the two of them and quirked an eyebrow. “I take it you've already met Deputy Chandler.”

“Several times,” Brock answered.

Allison nodded and rolled her lips inward, smudging all that lipstick she wore.

The older woman cleared her throat. “Hey, you made a great Mary the other night.”

“Thanks,” Allison answered. “The night didn't quite go as we planned.”

“The world's like that, isn't it?” Jane chuckled. “Well, people have been dropping by gifts to Destiny's own child in a manger, but from the size of these boxes I'd say it's other stuff besides gold, frank-incense and myrrh.”

Allison turned to stare at the stack of gifts in the corner, her eyes going wide. “Thank you for contacting me. I'll take everything to her foster family when I meet them at the hearing later.”

The CHINS detention hearing. The words had a finality to them that Brock hadn't felt when Allison had first explained the intake process to him. He studied her now, wondering what she was thinking. She'd tried so hard to avoid this, to keep Joy from becoming part of the welfare system that she'd dedicated her life to and yet understood its failings. She would be so disappointed when the time came for the hearing. Already, he was disappointed enough for the both of them—and for Joy.

“Deputy Chandler, could you take the call on line two?” Jane called from the radio room.

Allison met his gaze, her own appearing hopeful. Did she still believe that the baby's mother would come through in the end and that her belief in people would be affirmed? Strange, he almost wished he could have a faith like that—in humanity and in God. He reached for the phone, hoping himself.

 

“What is it, Brock? Did she turn herself in?” Even as she asked the question, Allison already knew that wasn't it. She wanted to believe, and yet she was beginning not to be so sure. She didn't want to become as jaded as Brock, but she wondered if it was too late to prevent it.

Brock shook his head at her question, but already he was pushing back from his desk, his hands moving to the thick belt at his waist where he manually checked his gun and other equipment.

“It wasn't her. But we finally have a lead.”

“What is it? Did the fingerprints bring up something?”

He frowned. “No, it's a hotel. It could be where the mother was staying. Somebody left a car seat in one of the rooms. One of the workers said he thinks he remembers a baby crying in that room.”

“Why didn't they tell you that when you checked with all the hotels earlier?”

“This is a dive outside town. Clear Air. Or Clear Way or something. You know, the place with weekly rates instead of daily ones. I guess crying babies aren't so uncommon there.”

“I know the place.” Allison knew better than anyone that poorer areas didn't hold the market on child abuse, but she'd visited this motel for an investigation. “It's called the Clear View Motel, but it doesn't have a
clear view
of anything except the road out of town.”

“Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, the maid went in to check the room—they only clean the rooms between guests. The girl had paid ahead and never checked out, so they didn't find the cast-off car seat until an hour ago.”

Brock stepped over to a coatrack and pulled on his heavy sheriff's department jacket. “The manager said we were lucky the maid got sick of being with her family and came in to clean on Christmas Day.” The side of his mouth pulled up when he turned back to her.

“If that family was getting along, we might not have gotten the clue until after New Year's Day,” she said.

He studied her a few seconds, probably to see if she was joking, and then chuckled with her. “Either
way, their discovery came too late. The mother could have skipped town right after the live nativity the other night.”

“You're still going, right?”

“I'm still going.”

Of course, he had to go. He had to do his job, just as she had to do hers, earlier that day and later at the hearing. But she didn't want him to leave any more than she wanted to get back in her own car and return to that depressing, empty house.

“Do you want me to help you out with those?” Brock didn't wait for an answer before stacking the packages in his arms.

“Thanks.” She gathered a stack and turned back to him.

“It's going to take a second trip.”

She nodded, wishing it could be a dozen instead of just two—anything to keep him with her a little longer. As it was, they had everything packed in her trunk and back seat far sooner than she would have liked.

“Well, I've got to get to the Clear View. I guess I'll see you—”

Allison shook her head to stop him. She knew what he was going to say—that he'd see her at the hearing. He didn't even have to be there, but she'd expected he would come. For Joy. Maybe even for her.

Still, she didn't even want to think about the hearing, let alone go to it. Worse than that, she didn't want to spend the next several hours at her house alone, waiting for the hearing she didn't want to at
tend. There had to be some way to stay busy and to stay away from the mausoleum she used to call home.