A Mom for Callie (3 page)

“A police officer?” she repeated as her mind trav
eled back to Paxton Bridge and the memory of Officer Brennan running in the opposite direction. “Uh-huh.”

She shot her hand—palm outward—into the air and shook her head. “I'll have to take your word on his cuteness, Angela. I've got a book to write, remember? And besides, if and when I'm ready to date again, I think I'll stick to someone safer. Like maybe an accountant. Or a pharmacist.” Betsy pushed a strand of hair from her eyes and flashed a grin at her new friend. “As for the rest, you really don't have to spend your afternoon touting me around. Your husband has stuff to tell you over dinner, remember?”

Angela laughed. “I remember. But he can wait. The faster we get you settled, the faster you'll finish your book. And trust me, Tom is supportive of anything that will give his ears a break for a few hours.”

 

F
ROM A PURELY AESTHETIC
standpoint, Tom Murphy was nothing to envy. His hair, which had begun receding when he was a recruit, was now nonexistent. His short stature, set off by a tendency to gain weight at the drop of a hat, resembled that of a bulldog. And his inability to tuck in a shirt or polish his shoes had been a thorn in the chief's side for as long as Kyle Brennan could remember.

But it was Tom.

And after five years of working side by side, Kyle knew better than anyone what the disheveled package held inside. It was why, even as he listened to his partner talking animatedly into his cell phone, he couldn't begrudge him the happiness he'd found. Begrudge? No.

Envy to the point of jealousy? Yeah, sometimes.

It was a fact he wasn't proud of, but it was what it was. Tom had been blessed to find a true one-in-a-million in Angela. Kyle, on the other hand, had quite obviously found Lila in the dime-a-dozen camp—a group of women who were entirely too self-absorbed to think of anyone else's needs, least of all their own child.

Hindsight sucked. It really did. Because it came too late. Too late to save him from the anger, disillusionment and wariness that had settled around his heart like a comfortable and well-worn blanket.

Then again, if it hadn't been for Lila, he wouldn't have Callie. And Callie made every kick in the gut from her mother worth it a million times over.

“Man, is Ang pumped right now.” Tom snapped his cell phone closed and tossed it into the empty cup holder between their seats as he made a right onto West Fall Avenue and an immediate left onto Creek Bed Drive. “Not only did she get to meet this hotshot writer but they hit it off. They've apparently spent the past hour hanging out together and now we're taking her out for pizza tonight to celebrate her birthday.”

Kyle pulled his gaze from a group of little boys playing kickball in a side yard and peered at his friend. “You lost me. What hotshot writer?”

“Elizabeth Lynn Anderson. Ang has read every one of her books.” Tom yanked the car to the right to allow a delivery truck to pass on the narrow road flanked by parked cars. “Every time she reads one she gets all emotional. You know, giggly…weepy…horny.”

He raised an eyebrow at his partner. “Horny?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“If reading this chick's books gets Ang horny, what's meeting her going to do?”

“I don't know, man, but I can't wait to find out.” Rising up off the seat, Tom peeked into the rearview mirror, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “Seriously, wouldn't this mug make
you
horny?”

“Truth?” Kyle shook his head as his laugh echoed through the car, a sound he rarely made unless he was with Tom or Callie. “Hey, I really appreciate you giving me a lift today. Callie had a scout meeting after school today and my mom's car is on the fritz.”

“No prob, you know that. Besides, it just builds Ang's anticipation,” Tom replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

“So, this writer is famous?” Kyle shifted in the passenger seat in an effort to stretch his legs as far as possible despite the cramped quarters of a car made for a short man like Tom. “What's she doing in Cedar Creek of all places? Shouldn't she be holding court in more worthwhile locales like New York or L.A.?”

“More worthwhile locales? C'mon, man, you don't mean that…right?”

He shrugged and looked out the window at the passing homes and well-kept yards of the blue-collar town he'd called home all his life, a town that hadn't been big enough to keep Lila happy. “For someone like this Elizabeth person, yeah I mean it.”

“You don't even know her, Jerk Face.” Tom switched off the radio, silencing the music Kyle hadn't even realized was playing. “I mean, c'mon, you know Ang. She can be tough on people. But you should have heard her just now…she wouldn't sound like that if this woman was like…” His partner's voice trailed off momentarily only to return just as clear without so much as a hint of reservation. “Lila.”

He shrugged again, this time following up the sullen
gesture with a swift hand through his hair. “Even Ang can be wrong.”

For several long minutes neither man said a word as Kyle pressed his forehead against the side window and closed his eyes. He was tired, that was all. He'd been on his feet all day, patrolling the park and chasing down the robbery suspects. Tiredness spawned grumpiness, didn't it?

“Do you hear how bitter you've gotten?” Tom's words, firm and strong, snapped him back to the moment. “I know Lila hurt you, Ky, but c'mon that was over six years ago. Let. It. Go.”

“Let it go?” he snarled. “Let it go?”

“Yeah. Let it go. I get that she hurt you. I get that raising Callie alone is tough. But none of that should be hoisted onto a woman you don't even know.
That
is bitter. And unfair.”

He opened his mouth to fight back then shut it without uttering a single word. Was Tom right? Was he really bitter?

“Maybe if you'd just get out there again…find a nice woman instead of just an occasional one-nighter. I mean, c'mon, man, my life is a million times better with Ang in it.”

“Ang is different. She gets your passion for the job…she's loyal, she's grounded and she's real.” And she was. He just needed someone softer. More vulnerable. Funny. Sweet. Pretty…

Like the woman in the park.

Betsy?

He bolted upright in his seat.

“Something wrong?” Tom cast a glance in his direction, a strange look playing behind his eyes. “You look like you just got slapped upside the head.”

Should he tell him? And if he did, what would he say? There really wasn't anything to tell. Other than he'd struck up a conversation with a beautiful woman in the park that morning—a woman who seemed both vulnerable and strong all at the same time. A woman who made him laugh. And flirt. And think dirty thoughts.

Until he'd been raised by dispatch and her whole demeanor had changed…

Nah, there wasn't anything to tell. The last thing he needed was to put his heart on the line again.

To Tom, he just shook his head. “I'm okay. Just tired. Maybe a little cranky. That perp from the bank had a real mouth on him.” He raked his hand through his hair as he continued. “And did you see the way he looked right at the news camera when I carted him out to the car? Most perps shield their eyes, but this guy? He seemed to
want
the glare.”

“His one and only fifteen minutes of fame, I guess.”

He groaned away his pent-up frustration. “What is it about fame that makes people take leave of their senses? Walk away from their own kid?” He turned and stared out the window.

“Not everyone is like Lila, dude.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled under his breath as his partner made the final turn onto Picket Lane. He knew he was being a downer but he couldn't stop. How was it that a day could start so well, so full of promise, and then suddenly take a nosedive?

“Hey…do me a favor, will you?” Tom pulled the car to a stop across from the pale yellow one-story home where Kyle lived with his seven-year-old daughter. “Slap a muzzle on the bitterness long enough to be polite, will you? Do it for Ang if not yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Kyle's gaze followed the path his partner's index finger made in the direction of the vacant home next door to his own.

“The author. She's looking at the Rileys' place.”

“Author?”

“Yeah. The one I just told you about, idiot.” Tom looked out the window once again, his finger finding his target.
“Her.”

Kyle stared out the window at Tom's wife and the petite brunette with the hot little figure standing in front of the Rileys' house.

“Betsy?” he whispered.

“You know her?” Tom asked.

“Well, sort of…a little, I guess. But her name's Betsy Anderson…not Elizabeth Lynn whatever you said.”

“Anderson.”

“Yeah. Ander…” He looked from the brunette to his partner and back again, reality dawning like a slap across the face. “Aw man, I sure can pick 'em, can't I?”

“So, do you like it? I mean
really
like it?” Angela took Betsy's arm as they stepped off the small porch and headed down the front walkway. “It's in really good shape and I can virtually guarantee Jack Riley will be a wonderful landlord.”

“I love it. It's perfect.” She did and it was. In fact, Betsy couldn't have dreamed up a better hideaway if she tried. “That little sunroom off the back of the house will be perfect for writing. And the price is phenomenal.”

Angela clapped her hands together and squealed. “I can't believe you're really going to write your next book right here in Cedar Creek!”

“And picking your brain as I go,” Betsy reminded her with a smile.

“Trust me, I haven't forgotten that part. Though I'm afraid I'm going to wake up in the morning and find out this was all one big crazy dream.”

As they stepped onto the sidewalk that ran along the eastern edge of Picket Lane, Betsy stopped and turned back toward the house, the crisp navy shutters popping against the khaki-colored siding. It was hard to believe she had a home, a real home. Sure she liked her tenth-story apartment off West Sixty-seventh in Manhattan.
But that was an apartment—a typical dinky overpriced New York City apartment.
This
was a home. A real home with a yard and trees…

Her home. For the next few months, anyway.

“If you find out it is a dream, don't tell me. Okay?”

“Deal.” Angela pointed to the pale yellow house next door, a home with a similar look and feel as Betsy's rental. “You couldn't ask for a better neighbor than Kyle Brennan. Having a cop next door is like having a built-in security system without the monthly fees.”

“Did you say Kyle Brennan?
Officer
Kyle Brennan?” She knew she must look like an idiot, standing there staring at this woman with her mouth nearly touching the concrete, but—

“Ang!”

They both turned toward a short squatty guy with a bald head and mismatched clothes headed in their direction, Kyle Brennan a few giant steps behind. Betsy felt her mouth go dry with relief.

“You're okay,” she whispered as the man who'd plagued her thoughts all afternoon stepped closer, the late-afternoon sun dancing across his dark brown hair and sending her pulse racing.

Cocking his head a hairbreadth to the side, Kyle Brennan studied her face—a visual inspection she didn't mind in the slightest. “Of course I'm okay…why wouldn't I be?”

“Tom, I want you to meet Elizabeth Lynn Anderson. The woman who was responsible—in part—for me giving you the time of day way back when.” Angela shot a pot-stirring smile in her husband's direction followed by a playful wink. “And, Elizabeth, this is Tom. My personal stud.”

Grateful for the distraction, Betsy laughed and
extended her hand, a peaceful warmth settling over her topsy-turvy heart as Angela's husband engulfed it inside his own.

“It's an honor to meet the woman who can leave my wife speechless for an extended period of time.” Tom Murphy released her and wrapped a loving and protective arm around the spitfire beside him. “You'll have to excuse the way I look right now. I dropped off my uniform to get pressed and—”

Angela coughed. “Don't listen to him, he always looks like that. In fact, the only time he matches is when he's in uniform.”

Planting an amused kiss on his wife's head, Tom reclaimed the conversation. “So, Elizabeth, my Ang tells me you're planning on staying in Cedar Creek?”

“Betsy, please. Elizabeth is my pen name. Betsy is me…the real me.” She allowed her gaze to move from Angela, to Tom, and back again before finally coming to rest on Kyle Brennan. “I've decided to get out of a horrible rut I've been in lately and Cedar Creek seems like the perfect place to start—”

“Daddy! Daddy! You're home!” A little girl with strawberry-blond hair and a brown beret and matching vest came hurtling down the driveway beside Kyle's home, her tiny feet pounding against the concrete as she ran in their direction and launched herself into Officer Brennan's arms. “I get to sell cookies this year, Daddy!”

“You do? Well, sign me up. I'll take one of everything.” Betsy watched in awed surprise as the object of her revived tingling spun the little girl around before gently setting her down on the pavement and tousling her hair with his strong—and ringless—left hand.

The little girl giggled, dimples carving holes into her
round cheeks as her sapphire eyes—a perfect replica of her father's—twinkled in the sun's lingering rays. “Even the one with nuts? You hate nuts, Daddy.”

Scrunching his face, Kyle rubbed his chin with one hand and scratched his head with the other. “Hmm. You're right. Maybe I'll take two of everything…
except
for the one with nuts.”

“And we'll take two of those.” Angela bent down and gave the little girl a big hug, releasing her long enough to fix the curled hair Kyle had tousled. “I love nuts.”

“Nuts it is. And how about you? Would you like some cookies, too?” Kyle's daughter reached a tiny hand in Betsy's direction and flashed a shy yet friendly smile. “We got to try chocolate peanut butter ones at our meeting today and they were the yummiest cookies I've ever had. Well…'cept maybe the really, really yummy chocolate chip ones I make with Grandma.”

“Callie, it's not polite to ask people to buy things when they don't even know you. Let's save cookie-selling for Grandma and my friends at the department.”

The little girl's eyes dropped, her smile slipping from her face. “I'm sorry. I—”

Bending at the waist, Betsy nudged Callie's chin upward until their gazes were locked once again. “I'd be happy to buy cookies from you. With a recommendation like the one you just gave, I'd like two boxes of the ones you tried at your meeting.” As the child's mouth turned upward once again, Betsy gave her small nose a gentle tap. “I love cookies when I'm writing. They help me think.”

“Writing?” Callie's eyes grew wide as the dimples returned. “Do you write poems, too?”

“Ms. Anderson writes stories for big people like
me,” Angela said in between daggered looks in Kyle's direction. “And she is very, very good at it.”

“Do you write poetry, Callie?” Betsy reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind the child's ear but stopped as she felt Kyle's penetrating gaze.

“I do. All the time. Miss Lionetti even used one on the front page of the school's Christmas book this year.”

“Wow. That's mighty special. I didn't get published until I was twenty-eight and you're what…seven?”

The child beamed proudly. “How'd you guess?”

Betsy shrugged. “I don't know. You just look like you're seven.”

“Wow. A real book writer! Wait till I tell the kids at school tomorrow.” Callie wrapped her arms around Betsy's neck and gave a quick squeeze. “I'm gonna go tell Grandma 'bout you.” She turned toward her home and then stopped, her eyebrows furrowed together as she addressed Betsy once more. “How will I get your cookies to you when they come in?”

Betsy straightened up and waved her hand in the direction of the house next door.
Her
house. “Just knock on my door.”

The little girl's mouth widened into a near perfect O as Betsy's words hit home. “You mean, you live there?”

“As of tomorrow, yes.”

“Wow! Cool!” Callie took off in a run only to stop once again, her sweet voice carrying across the freshly manicured lawn and single-car driveway that separated the two homes. “Could I show you some of my poems one day?”

“Callie, that's enough. Go on inside and I'll be there in a minute.” Kyle folded his arms across his chest, his
mouth set in a tight line. To Betsy he said, “You don't have to—”

“I'd love to, Callie,” she answered, her words successfully cutting off her next-door neighbor's surprising stiffness.

As the child made her way into the house after one final wave over her shoulder, Tom shook his head, a hearty laugh escaping from somewhere deep inside his soul. “That one's a pistol, ain't she? Cute as a button.”

“She sure is,” Betsy whispered as she waved once again to the little face now peering out from a curtained front window with a gray-haired woman standing beside her small form. “Absolutely precious.”

After several long moments, Kyle broke the silence between them, his voice clipped and businesslike. “It seems to me that a place like Cedar Creek might be too small for a person with a pen name. There's really nothing special about this town. Nothing that can compare with L.A. or New York or wherever it is you're from.”

“Kyle!” Angela snapped. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

Betsy slowly raised her palms into the air as Tom shook his head and looked skyward, muttering something under his breath about bitterness.

“It's okay, Angela. I'll take this.” She wasn't sure how or why, but it was obvious that she'd rubbed Kyle Brennan the wrong way. And, truth be told, he was starting to do the same with her. The man standing in front of her now was a far cry from the fun-loving guy who'd wished her a happy birthday beside Paxton Bridge that very morning. That guy she liked, lusted even. This guy, though, was unfriendly and rude at best.

Carefully, she chose her words—words that would sum up how she felt without begging this man for some
thing she didn't need from him, tingles be damned. “I'm from New York. The Upper West Side to be exact. But just because I love the excitement of the city doesn't mean I'm immune to the charms of a small town or—” she glanced at Angela and grinned “—its amazing people. As for whether Cedar Creek is too small for a person with a pen name…I suppose you're right…for
some
people. But writing is what I
do.
It's not who I
am.
Whether you choose to believe that or not is entirely up to you, Officer Brennan.”

 

S
HE COULDN'T HELP IT
. She envied the genuine affection Angela shared with her husband. It was fun, spontaneous, real and like nothing she'd ever experienced in her lifetime. And the way he
looked
at her….

Betsy pulled her gaze from the couple seated on the opposite side of the table and lowered it to the menu in front of her, grateful for the chance to collect her thoughts after a day of highs and lows. In the time span of just a few short hours she'd taken more positive steps forward than she had in months, yet for some reason she'd allowed Tom's partner to cast a cloud over everything with his rude behavior.

How could someone be so kind and so friendly one minute only to become ill-mannered and standoffish the next? “Betsy?”

Seriously, it was as if the Kyle Brennan she met alongside Paxton Bridge that morning was a different person from the man she met outside her new home.

“Earth to Betsy…”

Tom's voice filtered through her ears, interrupting her thoughts. “I'm sorry, did you say something?”

“I was trying to but you were a million miles away.” Tom took a quick pull of his beer. “You okay?”

She forced the corners of her mouth upward in what she hoped was a real smile. It wasn't their fault that their friend was such an idiot. “Sure. Just thinking about the house, I guess.”

“You mean, your rude neighbor,” Angela interjected as she leaned her head against the cushioned seat back. “I had a good mind to slap him. Hard.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry about that, Betsy. Kyle's not normally quite so…so—”

“Rude? Inconsiderate? Jerkish?”

Tom gestured toward his wife and nodded. “Yeah…what my wife just said. But seriously, he's not normally like that.”

“He's not?”

“Aw, c'mon now, Ang. He's a total wuss where Callie is concerned, you know that.”

Angela cocked her head to the side and nodded at Betsy. “That's true. Callie Brennan has her father wound around her finger tighter than any child I've ever seen…and he loves every minute of it.”

Pushing the menu to the side, Betsy planted her elbows on the edge of the table and dropped her chin into her hands. “I could see that. His face lit up the moment she started running down the driveway. It's just a shame he couldn't hold it in place while he met his new neighbor.”

“It's not you. Not you-you, anyway.” Tom took another pull of his drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He's got a thing with…well…fame, I guess.”

“I don't follow,” she said, her curiosity aroused de
spite the voice in her head that was trying to convince her it didn't matter—that
Kyle Brennan
didn't matter.

“Kyle's ex-wife was an actress,” Angela said as she picked up the story from her husband. “They met when she was doing local theater one town over. She craved fame. Absolutely loved the spotlight…made sure her hair was perfect 24/7…never left home without her makeup flawless.”

“O-kay…” Betsy prompted as she waited for the part that could even come close to explaining the man's behavior.

Angela pushed her hand through her hair and then leaned into the crook of her husband's arm. “Anyway, when she became pregnant with Callie, she wasn't exactly thrilled. She despised the weight she gained and absolutely hated the sleep-deprived circles under her eyes after the baby was born.”

Betsy inhaled sharply as Angela continued, her heart bracing for the path she knew the story was about to take.

“Throw in the fact that Kyle was working swing shifts and hardly ever home, and, well, the novelty of parenting—if there ever had been a novelty for Lila—wore off inside six months. One day she simply packed her bags, left divorce papers on the kitchen table and headed for Hollywood. She hasn't looked back since.”

Stunned, she looked from Angela to Tom and back again as her mind replayed everything she'd just heard. “How could…how could—” she shifted in her seat “—I mean, what about Callie? Does she at least keep in touch with her?”