Authors: Debra Salonen
The door opened a crack, and the silhouette of a head became visible. “Hi,” he said, again in a friendly tone. “Zach, right? We met this afternoon at the bordello. I’m Donnie Grimaldo. The cop.”
The head moved a smidgen.
“Is your mom here?”
“She got a call.”
His first thought—an emergency with Ida Jane—was tempered by the possibility Kristin might be giving a massage.
“Could I use your bathroom a sec?”
Zach made a rude noise. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna open the door to some a-hole I don’t know. You think I’m nuts?”
Donnie stopped jogging. “No. I’d think that you were being smart if we were in the city or even in a town like Gold Creek if I were a complete stranger. But your mother tried to introduce us this afternoon. If you hadn’t been so rude, we might have talked.”
Although his face was shadowed, Donnie could see the boy’s upper lip curl back in a sneer. “Well, too bad. ’Cause I ain’t letting you in.”
A pair of headlights pulled into the driveway, ending the stalemate. Donnie recognized Kristin’s car. Her son slammed the door.
“Hi,” she said. The light from the windows illuminated her smile. “I forgot you said you might stop by. Have you been waiting long?”
He shook his head.
She opened the door with her key and motioned for him to follow. “Where’s Zach? Didn’t he answer the door?”
Donnie kept his distance. He was sweaty and she was perfectly lovely in her broken-in jeans and sloppy sweatshirt. And she smelled like…Kris. In high school, when other girls were testing fragrances, Kristin had chosen one and stuck with it.
He stepped away. “Mind if I use the facilities?” he asked, starting down the hallway.
“It’s the second door—”
“I know,” he cut in. “I’ve been here before.”
Donnie used a washcloth and towel to freshen up. Before leaving the bathroom, he checked out the reading material in a basket near the toilet. A
Rolling Stone
magazine with Lenny Kravitz on the cover. A couple of copies of
Sports Illustrated
and a
Musician’s Friend
catalog. The last had two dog-eared pages. Obviously Zach’s choices.
So. He’s interested in guitars. Just like Lucas,
Donnie noted.
I wonder if he plays.
“Hi, again,” he said, looking around as he walked into the living room. “You’ve done a nice job in here.” A rainbow-hued mobile in one corner was a bit New Age for his liking, but the dozen or so cream-colored pillar candles and profusion of plants made the area look peaceful and welcoming. There was no television, he noticed.
“Thanks. I call it feng shui on a budget,” she
said, returning from hanging her son’s jacket in the front-hall closet.
“Feng shui. I’ve heard of that. It’s a kind of mushroom, right?”
She looked momentarily at a loss until she realized he was teasing. Her laugh spiraled around him in a cascade of color and light that sent him careening into the past. It made him yearn for a time—a feeling—that lived all too vividly in his memory. He’d loved her once, with a purity and sweetness that had known only hope and boundless possibilities.
But that had ended. They’d gone their separate ways and there was no changing that. He was poised for the future, and he wasn’t going to blow it this time.
“Zach mentioned something about a call,” Donnie said, feeling the need to make small talk.
“Ida Jane couldn’t remember how to find
Jeopardy
on the new satellite dish Jonathan installed. Andi was asleep—wiped out from her doctor’s appointment—and Jonathan was at a meeting, so Ida called me.”
“Kristin to the rescue.”
His tone must have come off less neutral than he’d intended because Kristin tilted her head in question. “Is something wrong?”
Yeah. Everything.
“Nope. Everything’s peachy.”
Her lips flattened as if trying not to smile. “Me, too. If you overlook the guillotine hanging above my head.”
For a moment, he was tempted to tell her about his dilemma.
But before he could open his mouth, Zach walked out of the kitchen to Donnie’s right. Suddenly grateful that he hadn’t spilled his guts, Donnie looked at Kris and said, “Do you have those cards and flyers?”
Kris walked directly to a small, antique desk with curved legs and a matching chair upholstered in dusky-gold silk. The upper part of the desk sported a row of cubbyholes along the back. The desk had been in the triplets’ study room at the bordello.
Donnie remembered the room well. It was where he and Kris had made love for the first time. Each a virgin. Each nervous, needy and certain their love would last forever.
“Did you used to date my mom?” a youthful voice asked. The tone held enough hostility that at first Donnie was afraid the boy had read his mind.
“Yes,” Donnie answered.
He heard the boy’s implied question as well. To ask it would have left Zach vulnerable. Exposed.
“I was a year ahead of your mother in school. She was a cheerleader, and I played football. We went steady for a couple of years. Right, Kris?”
She nodded, but looked too surprised to speak.
“Then I went off to college, and your mother discovered I wasn’t the only fish in the sea.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the look on Zach’s handsome, troubled face made him feel like a jerk. The boy deserved the truth, but Donnie wasn’t sure
how much Kristin had told him or wanted him to know.
“You broke up, and she got together with my…dad?”
Donnie wasn’t sure why Zach had chosen to include him in this discussion. He looked to Kris for guidance.
“Are you sure it’s not you? That you didn’t knock her up and for some reason she’s not telling you?”
The question hit Donnie hard.
If only…
“Zachariah Sullivan,” Kristin said sharply. “That’s enough. I explained what happened and who your father is.”
“Yeah, but you obviously slept around. You could be wrong,” her son returned nastily.
Before either adult could react, the boy shot from the room. His bedroom door slammed resoundingly.
Kristin looked stunned.
Donnie reacted without thinking. He walked to her and pulled her into his arms. A heartbeat later she burst into tears. He felt her link her arms behind him. Donnie lowered his chin and breathed in the smell of her frothy curls. So sweet, so…
He opened his eyes, marshaling his thoughts. He knew better than to go down that road. He could comfort an old friend without losing his head.
Kristin seemed to regain her composure at the same moment. She stepped back and dug in her pocket for a tissue. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “That
was nice of you. And generous. He’s been acting out a lot, but that’s the first time he’s attacked a stranger.”
“It comes with the territory. I’m a cop.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “Well, you’re a really good cop.”
For some reason, her praise was comforting. It didn’t take away his disappointment at the thought of having to turn down the FAM program, but it helped. “I guess I’m okay for a local yokel.”
She must have heard more in his tone than he’d intended. “What’s that mean?”
Donnie sighed. “Nothing. Sorry.”
He turned to leave, but she stopped him. “Talk to me, Donnie. I cried on your shoulder, now it’s your turn.”
“I’m fine. The politics of the job get to me every now and then. You know how it is in small towns. The good old boy network is alive and well.”
She made a rueful sound and picked up a small gray box that had gotten pushed behind a stack of magazines. “I guess I assumed that would have changed by now, but don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about your career. I don’t believe it. You always wanted to be a deputy.”
“I used to love my job, but it’s been a while since I felt that I’m making a difference here.”
She opened the box and took out a couple dozen business cards. “So, why not put in for a transfer? I bet the California Highway Patrol would jump at
the chance to have an officer with your experience. Or the FBI.”
She made things sound so simple. Without intending to, he confided to her, “Actually, I’ve been accepted into the Federal Air Marshal Program. I applied last fall.”
“Donnie,” she exclaimed, her face alight with joy. “That’s fantastic. Congratulations.” She gave him a quick hug then blushed as if regretting her impulsive act. She turned back to the desk to find a rubber band to wrap around the cards.
His response—equally inappropriate—died the moment he recalled Sandy’s news. “The only problem is, I can’t accept the offer.”
“Why not?”
He snickered softly. “Because my ex-wife is going to Africa, and my mom has to help take care of her sister in Texas. Which means I’m not going anywhere soon.” He couldn’t prevent the bitterness from seeping into his tone.
“Oh, Donnie, I’m so sorry.”
He looked away. He didn’t want her sympathy. There was still a chance he could pull this off if he could find a perfect housekeeper who could take over completely while he was away. A housekeeper Lucas would be happy to stay with. For the first time since his divorce, Donnie was sorry he didn’t have a wife.
K
RIS STOOD
in the doorway of her spare bedroom trying to imagine what it would look like with a young boy living there. Probably just as messy as Zach’s room, she thought with a smile. Ever since last week when Donnie had mentioned his dilemma, she’d been tossing around the idea of volunteering to take in Lucas while Donnie attended his training.
Regretfully, her reasons were not completely altruistic. First, she needed the money she’d have to charge him, and second, her image could stand the polishing that would come if Donnie accepted her offer.
Her bank account was just about empty. The move had been expensive, and while she’d given three massages last week, she knew from experience that it took months to establish a steady following.
In the meantime, the money kept flowing out—food, health insurance, car payments. But financial woes aside, she needed every possible advantage when she and Tyler went to court. She’d talked to her attorney on Wednesday right after he got a call
from Tyler’s lawyer. Things were finally starting to happen.
“Mr. Harrison has been ill,” James Rohr, her attorney, told her. “He apparently contracted some kind of food poisoning while in Japan, then needed to be hospitalized upon his return to the States. A bleeding ulcer, I believe.”
“I’m sorry about that. Did learning about Zach’s existence contribute to it?”
“I certainly hope not, but we should be prepared to counter that charge if it comes up. I’ll hire a detective to look into Mr. Harrison’s medical history. If we can prove this was a preexisting condition, we can argue—”
She’d been forced to interrupt. “I’m not sure I can afford to hire a detective, Mr. Rohr. I know the smart thing would be to do everything to ensure that Tyler can’t take Zach away from me, but he won’t be able to do that unless he proves I’m an unfit mother, right?”
“Mr. Harrison’s attorney has a reputation for being extremely tenacious, Kristin. You have several weak spots. You often take evening appointments, correct? Zach is unsupervised presumably for hours at a time. Plus, your history of moving frequently will work against you. And the fact you kept Zach’s existence a secret is problematic. I’m afraid they may try to paint a picture of you as irresponsible.”
You’re a flighty airhead,
Andi had shrieked at Kristin the night of the party.
You never think before you act. How can anyone ever trust you again?
Kristin had spent the past decade trying to prove that she’d changed, but she hadn’t been entirely successful. Even if every move had been a step up, her record could be construed as capricious. And the blotches on her credit report would look bad. They were the result of her poor choice of friends, rather than faulty bookkeeping. A business partner who used their joint credit card for personal use, a roommate who’d run up the phone bill then skipped town.
Maybe if I could show that someone as rock solid as Donnie Grimaldo trusted me to care for his kid…
“I’m taking Sarge for a walk,” Zach said, catching her daydreaming.
Kristin spun around to find her son standing in the hallway—Sarge at his side. She was so shocked that he’d voluntarily approached her and actually spoken to her, she couldn’t reply.
“Don’t forget about your massage,” he said before turning away.
Old habits.
Ida Jane used to tell people that Kristin was the triplet who was born without an inner clock. While her sisters were always punctual, Kristin was late for everything. Zach had been acting as her unofficial appointment secretary ever since he’d learned to tell time.
“Thank you for reminding me. The lady from the sheriff’s office is sending over one of the deputies. She said he hurt his back yesterday and was
refusing treatment. I guess I’d better head to the shop.” She hesitated then asked, “Do you and Sarge want to be my escorts?”
Zach reached down to stroke the dog’s head.
Thank goodness Jonathan suggested giving Sarge to Zach.
After Sarge’s previous owner, Lars Gunderson, was murdered, Jonathan and Andi brought the old hound home. The timing had coincided with Kristin’s introduction of her son to the family. The dog and the boy had seemed destined to meet.
“Sarge likes to chase rabbits in that empty field by the fairgrounds,” Zach said, turning away.
At least it wasn’t a flat-out no. She followed him outside. She wanted so badly to hug him, her fingers twitched.
“Zach,” she called out when they reached the sidewalk. The boy and the dog paused. “I love you.”
The tips of his ears got red, as they always did when he blushed. He shrugged as if her words were a bulky coat that didn’t fit well. A grunt was his only verbal reply. She took that as an
I love you, too, Mom.
She was still smiling when she reached the bordello. The traffic noise grew louder. A steady stream of travelers would be headed to the mountains for Labor Day. Gold Creek stores would get a ton of business. Andi was more than ready for that.
Kris loved autumn, although the California version felt an awful lot like summer. She was glad
she’d dressed in baggy cotton capri pants and a tank top. Her sandals made a slapping sound against the sidewalk.
Kristin missed Oregon—her little house in Ashland, her friends and loyal clients. But it was good to be back in Gold Creek. Moira had been urging Kris for years to reconnect with her sisters and great-aunt.
“You’ve let your little mistake grow into this great horned beast that threatens to devour you,” Moira had said two summers ago when she’d brought her kids to Oregon for a visit. “You will never allow yourself to fall in love and have a normal life until you make peace with the past.”
“I am at peace,” Kristin had argued. “Zach and I are—”
Moira had stopped her. “You and Zach are a small dysfunctional family. He needs to know his father, and you need to tell Tyler you’re sorry for cheating him out of his son’s first years of life.”
Only Moira could get away with those blunt comments. She’d been Kristin’s labor coach when Kristin had been eighteen, unmarried and scared out of her wits. Moira’s family—Kristin’s father’s family—had offered her a home in Ireland when she’d been desperate to leave Gold Creek. The three months after her debacle with Donnie and Ty had been the hardest of her life. She’d felt sick to her stomach most of the time—alienated from her sisters and the town that had helped raise her.
It was no wonder she’d been too miserable to
attribute her malaise to morning sickness. Moira’s mother—who had given birth to nine—had noticed right off. But rather than send Kristin home, her aunt had given Kris the help she needed to deliver the baby. Then Kristin had earned her keep by caring for her uncle’s dying mother until Moira and her sister Kathleen were ready to move to Michigan, where they had lined up jobs.
Kristin had moved with them to Grand Rapids. She’d stayed home with her infant son and taken care of their tiny apartment, doing all the cooking and laundry while her cousins worked and went to school. With the help of a cooperative day-care center on campus, Kris was able to take some college-level courses, as well. She’d studied massage, and she’d slowly developed a client base that had allowed her to take courses in shiatsu, myofascial release and Reiki, a form of energy healing.
Then there’d been a crazy nomadic period where she’d inched her way westward. She’d been working at a ski resort in Utah when the man she was dating suggested they move to Oregon. While the relationship didn’t pan out, she’d fallen in love with the Rogue River Valley.
But Gold Creek was in her blood. Her soul. And she
was
glad to be home. Despite the challenges facing her.
When she rounded the fence at the corner of the bordello’s property line, she spotted a white four-wheel-drive Toyota Forerunner in the parking lot in
front of the entrance to her shop. She trotted the last few yards then came to a dead stop.
“Donnie?”
The man leaning against the front fender straightened stiffly. “Hi.”
She’d been expecting a deputy, but not this particular one. A full range of emotions raced through her mind. Was she ready to treat Donnie Grimaldo? Did she have a choice?
It’s business,
she reminded herself. “Are you hurt? The woman who called said you’d hurt your back and were in a lot of pain.”
He shook his head. “I just tweaked something. Margie saw it as a chance to play matchmaker. I called your house, but no one answered.”
Was he being truthful? Even from a few feet away, she could see the lines of tension on his forehead. She kept walking till she reached the car.
“Well, I’m sure Margie meant well.”
“She can’t help herself. It comes with being the mother hen of the department.”
Kristin liked the gentle humor she heard in his tone. “Well, it’s probably a good thing that you don’t need my services. I’m not sure either of us would be able to relax.” The look he gave her made her regret her candor.
Their awkward silence was broken when the door to the bordello opened and Andi stepped outside—a big smile on her face. Kristin didn’t think she’d ever seen her sister look happier and more radiant.
The triplets were fraternal, not identical, and although they shared a certain family resemblance,
Andi favored their father’s side of the family with her bright russet-colored hair and compact build.
“Hi, Donnie,” Andi called, curiosity evident in her tone. “Are you here to see the back quack?”
Donnie shook his head. “Not professionally.” He looked at Kris and added, “But if you have time, I’d like to talk.”
“I’d reconsider if I were you, Don. She’s so good I’m thinking about having a bumper sticker made up that says, Any day you can have a massage is a
great
day.”
Andi’s support meant a lot to Kris. Her acceptance had been another factor behind Kris’s move. If Andi could forgive her, then there was hope that the rest of those she’d hurt might also.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll show you around.” Kristin unlocked the door and pushed it open, then made an ushering motion. Donnie seemed to hesitate.
Andi, who was wearing a sleeveless, Hawaiian-print smock dress, leaned over the railing and called, “Don’t worry, Donnie. She won’t bite. It’s against the massage therapist’s code of honor.”
Kristin waved her sister away and pulled Donnie inside. The ambient lighting from two small lamps on either side of the waiting-room couch cast a warm, comforting glow. “This is the reception area. I hope to have an appointment secretary some day. Poor Zach gets tired of keeping me on track.” She moved past him to turn on the light inside the smaller room where her table was set up. “This is the treatment room.”
He gave the place a cursory glance, then asked, “Can we talk?”
“Are you sure you don’t want a massage instead?” she asked lightly.
He shook his head but a slight smile softened the severity of the motion. “Just let me say my piece. Please.”
He took the lone chair, a funky Turkish sling that Ida had given her as a welcome gift. “I need to get this out in the air. You know, the stuff from our past,” he said. “We haven’t talked about what happened and—”
“You deserve an apology. I know. I’ve been—”
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “No. If anybody owes anyone an apology, it’s me. I was jealous. And I had no right to be.”
Kristin’s throat felt too tight to swallow. She forced herself to take a deep breath. “I…I don’t know what to say, Donnie. It never crossed my mind that you shared any of the blame for what happened. You didn’t make me go off with Ty. That was my choice, and I have to live with the results.”
He shook his head. “Kids parked all the time back then. You and I used to make out in Ida’s car whenever we could get our hands on the keys.”
She leaped to her feet. “Listen, can we agree that we both behaved badly, and call it even?” She shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “The whole thing got blown out of proportion be
cause we were Gold Creek’s idea of the perfect couple. You know—the proverbial Prince Charming and Cinderella who were destined to live happily ever after.” She tried to laugh, but the sound got caught in her throat. “So what if we blew it? It’s ancient history. Let’s forget about it and get on with our lives, okay?”
He didn’t answer right away, so she walked into the adjacent room and turned off the light she’d left on. “Now, how ’bout we go upstairs and I fix you a smoothie—for old times’ sake?”
T
HE WORDS WERE
completely innocuous—no innuendo implied—but Donnie couldn’t prevent the less-than-innocent image that sprang to mind. “Uh. No. Kris, I don’t think so. I just stopped by to humor Margie and get the other stuff off my chest. Lucas is home alone. Mom’s at some garden club thing.”
Kristin’s smile was tolerant and slightly embarrassed. “Sure, I understand. I’m a single parent, too.”
She moved toward the door, then paused and said, “I’m glad your back is okay, but you really should take it easy for a few days.” She gave him a serious look. “Back pain is usually punishment for not paying attention. You do know the correct way to lift and bend, don’t you?”
Donnie nodded. He’d been angry over something Magnus had said. Distracted and in a hurry, he’d tried to move an uncooperative drunk out of the
back of his patrol car without waiting for help from a second officer. The man had flailed wildly, knocking Donnie to one knee, a motion that had sent his back into instant agony.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
What good would talk do? Maureen and Sandy were leaving. Which meant Donnie had to stay. And Lucas, after hearing about his mother’s change of plans, had turned surly and distant. Not that Donnie blamed him. Disappointment was hard to deal with at any age.
Kristin stroked his hand—a touch as soft and sweet as a child’s kiss. “Never mind. It’s not my business.”
Donnie sensed her withdrawal, and she hadn’t even left the room. What was it about first love that didn’t let go of your heart? he wondered.
Something she’d said earlier struck him. “Did people really think of us as the perfect couple?” he asked.