Safe in His Arms

Just like he didn’t know her well enough to understand how her faith could have survived such a loss, she didn’t know him, either. She had no idea how determined he could be, whether it was to get into the police academy or to keep a promise. And he was more determined than he’d been about anything in a long time to keep his promise to Emma and in turn help out the child’s aunt. If he helped Lindsay adapt to her new life, then maybe, just maybe, he could escape from the weight of his guilt and get on with his own life.

“I’m so hungry.” Emma put so much emphasis on “so” that it sounded more like she’d been starving for years rather than minutes.

“Be patient, sweetie. I’m not finished cooking yet.” Lindsay had barely started, but it wouldn’t help to tell Emma that. Lindsay had just changed from her work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt, and now she was banging around in the kitchen, hoping to finish before Emma had a meltdown.

“But I’m hungry now.”

Lindsay glanced down to see that her hand that grasped the saucepan handle was trembling. She squeezed her eyes so tightly closed that her temples ached. Getting out of work late had caused her to be tardy in picking up Emma from the day-care center. Delia had never been late in the three years she’d taken Emma to that center. The director had made a point of telling Lindsay so. Worse than that, the woman had offered her words with a pitying smile.

This wasn’t working. What made her think she could handle parenting? She didn’t know what she was doing. She’d asked a three-year-old to be patient. Lindsay hadn’t learned that skill, and she was well on her way to thirty.

“Lord, please give me patience.” She whispered the prayer as she shoved the broiler pan in the oven.

Emma was sagging against the doorjamb, as if she were weak from starvation.

“Why don’t you run into the living room and play with Monkey Man?”

“I don’t want to play.”

“Then maybe you could lay on the couch for a few minutes. Dinner will be ready real soon.”

Emma looked doubtful, but slumped out of the room for what would only be a short reprieve. Trooper Rossetti would have helped you out. Lindsay shook off the thought. She might have been whining a few minutes before, but she didn’t need help, least of all from Joe Rossetti.

Lindsay had resented every time images of the police officer crept into her thoughts at work today, so she’d spent most of the afternoon resenting. Why couldn’t she get that man out of her mind? She had every reason to delete him from her mental hard drive, and yet he’d returned like an internet virus that refused to be wiped clean.

It couldn’t be that she found the police officer unusually handsome and was replaying images of him for her own entertainment. Or that she’d enjoyed it so much when he steadied her at the park when she stumbled that she was daydreaming about repeating the clumsy move so he could come to her assistance again. No. Of course not.

The only reason she could be having any thoughts at all about Trooper Rossetti was that his answers yesterday had only caused her to have more questions. Like for instance, why he had spent so much time with her in the hospital after the accident. He hadn’t said a word about it. And if Joe didn’t believe in God, then why had he given her the poem that reminded her to have faith? If he’d given it to her on “impulse,” as he’d said, then he must have once believed. Had there been some tragedy in his life that caused him to lose his faith?

“Stop it!”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, to see if Emma had returned to watch her again. But she was alone. She puffed up her cheeks and let the breath out slowly, hoping to expel her strange thoughts in the process. She had enough tragedy in her life, and too much on her plate right now, to be taking on someone else’s problems.

Since no sounds were coming from the living room, except for the saccharine sound of Emma’s favorite kids’-music CD, Lindsay was relieved that the child had found something with which to occupy herself for a few minutes. Now Lindsay would be able to finish making dinner in peace.

She lifted the pan lid and used a fork to test the doneness of the asparagus. She only needed to start on the salad and wait for the oven buzzer to go off for the salmon, and she would have a meal on the table. Maybe Emma would even like what she’d made for dinner this time.

But just as she chopped through a head of red cabbage, the doorbell rang.

“What now?”

She dropped the cabbage and knife on the cutting board and hurried down the hall to the living room.

“Remember, Emma, don’t answer the—” The word “door” died on her lips as she glanced around the living room. Emma wasn’t on the couch or near her pile of toys. Even her portable CD player lay abandoned.

“Emma?” Lindsay called, as she started up the stairs, her pulse scrambling. She expected the child to come racing down the hall. It and her bedroom were empty.

“Emma Claire, where are you?” She started down the steps again.

“Hey, Lindsay. Out here.”

Her heart was pounding, but she stopped as she recognized the familiar voice coming from outside. What was Joe doing here? She hurried across the living room and opened the door. Joe stood on her porch with Emma resting on his hip. Lindsay could only stare at them, her mouth falling slack.

She wanted to yell at him for showing up at her condo after she’d expressly told him she didn’t need his help, but how could she, when he was standing there holding the child she hadn’t been watching closely enough? When Emma’s escape was proof positive that she was doing a lousy job.

Joe stepped up to the storm door and opened it. “Look who just slipped out the front door to greet me.”

“I can see that.”

His smile grated on her. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the best guardian, but he didn’t have to rub it in. He was the one who’d popped in uninvited and had given a three-year-old a reason to sneak outside. And if he was insisting on showing up as the protector of the public, why was he out of uniform again, wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt that hugged his well-formed arms, chest and shoulders? She didn’t even want to think about whether she should have noticed those things at a time like this, or at any time for that matter.

“I was just telling Emma here that even when she sees a friend outside, she can’t go out without her Aunt Lindsay.” He lowered the child to the ground.

“Trooper Rossetti is right,” Lindsay said, no matter how much it grated on her to admit it.

“Sorry,” Emma said in a small voice.

“It’s okay, but you’d better come inside now.”

Lindsay made just enough room for her niece to slip past her, and then she reached for the door handle and tried to close it.

“Thanks for coming by, but it’s a crazy time of day around here, and we were just about to eat, so …” She paused, hoping he would get the hint to leave, but the oven timer went off, and he still hadn’t turned down the walk.

“Shouldn’t you get that?”

“Yeah, I’d better.”

She waved and started down the hall. She’d only taken a few steps when a squeak of the door had her turning back. Emma had grabbed Joe’s hand and was pulling him inside, and Joe was letting her. Was the trooper always this dense over social cues, or was he being this annoying on purpose?

“Do you want to play dolls?” Emma asked, as she led him toward the toy box Lindsay had moved from her old bedroom.

Lindsay started back toward them, but the buzz kept coming from the kitchen. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she stalked out of the room.

Just as she pulled the pan from the oven, she sensed Joe behind her. Either that or the skin on the back of her neck was becoming gooseflesh for no good reason. Setting the pan aside, she turned to face him.

Joe stood in the doorway, with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, like a blue-jeans model. Only his jeans had the spotted look of someone’s painting pants, and the hole in one of the knees appeared to have been earned the hard way. At least he had the decency not to look smug that he’d managed to stay despite her wishes.

Lindsay peeked behind him, but Emma must have stayed in the living room.

“Wasn’t I obvious enough that I was trying to get you to leave?”

The side of his mouth lifted. “No, you were real clear there.”

“So why are you still here?”

“I was invited.”

That lazy smile annoyed her, but the jolt of electricity she felt shocked her in more ways than one. What was wrong with her? She crossed her arms. Just who did he think he was, staying when he knew she didn’t want him there? And an invitation from a three-year-old didn’t count, either. Joe must have sensed that she was about to say something acidic enough to bore a hole through his skin because he held up both hands to ward off the assault.