down.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
Putting the keys back in his pocket, Heath turned from the desk and nearly ran over his small charge. He bent down. “You want a soda, sweetcakes?”
Big, bewildered blue eyes lifted to his. Thinking that maybe she’d never heard a soft drink referred to as a soda, Heath rephrased the question. “You wanna pop?”
Her eyes went even wider, and she hunched her shoulders, trying to tug her hand free. Heath had a feeling he’d said something that frightened her, but he couldn’t think what. He got a firmer hold on her hand to make sure she didn’t haul ass.
“A Pepsi?” he tried.
Bingo. She looked at the soft drink dispenser against the wall, shook her head, and started rubbing her eye again. If she kept it up, she wouldn’t have any lashes left.
“Well, I need to wet my whistle.” Heath led her to the machine. Angling his free arm across his body, he dug into his left pant pocket for change. The dispenser clanked as itgulped the quarters. He pressed his selection. Nothing happened. Damned thing . Familiar with the contraption’s quirks, he thumped it with the side of his boot. Sammy jumped when the pop can came tumbling out into the trough.
“Whoa, there, honey,” Heath said in low, soothing tone as he bent to retrieve the soft drink. “I’m just getting this cussed machine to cooperate, that’s all. Sure you don’t want a Pepsi? I’m buying.”
Standing well back, her captured arm extended as far as it would stretch, Sammy hid her face against her shoulder. Heath guessed that meant no.
Taking itty-bitty, pain-in-the-ass baby steps, he led her to some seating in a cheerful yellow alcove that resounded with the blare of an overhead television.
Heath sat down, propping one booted foot on his knee. Sammy backed up to the lime-green cushion beside him, went up on her tiptoes, and finally, after a great deal of wiggling, managed to get one cheek of her fanny parked. Heath let go of her hand just long enough to grab the back of her pink britches to haul her up the rest of the way.
Flipping up the tab of his soft drink can, he took a long swallow, then whistled appreciatively. “Good stuff.” He shoved the can toward her. “You sure you’re not thirsty, honey? I don’t mind a little backwash if you don’t.”
She looked at him as if he were jabbering in Spanish. Hell . Usually when he dealt with youngsters, he was taking a minor to the juvie or providing transport for a child who’d become a ward of the court. In situations that involved a child Sammy’s age, he always recruited Helen Bowyers, a female deputy, to accompany him.
Uncomfortable with the silence and the way she was staring at him, he met her gaze warily. Her hand felt so small. Little fingers, all squished together within the circle of his. Accustomed to large, man-sized things—his dog, his cattle, his horses, his Bronco—Heath felt increasingly uneasy. She was shaking, and he wondered if he was hurting her. He lightened his grip, but she continued to tremble.
“Your mama’s gonna be fine. All she has is a little cut. The doctor will fix it and give her something to make it stop hurting. Then we’ll take her home.”
He waited for her to smile. Those big, frightened eyes remained fixed on him.
He decided to try ignoring her. Staring at the television, but not really seeing it, Heath remembered how wary of him Meredith had seemed last night. It stood to reason Sammy would share her sentiments about most things—their neighbor, included.
What had happened to make the two of them so distrustful of men? He’d been friendly and polite, even going so far as to volunteer his time to repair their house. Yet the sound of his voice had startled Meredith so badly that she’d cut herself. Something about this whole situation didn’t feel right to him.
Not my problem . He’d volunteered to fix their house, yes, but not their lives. Stay out of it. Look the other way. Don’t get any more involved than
“Thanks, Jim.”
Putting the keys back in his pocket, Heath turned from the desk and nearly ran over his small charge. He bent down. “You want a soda, sweetcakes?”
Big, bewildered blue eyes lifted to his. Thinking that maybe she’d never heard a soft drink referred to as a soda, Heath rephrased the question. “You wanna pop?”
Her eyes went even wider, and she hunched her shoulders, trying to tug her hand free. Heath had a feeling he’d said something that frightened her, but he couldn’t think what. He got a firmer hold on her hand to make sure she didn’t haul ass.
“A Pepsi?” he tried.
Bingo. She looked at the soft drink dispenser against the wall, shook her head, and started rubbing her eye again. If she kept it up, she wouldn’t have any lashes left.
“Well, I need to wet my whistle.” Heath led her to the machine. Angling his free arm across his body, he dug into his left pant pocket for change. The dispenser clanked as itgulped the quarters. He pressed his selection. Nothing happened. Damned thing . Familiar with the contraption’s quirks, he thumped it with the side of his boot. Sammy jumped when the pop can came tumbling out into the trough.
“Whoa, there, honey,” Heath said in low, soothing tone as he bent to retrieve the soft drink. “I’m just getting this cussed machine to cooperate, that’s all. Sure you don’t want a Pepsi? I’m buying.”
Standing well back, her captured arm extended as far as it would stretch, Sammy hid her face against her shoulder. Heath guessed that meant no.
Taking itty-bitty, pain-in-the-ass baby steps, he led her to some seating in a cheerful yellow alcove that resounded with the blare of an overhead television.
Heath sat down, propping one booted foot on his knee. Sammy backed up to the lime-green cushion beside him, went up on her tiptoes, and finally, after a great deal of wiggling, managed to get one cheek of her fanny parked. Heath let go of her hand just long enough to grab the back of her pink britches to haul her up the rest of the way.
Flipping up the tab of his soft drink can, he took a long swallow, then whistled appreciatively. “Good stuff.” He shoved the can toward her. “You sure you’re not thirsty, honey? I don’t mind a little backwash if you don’t.”
She looked at him as if he were jabbering in Spanish. Hell . Usually when he dealt with youngsters, he was taking a minor to the juvie or providing transport for a child who’d become a ward of the court. In situations that involved a child Sammy’s age, he always recruited Helen Bowyers, a female deputy, to accompany him.
Uncomfortable with the silence and the way she was staring at him, he met her gaze warily. Her hand felt so small. Little fingers, all squished together within the circle of his. Accustomed to large, man-sized things—his dog, his cattle, his horses, his Bronco—Heath felt increasingly uneasy. She was shaking, and he wondered if he was hurting her. He lightened his grip, but she continued to tremble.
“Your mama’s gonna be fine. All she has is a little cut. The doctor will fix it and give her something to make it stop hurting. Then we’ll take her home.”
He waited for her to smile. Those big, frightened eyes remained fixed on him.
He decided to try ignoring her. Staring at the television, but not really seeing it, Heath remembered how wary of him Meredith had seemed last night. It stood to reason Sammy would share her sentiments about most things—their neighbor, included.
What had happened to make the two of them so distrustful of men? He’d been friendly and polite, even going so far as to volunteer his time to repair their house. Yet the sound of his voice had startled Meredith so badly that she’d cut herself. Something about this whole situation didn’t feel right to him.
Not my problem . He’d volunteered to fix their house, yes, but not their lives. Stay out of it. Look the other way. Don’t get any more involved than
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