A Season for Family (7 page)

What more could a girl want from a man who was practically sweeping her off her feet?

D
uring his years undercover, Heath had spent many a night in discomfort.

Like the time he lay for hours in a ditch, still as death beneath a pile of leaves. An unexpected drug purchase went down a few feet from his face, but he couldn't blow his cover and raise his head. The only parts of the dealers he could identify were their lousy shoes!

More aggravating was the costume party where he was staked out in a Spider-Man outfit, mistaken for some reveler's college friend and forced to do the hokey pokey to avoid exposure. When you have two left feet,
that's
what it's all about!

Even so, Heath couldn't recall a night more uncomfortable than the one spent in Olivia's apartment. Nick's fever shot up at midnight so he packed a small bag and moved upstairs to sleep on another roll-away. Every forty-five minutes Heath attended to one man or the other, and in between he groped about Olivia's small home as quietly as possible.

Rummaging through her personal things made his conscience ache in a way he hadn't known possible. It was akin to rifling through a woman's handbag,
something his mom had once said was the ultimate invasion of privacy. As he explored each nook where drugs might be stashed he found himself repeating the final passage from the night's teaching.

The Lord detests lying lips, but He delights in men who are truthful.

Heath basically lied for a living, so that Proverb rolled over him like water off a duck's back. But it grieved him to think Olivia's integrity could possibly be for show, either a cover for herself or the father who'd abandoned her. Women had that weird thing about wanting to believe in their fathers, no matter what sort of creeps they'd been. It would be just like Olivia to forgive Dalton Wyatt, but would she compromise herself and become an accomplice in his crimes?

Heath doubted that either of his sisters lost much sleep worrying about redeeming their murdering old man. Part of what he'd told Olivia about losing his parents had been true. He just hadn't proffered the important detail that his mother had died at the hands of his raging father, an act of violence that turned three kids—not just one—into orphans. Heath's adoptive parents must have thought he carried a bad seed that they needed to smother with faith. From his earliest memories they'd involved him in church activities, but it never felt natural to him as it did with Olivia.

His insides churned and squirmed. The discomfort had little to do with the three sick stomachs in the apartment and everything to do with his night of searching for clues. Each time he came up empty-handed he breathed a sigh of relief, blotting out the idea that Olivia could be implicated, much less guilty.

Heath felt something special for her. If he knew what
love was like, he might even say he loved her. But it was too soon for that, wasn't it?

He struggled to force the thoughts from his mind and concentrate on the job. Then, just before dawn, Heath hit the jackpot.

Returning to the bathroom closet where Olivia stacked sheets and towels, his fingertips grazed a lump of plastic he was certain hadn't been there earlier. Reaching deeper he grasped the article, whispered “Come to Papa,” and pulled it from behind the recently laundered items. The quart-size, heat-sealed bag contained hundreds of green tablets Heath recognized as Ecstasy. The junk had been a club favorite since the eighties. Thankfully, it had taken a dip in popularity, but in recent months it was back with a vengeance and more dangerous than before, since it was often laced with very addictive meth.

As he stared at the poison in the bag, his heart thumped out the answer.
Dick Sheehan.
He had to be the source of this stash.

“Oh, use your head. It can't be that easy.” Heath cautioned himself against a rush to judgment. He was looking to find guilt apart from Olivia and he knew it. The truth was that she'd personally handled the laundry and had been the one to restock the linen closet.

Still, Sheehan had been quick to offer help that gained him entry to Olivia's place for several hours.

It was time to pay a visit to Biddle and check out some mug shots. It would be easy enough to get fingerprints of everybody who'd had access while Amos, Bruce and Nick were passed out. Or Heath could simply lift prints off the sides of the porcelain commode while nobody was hugging it. Might as well run each man through the computer as long as he was going to the station. That
would help cut this job short before Heath got any more exposure to sick folks.

Or went any further down the dangerous, dead-end road that seemed to be leading to a head-on collision between his heart and Olivia Wyatt's.

 

Olivia stacked bowls in the cabinet and then ran her towel over the counter to soak up any last drops of dishwater. She'd hated offering cold cereal on a freezing morning, but with her staff dropping like mercury in the thermometer outside, it was the best she could do. If it came down to it, their clients could eat corn flakes and sandwiches until the flu ran its course. At least folks would be fed, if not well fed.

“Good morning.” Heath stepped inside the kitchen, causing her weary pulse to race. Bundled up beneath several layers of clothing, he headed straight for the coffee station. He dropped his backpack on the counter and reached into the storage shelf for the small stash of to-go cups.

“Everybody's finally asleep at the same time upstairs. You think Sheehan would cover for me again for a few hours?”

“I'm sure he would.” She didn't dare mention Heath's change of heart over Dick's trustworthiness. “At breakfast he offered to stick around all day and help since we're shorthanded. You seem to be headed somewhere.” Olivia tried to sound casual when she was anything but calm. The last thing she needed was to have Heath bail out on her.

She was shaky from lack of sleep, worried sick about the condition of her residents and worn out from running breakfast service alone. She was close to the breaking
point, something she hadn't felt since her father took off.

“I gotta go get some fresh air and pick up some stuff at a drugstore.” He kept his hood pulled forward, his face hidden from her view. He was intentionally avoiding eye contact. Was it really possible that he planned to walk out the door and never come back? Maybe he was going over to the police station to tell Detective Biddle that county lockup was preferable to the conditions at Table of Hope.

“Heath, nobody would blame you if you looked into other community service options.”

His chin popped up, and the dark hood shrouding his face fell away as he impaled her with eyes that seemed offended.

“Is that what you think of me? That I'd take off and leave you to deal with this mess by yourself?”

The fatigue that Olivia had been fighting back finally spilled past her resolve. She pressed the damp towel to her eyes with both hands and gave herself over to a sob.

“Hey! Don't do that,” Heath said with a comforting tone.

His footsteps thumped across the linoleum. He was so close she could hear the rustle of his clothing. Surprise shuddered through Olivia's body when strong arms settled cautiously around her shoulders and folded her to his chest.

She pressed her face against him, dish towel and all, and let the worries flow out with a brief burst of rare tears. He patted her back rather awkwardly, as if he'd seen the kind gesture but never done it himself. Even in her misery Olivia had to wonder if his effort was just perfunctory, a male reaction to an emotional
female, or if he was fumbling his way through a first-time experience.

Heath seemed to be sincere in his effort to offer comfort but Olivia recognized that he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. Was there a grown man without a selfish agenda as far as women were concerned in this world?

Gently with both hands, she pushed away from Heath's self-conscious embrace. Olivia dabbed at her eyes with the towel and passed her fingers through a mop of hair that hadn't been professionally styled for months. She inhaled deeply, filled her lungs.

“Don't apologize.” He was quick to speak first. “If I had your stress on my shoulders and everybody around me was being KO'd, I'd be howling like a scalded dog. My mama always said a few tears could wash away a world of stress.”

“I wish it was that simple. It's not so much stress as it is déjà vu.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, though she sensed he was anxious to be on his way.

“You have time to listen?” Her voice was embarrassingly hopeful.

“Even if you count every bit of the last two days I still have fifty-two hours on my sentence. Is that enough time for you?”

“With the way things are going around here you probably wish you could spend the rest of those hours in solitary confinement.”

He unzipped his jacket, slipped off the black knit cap that covered his nearly shaved head and leaned against the kitchen countertop. “I'm here for the duration. What's happened to make you think otherwise?”

“It actually happened years ago when my dad left
me to fend for myself. When the most important man in a girl's life abandons her, she can't help but expect the same treatment over and over again.”

“And has that been your experience?”

“It's been my general observation. Choosing social work for my education and managing a shelter has exposed me to more abandoned people than I can count. I'm not so discouraged that I don't have hope, but right now I only trust in one relationship. People will lie to your face but God is not a man that He should lie.”

“Don't you think there are times when shooting straight is the wrong way to go?” Heath's eyes darkened, his face tensed. “If everybody went around saying whatever they thought, you can just imagine how many people would get hurt.”

“That's a rationalization if I ever heard one.” She tossed the towel and her apron into the laundry hamper. “If my father had looked me in the eye, told me he'd made terrible mistakes and that he was running away, that would have been a lot less painful than letting me learn about his lies for myself.”

“No man wants to admit his failings, least of all to his own kid.”

“But I might still respect him if he had. Instead he made up some story about a business trip so I wouldn't be suspicious of his packing. He failed to mention he never intended to come back.”

“So he just took off?” Heath's voice was incredulous.

“Yep.” All these years later she couldn't believe it, either. “But he owed a lot of money to the IRS so the Feds were pretty hot on his heels. He'd only been gone a few days when a couple of guys in dark suits came to
the door. I guarantee that's no way to find out you've been sucker punched.”

Heath held his palm open toward her as he nodded agreement. Olivia hesitantly slipped her hand into his, almost reluctant to accept his overture.

“Men are selfish creatures.” His voice was soft. He tugged her fingers for emphasis. “Some of the things we do seem to make perfectly good sense to us in the beginning but then turn out disastrous in the end.”

She stared into his eyes. “Is that wisdom from personal experience?”

“Mostly, as you just said, it's been my general observation.”

“Your time here is going a long way toward changing my perspective.” She gave a light squeeze to the hand still holding hers. “God always has a plan if we only give Him time to work it out.”

Heath let his hand fall to his side, turned back to the coffeepot and busied himself dumping sugar into a paper cup.

“Well, I can't speak for God's plan, but if mine works out I'll be back around lunchtime.” He snapped on a plastic lid, then pulled his cap over his dusting of dark hair and zipped his jacket. “I'd like to think they're past the stomach flu upstairs but the fever and coughing need attention. So after I take care of some personal business, I'll pick up more supplies from the drugstore.”

“You know the forecast is for freezing rain, don't you?”

Heath's face was handsomely in need of a shave as he scrunched his brows and lips into a grimace. “Hopefully it won't materialize. That always slows down the city buses.”

“Take the Chevy.”

“You don't mind?”

“As long as you don't mind being seen in it.” She grinned. “Let me grab the cash box and I'll give you some money for the pharmacy.”

He frowned, refusing the offer. “I've got it.”

“Thanks, Heath.” She'd learned early in life to accept charity with grace. It served her well in running the shelter. “Other than sending Dick up there to keep an eye on things, is there anything else you need?”

“Yeah.” He took a step toward her, his long arms twitched at the sides of his body as if he was unsure what to do with them.

“Yeah, there's something I need, Olivia.” She sensed he was about to hug her, but then he seemed to give up, fisted both hands and stepped back.

“Just name it.”

“Prayer.”

“For the guys upstairs?”

“For me.” Heath swept his hood over his head, jangled her keys, grabbed his backpack and left without explaining his request.

H
eath flopped down in the chair, leaned forward to rest his elbows on Biddle's desk and slanted an accusing look at his mentor.

“Did you know Olivia Wyatt is a card carryin' Christian?”

“Was the Scripture over the front entrance your first clue or did you find out the hard way by putting your big foot in your mouth?”

“I haven't blown anything if that's what you're asking, but some warning might have been helpful. And life would be easier if you had let me go in disguise.”

Biddle snorted, buffed a palm across his gray crew cut as if rubbing away a headache. “I don't recall any promise from the department to make your life easier when you were sworn in, but there was somethin' in the oath about you faithfully obeying orders.”

“And I am, but I kinda feel exposed. This is like goin' into a firefight without a weapon.”

“David stood up to Goliath with just a slingshot and a stone.”

Heath slumped back in the chair. “You, too?” he
muttered. “I can't swing a cat these days without hittin' a Christian.”

Biddle nodded. “It doesn't say much for my witness that you've worked with me for years and didn't know I was a believer.”

“Hey, it's not like we got a class in officer training on spotting the signs. But if I had to guess, I'd peg you as a churchgoer.”

“What about you, Heath?”

“Hey, I didn't drive all the way over here in that rattletrap to talk about Sunday school. It's colder than a well digger's behind in that old truck!”

“Why didn't you call for a pickup? I could have sent an unmarked.”

“Just because the car's unmarked doesn't mean I'm not. Climbing in the backseat could put a bull's eye on my chest.”

Biddle leaned closer, folded his thick arms and rested them on a mess of paperwork. “You sayin' we got a snitch in the ranks?” His voice was low.

“Anything's possible and you know it, but that's not what I meant.” As he mirrored Biddle's guarded position, Heath recalled the face of the traffic officer who'd given him the once-over. “Olivia seems to be well-connected with the black-and-whites, thanks to that clunker she drives. Yesterday an officer named Weatherford gave her a push out of an intersection. I was in the cab and got the evil eye from the guy.”

“Don't know him.” Biddle shook his head. “You afraid of being recognized?”

“Only if it ties undercover activity to Olivia. You know how fast gossip travels in this town, whether it's true or not.”

“Is that because you think she's in the clear?”

“I'd swear on my life she has no idea where her old man's hiding out or that there's activity running through her place,” Heath insisted. “In fact, she's one of the most straight up and giving people I've ever met. She's on a mission from God, so to speak, and I don't want to see that spoiled. Any connection to this operation will be bad news for the folks who depend on her.”

“Sounds like you're getting personally invested over there. Pretty quick, isn't it?”

Heath straightened in his chair, squared his shoulders and gave Biddle a pointed look. “I'm just doin' my job.”

Biddle stared hard, as if he could see into Heath's soul. “You always have, but I don't recall this compassionate streak in you before.”

“Well, maybe it's like the flu. Highly contagious.”

“Or maybe it was there all along.”

Their gazes locked for one, two, three seconds. Then both men spewed laughter and fell back against their chairs.

“Nah, I don't think so, either,” Biddle agreed, rolling his eyes in a gimme-a-break fashion. “Let's get those prints to the lab and see what the computer tells us.”

Heath stood to follow Biddle from the office. “We gotta figure out who's driving this bus so we can steer it away from Table of Hope and run it into a ditch someplace else.”

“And then what?”

Heath hitched a shoulder—no idea. But he knew what Olivia would suggest, so he went straight to her Source.

Biddle just asked a good question, God. When this is done, then what? And it would sure be nice if You'd answer pretty quick.

 

Heath slung his backpack and a Walgreens shopping bag over his shoulder and rang Table of Hope's front bell. An unfamiliar woman with big hair pressed the door release and waved him inside.

“I'm Heath Stone,” he said to the middle-aged lady behind the check-in counter.

“Nice to meet cha, Heath. Name's Mary Sue Stratton. Miss Livvy told me to expect you eventually.” Mary Sue spoke and popped her gum simultaneously. “I'm coverin' for Velma.”

“So she's no better today?”

“Not from what I hear. Miss Livvy called Grace Chapel and they sent somebody over to pick Velma up and look after her for a few days. This old world wouldn't survive a week if it wasn't for the willingness of a servant's heart.”

A servant's heart.

What a way to explain it. That's exactly what beat in Olivia's chest. In only a few days he'd come to admire her so much. Her peaceful glow attracted others like June bugs to a porch light. And this morning her tears made her even more appealing, as she'd given him a glimpse at her unguarded state.

After what her stinkin' father had put her through, she was right not to take anybody at face value. But here she was blindly putting her trust in an undercover cop who'd concocted a sad story. The really sad part is he had evidence that could be used against her if he couldn't prove her innocence.

God, You need to protect Olivia from liars.

Like me.

The buzzer hummed again. Mary Sue turned her attention to the newcomer and Heath escaped the draft
of the door by heading for the kitchen. As he passed through the wide hallway he slowed to admire the incredible murals Olivia had created. He considered the canvases upstairs, seeing them as puzzle pieces waiting to be fitted together on a grand scale. The world beyond this concrete block building should know what a unique talent Olivia possessed, and today he'd ignited what he hoped would be a chain reaction.

“You need help?” Heath asked as he stepped across the threshold into the kitchen that still smelled of last night's delicious soup.

Olivia's head snapped up from the work of slicing hoagie loaves on the cutting board.

“Hey, you're back.” Relief flooded the clear skin of her face, relaxing the lines of stress around her eyes. Heath's pulse thudded. Was her reaction just because he represented an extra pair of hands? Or was it because the extra pair of hands belonged to him?

“Everything go okay with the truck?” she asked.

“No problems with the relic today.”

He shifted his shopping bags to set his backpack on the counter.

“We're doing cold cuts and what's left of last night's soup so I've got it covered in here. I'm sure the guys upstairs will be glad to see you. Dick couldn't stick around after all.”

“What?” Heath wanted to throttle the guy. “Sheehan never went up, not even to check on them?” It would be unconscionable to leave people who were so sick to fend for themselves.

“Hold on,” she calmly insisted. “He was upstairs for a little while but then he had to leave. That's when I went up to take some juice and toast, but there wasn't much interest.”

“You shouldn't keep exposing yourself to that germ-fest,” Heath insisted.

“How else am I supposed to look after sick people when I'm left by myself? Call out the National Guard?”

He deserved the sarcasm after abandoning her all morning. Instead of waiting for the questions that would require new lies he raised the Walgreens sacks to change the subject.

“You're right. Sorry I took so long, but I'm here now. Better get these things upstairs and see how everybody's doing. The lady at the front desk said Velma's not any better.”

Olivia's mouth twisted as if she'd had a nasty thought. “The symptoms started early and I knew I had to get her out of the shelter. Bless her heart, she was almost too sick to walk to the car.” Olivia raised her eyes again. “Heath, if one more person comes down with this I'm gonna have to take it as a sign we need to close up shop for a few days. I hate to send my clients further away in this cold but I can't risk making them all sick.”

“I have to agree. The fewer people who get around this stuff, the better.” And it would give him time to dig deeper into what little information he had without a constant stream of transients in and out of the place.

Besides, Olivia could use a break before she had a meltdown.

“Since I'm not showing any symptoms, I thought I'd volunteer at another shelter to offset the extra work caused by our clients.”

“You are certifiably crazy!” The accusation rushed out of Heath's mouth. From the expression on her face the comment struck Olivia like a slap. But good grief,
she needed to rest and unpack those bags beneath her eyes instead of chasing after more responsibility.

“Honestly, Olivia, you need to let somebody else worry about the world for a while.”

“If it's insane to want to help people less fortunate than myself, then lock me in a padded cell.”

“I didn't mean that the way it came out.” Another lie, because he had meant it. He was selfish, just like the men he'd alluded to earlier, always thinking about things from his own perspective, and that was unlikely to change. This compassion business that Biddle mentioned was overrated. Still, Heath wished he could smooth away the lines of worry he'd just put between Olivia's haunting eyes.

“Look, let the other shelter pick up the slack. You're needed right here to help me take care of your sick buddies. I can't do it without you.”

“You're right.” Her shoulders sagged. Her expression changed but didn't clear. It was like dark clouds giving way to dense fog as she went from one concern to another. “I guess I hadn't thought that through. There's a lot that needs to be done around here.”

He was a dunce, making things worse by the minute. He needed to say something positive.

“And I'm gonna be right beside you. Let's concentrate on getting the germs out of here in time for Thanksgiving and then everybody can enjoy the holiday.”

A smile touched her lips. “That sounded downright hopeful.”

“I don't know what came over me. Maybe I need a nap.” He was grateful that the mood had shifted.

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

He slipped out of his old jacket and cap and shook
his head. “A few winks in the recliner, but I don't need much.”

“You can sleep in my room, you know. There's no reason to be uncomfortable in a chair when there's a bed nearby.”

“I wouldn't even consider invading your privacy by going into your bedroom.” Another whopper.

The creases above the bridge of her nose softened, the sparkle slipped back into Olivia's dark eyes. How little it took to please her.

“You're a gentleman, Heath Stone.” The words were sincere.

“There are plenty of folks who'd disagree with your opinion.”

“Well, maybe they just don't know you the way I do.”

Yep, there's no doubt about it, Lord. The lady is becoming too trusting for her own good. As long as You're taking requests, how about doing something about that, too?