French Roast (17 page)

Chapter 22

K
leenex had become Peggy McBride’s best friend. All those lines about the baby-soft, cottony texture were bullshit. Her nose’s red, raw skin throbbed each time she blew. Man, she loved her kid, but he’d given her his junk. She couldn’t remember feeling so sick.

“Mom! Can I go ride my bike? It’s like summer outside,” he yelled in one long strand of words without taking a breath.

Her neighbors might be wearing shorts, but they were nuts. It was fifty-eight degrees according to their Mickey Mouse deck thermometer. Why did people who lived in cold places wear shorts when it was still winter? Yeah, the sun was out, but the ground was covered in snow. Melting, sure. The icicles’ constant dripping from her roof and their occasional crash was an ongoing musical accompaniment as she lay huddled under a blanket. Home from work.
Again.
She wanted to belt out a really dirty curse word.

She couldn’t take anymore. If she didn’t have a kid, she’d volunteer for a dangerous drug bust without Kevlar in the hopes that someone would put her out of her misery.

Her coughing prevented her from answering Keith.

“Come on, mom,” he pleaded, dancing so his one untied shoelace skipped across the floor like a jump rope. “The sidewalks are all melted.” Keith bobbed up and down. Her headache intensified. “Pu-lease.”

“Tie your shoelace,” she said to stop the litany.

She knew Dare’s crime statistics. It was safe. Her neighborhood was the kind where other mothers watched out for your kids if you had to run an errand. The whole
Pleasantville
vibe it had going on still weirded her out.

“Come on, mom! I’ve
gotta
get on my bike.”

Each time he jumped up and down on the hardwood floor it felt like a spike was being driven into her brain. She caved.

“Fine, but be careful. And stay on the block.”

He raced off. Peggy sank onto the stairs, her chills, aches, and cough wearing her down. She thrust her ice-cold hands into an oversized black fleece. The house was a wreck. She needed to go make dinner. Could she live with the guilt of another pizza night? As she reached for her Kleenex, she realized she could. If he had to go on Dr. Phil because of two pizza nights in a row, he was not her son.

She laid her head on the stairwell, too exhausted to move. She should get up and watch him from the window, but she couldn’t manage it. Her eyes grew heavy. She gave in and shut down.

Peggy awoke with a start. The clock signaled she’d been out fifteen minutes. Her whole body rebelled when she pulled herself upright and shuffled over to the window. She waited for Keith to zoom by. Her forehead fell onto the cold glass, her head too heavy to keep upright. She scanned the quiet street. No sign. The little stinker was pushing the limits, as usual. Probably racing around the other block. Kids. Why did they have so much energy? Why couldn’t adults? Nature’s design didn’t seem fair.

She put one foot in front of the other and headed for the door. Time to go find him. Be a good mom. She shrugged on her winter gear and trekked outside. Even the warm sun on her face couldn’t chase away the chills. Sunlight on snow made her squint. Damn she was too tired to go back for sunglasses.

She scanned down the street and then back. No sign. When she turned onto the next street, her heart splatted on the sidewalk like a mega-icicle. Keith lay on the ground, his distressed whimpers reaching her from a block away. Sickness faded. Adrenaline spiked. Her cop vision assessed the situation in seconds.

A strange man in a city suit was leaning over her son. Keith’s green bike was lying on its side in the melting snow. A red Ferrari was parked by the curb, its door gaping wide. Rap music poured out of it.

No one drove a Ferrari in Dare.

She ran forward, child predator case files flashing through her mind. Fancy car, check. Professional clothing to build trust, check.

“Get away from my son!” she yelled. Her lungs burned. Her legs pumped faster beneath her.

“Mommy!”
Keith cried. “Help me.”

Fear crushed her heart.

“Shh. It’s okay, son,” the man responded.

Her fear skyrocketed as the man lifted her son into his arms in his crouched position. Was he going to make a run for it? She flashed forward with all her remaining strength.

“Let him go,” she yelled in her razor sharp cop voice. “Dare Valley Police. Put the boy down. Immediately.”

“If I put him down, I’ll only hurt him,” the man replied, still not turning around. “It’s not what you think.”

Terror flashed brighter. Peggy flew over the remaining sidewalk, weighing her options. She didn’t have her gun. She couldn’t risk putting the guy in a chokehold while he had Keith in his arms.

“Don’t worry,” the man called. “He fell off his bike. I think he broke his leg.”

She couldn’t risk taking him for his word. Smart criminals were masters of deception. Peggy grabbed a fallen stick, not breaking stride, and dug it into the man’s black hair.

“Put him down, or I’ll blow your brains out.”

He stilled. She caught sight of Keith’s tear-ravaged face. Terror lanced her all the way to her toes.

“Mommy. It hurts.”

“That’s not a gun, and I’m not going to hurt your son.”

His voice couldn’t have been calmer, which set off red flags in Peggy’s brain. A normal person would be all panic and apologies right now.

“Put him down,” Peggy ordered, trying to decide if a good chop to the back of the neck would knock him out. He was a big guy. Strong. Tall. Muscular. Her options were growing more limited.

“I’m not going to hurt your son, I promise, and I’d happily put him down, but his leg is broken. Do you want to cause him more pain?” he asked in that cool voice and finally turned his head.

Her mind surged with recognition. “You’re Mac Maven.”

“Yes,” he answered like he was used to being recognized. “Since you know me, you know I’m no threat to your son. I was bringing him to you. He just told me your address.”

Peggy dropped the stick and fell to her knees in front of them, huddling near a sobbing Keith. God, she could feel her own tears welling up, but she pushed them back. Her emotions zigzagged uncontrollably, the drop from terror to relief to mommy compassion a sharp descent.

“Oh, baby,” she called, wiping away Keith’s tears. “It’s okay. Mommy’s here.” Her eyes took in his right leg, which was lying at an odd angle in Maven’s big hand.

“There was a dog—and it ran out of the yard—I tried to miss it—and it…”

Keith’s rushed, anguished explanation made her own symptoms seem like nothing. “Shh,” she murmured. “It’s okay. We’ll take you to the hospital. Make it all better.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried, hiccupping between sobs.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” His good manners broke her heart. “It was an accident.”

“We should get him to the emergency room,” Maven said quietly.

Peggy reached for Keith. As he twisted toward her, he screamed, the sound rooting her straight into the ground.

Maven snuggled him closer, mumbling nonsensical words. “Maybe you should drive. I can hold him. The hospital isn’t far, and there’s no need for him to feel any worse.” He rocked Keith in his arms like he knew what he was doing.

Which seemed impossible, given everything Peggy knew about him. But her gut said she could trust him.

“Mommy,”
came her son’s agonized voice.

Keith’s sobs made the decision for her. “Okay.”

Maven stood carefully, and for the first time, she was aware of the full, devastating effect of that gorgeous face. The one that had made her body tingle from a mere picture. Flesh and blood were different. In person, he was stunning, a powerful presence that was impossible to ignore. He made her acutely aware of her red nose and unwashed hair.

When Peggy stood, her tired, achy legs returned to their cooked spaghetti texture. Balance deserted her. Maven stepped forward to stop her from teetering over, all without releasing his grip on Keith.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a gentle voice.

Now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, iciness surged through her veins. “Fine,” she declared, pulling it together. She had to think of Keith.

“Good. Can you drive a shift?” His mega-expensive shoes sunk into the snow as he started toward the car.

She strode after him. “Is there enough room?”

“It’s the FF model. Seats four. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” His arms cradled Keith carefully as he used his natural grace to descend into the low-slung car. His murmurs and rocking melted her mother’s heart.

He was nothing like she’d expected.

She turned the pumping music off and adjusted the seat so her feet could reach the pedals. Keith’s crying continued, so she tried to distract him. “What an incredible car, right, Keith? You’ll have to tell all your friends.” She clenched her hands on the leather steering wheel, putting it into first as softly as possible.

She’d rather be gut shot than listen to her kid cry out in pain.

“You can have your friends sign your cast too,” Maven added in that deep voice.

“Hurts,” was Keith’s only reply between sobs.

“Then Mommy will step on it,” Peggy responded, zooming down the street well past the speed limit—something she never did on her personal time—marveling that a poker player was comforting her son like that.

Life certainly could throw a curve ball.

***

Forty minutes later, Peggy eyed the swarm of people in the ER who were coughing with greenish faces. They had what she had. It was a veritable germ fest. But no one looked worse than her kid, still nestled against Maven’s chest.

The damn paperwork had taken too long to fill out. She wondered what happened if you showed up bleeding like a gusher. Did you still have to fill out all that crap?

“Let me see if I can’t speed things up,” Maven said from next to her.

She turned her head. “How?”

“I have my ways. You stay here. Anger and aggression are rolling off you—understandable—but let me try something different.” He stood without jostling Keith. “Be right back.”

She watched him. The abrupt woman she’d thrust the registration papers at was all smiles now, nodding like an idiot. Keith continued to cry with those terrible, racking sobs.

Maven returned. “They want us to go to X-ray. It’s on the third floor.”

Peggy followed him, soothing Keith. “How did you—?”

“I made her feel appreciated. Then I mentioned it might be a compound fracture.”

She gasped, eyes zeroing in on her son’s leg.

“It’s not, but sometimes you have to stretch the truth to get what you need.” In the fluorescent elevator light, he met her gaze. “Like you saying you were Dare Valley Police to protect your son. I admire your tenacity, especially since it’s a crime to impersonate a police officer.”

Her spine straightened. “I’m the deputy sheriff of Eagle County.”

He waited for her to exit the elevator. “Still thinking I’m a threat?”

She followed the signs to X-ray. “You don’t believe me,” she said with utter befuddlement. Then she realized how she must look. She had on a red fleece cap she hadn’t taken off because of the chills, a black North Face coat she’d gotten on sale, and a hand-knit red scarf and gloves from her mother. Add in fleece yoga pants and tennis shoes, and she had to be about as intimidating as a pissed-off parent at a PTA meeting.

“Using the stick as a gun was inspired, but I’ve had a gun to my head before, so I know what that feels like.” His comment threw her off balance. Maven scanned her again. “We haven’t been introduced. I know this is Keith. And you are?”

She reached for the red hat and stuffed it into her pocket, desperately wishing she had her badge to flash. “Hear me.
Deputy Sheriff
Peggy McBride.”

“Oh.” He made a muffled sound and then smiled. “Tanner McBride’s sister.”

“You know Tanner?”

“Only by his articles. He’s a good journalist.”

“We’re here for an X-ray,” Maven told the nurse when they arrived at the desk. “Keith McBride. We appreciate you for helping him so quickly, Miriam. He’s in a lot of pain, poor guy.”

Peggy watched Maven take over with ease. All the women working behind the desk had their eyes locked on him in minutes, including Miriam, whose nametag made it easy for him to butter her up. He was a natural charmer, weaving a spell on everyone with ovaries. But she didn’t care if he was the devil incarnate if he helped her son. Women didn’t respond well to her. She knew that. She let him work the room for Keith.

Miriam assured them it would be only a few minutes more, and Maven rocked Keith into silence once again. As her son quieted, Maven’s nearness punctured her awareness. How warm his body was. She looked at the curve of the arms that held her son, the broad shoulders and chest that filled out his suit. The wet spots from Keith’s tears.

As Keith slumped into Maven’s arms, Peggy powered down too. The cold grabbed hold of her, making her want to lay her head against this stranger’s arm and absorb his warmth.

But she didn’t.

Miriam suggested a gurney, but Maven didn’t want to put Keith down and hurt the leg, so they walked right into X-ray that way.

Keith clutched Maven’s jacket. “Don’t wanna…”

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Peggy grabbed her son’s hand, his body so small and human against the machines all around him.

“You’ll have to step outside for a minute,” the tech announced. “Keith and I are going to be just fine.”

Peggy wanted to sock her for such a blatant bunch of bullshit. God, she didn’t want to leave him alone in this cold room, but she forced a smile. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise. I’ll be right outside. It’ll only take a sec.”

Maven put his hand under her elbow, and she somehow found the strength to walk out of the room with him. When the door hissed shut, she wanted to cry. Her little boy.

“So there’s something I’m curious about,
Deputy Sheriff.”
Maven said. “If you’d really had your gun, would you have blown my brains out?”

His thoughtful gaze met hers when she lifted her head. “In a heartbeat. No one threatens my son.”

“But it’s interesting you assumed the worst and ignored me when I told you he’d fallen off his bike and hurt his leg,” he continued. “Do you always assume the worst about people?”