Heart Melter (15 page)

Turning to Natasha, Mrs. Byrne looked her curiously. "Do you live at Glenhaven?”

"No. I'm a close friend of the family visiting from the States. I live in New York."

"I see," Mrs. Byrne murmured.

“In my foster care, wee Arthur will be well taken care of,” Ian assured her. “Where is he? I'd like to see him," Ian said.

Mrs. Byrne swallowed nervously and folded her hands on the desk. "I'm afraid that won't be possible until much later."

"How much later?" Ian asked, impatience lacing his tone.

"Not until this evening." Mrs. Byrne fidgeted with the droopy neck bow of her white blouse,  not meeting Ian’s eyes. “He had an unfortunate incident yesterday.”

“What kind of an incident, Mrs. Byrne?” Ian asked, leveling a grave look at her.

Mrs. Byrne’s eyes met his with trepidation as she released a drawn-out sigh. “Some of the children picked on him and roughed him up a bit.”

“How badly was he hurt?” Ian asked in a chilling tone.

“He didn’t break anything. He got bruised a wee bit, mostly his feelings. But rest assured, the mischief-makers have been sternly disciplined,” she said, her mouth tight with displeasure.

“More reason for him to leave with us today.” Ian stood and glanced at his watch. "We must leave Edinburgh by early afternoon. Would you kindly expedite the arrangements?"

Mrs. Byrne gave a brisk nod. "I suppose I can.” She rose from her chair decisively. “Indeed, return at noon. By then I'll have the necessary papers drawn up to place Arthur in your care temporarily. You'll need to sign them before leaving.”

"Please see that all of Arthur's belongings are packed for him, including a special teddy bear or stuffed animal," Natasha said.

"Arthur is six now. He stopped sleeping with stuffed animals long ago," Mrs. Byrne said starchily.

Natasha glanced at Mrs. Byrne with mild reproach. “A stuffed animal to hold at night drives away the loneliness, and the boogeyman. I used to love my—”

Before Natasha could continue, Ian quickly said good-bye and ushered her out the room.

“Why did you cut me off?” she said the minute they were outdoors.

“So Mrs. Byrne would hurry up and get everything ready for Arthur,” he said.

“But I wanted to make a point with her. I know she’s trying to toughen Arthur up, but he could use a lot more affection.”

“There isn’t a warm bone in that woman’s body,” Ian said. “Most likely she doesn’t want to get emotionally invested with her charges.”

Natasha sighed heavily. “Could be.”

They drove to Princes Street in search of a restaurant to eat breakfast. "Where's a good bagel place when you need it?" Natasha quipped in a New York accent.

Ian chuckled. "You won't find bagels here. Most of the pubs don't open until noon, so we'll stop at a bakery."

They chose one with a small table near the window and ordered Selkirk bannocks and strong coffee. Ian bit into the rich, fruity bannock and chewed pensively. He shook his head. "For a moment there, I thought Mrs. Byrne wouldn't let Arthur leave. Especially at such short notice."

“Good thing she agreed. It's wonderful you're taking him out of there, but how is he going to feel when you have to return him?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there. First I'll work on his face and then I'll find a suitable home for him," Ian replied.

Natasha’s heart constricted over Arthur's depressing circumstances. "He is the sweetest little boy. I wish people weren’t cruel to him."

"Many people can’t see beyond the mark on his face.”

"Wouldn't it be great if they could?" she mused. “What are we going to do until it’s time to pick him up? Can we go shopping?”

Ian groaned and looked heavenward. "More shopping? What else do you need?"

"Nothing for me. I want to buy a few things for Arthur.”

His expression lightened. “Sure, we can do that.”

"Can you tell me about the woman who holds part of your inheritance?" she said as they walked down the sidewalk. 

“I’d rather not.” Ian stopped and stared at her. "What made you think of her?”

Natasha shrugged. “You’ve said she’s a witch, but nothing else. I’m trying to understand what’s going on.”

“I don't want to discuss it," Ian said bluntly.

“Fine, then we won’t,” she replied. She didn’t want to pry, but she wished he felt comfortable enough to confide in her. Leaving his side, she contented herself with buying new clothes for Arthur, some toys, books, and a fluffy teddy bear.

"Time to go back,” Ian said as they left the shop. “Arthur should be ready by now." He called and alerted Mrs. Byrne that they were coming.

When they drove up to the orphanage, Mrs. Byrne was waiting outside at the entrance with Arthur standing beside her. A brown, battered suitcase rested on the floor next him.

Ian and Natasha greeted them.

"Is that all he's bringing?" Ian said, indicating the small suitcase.

Mrs. Byrne gave him a raised eyebrow look. "Wee Arthur doesn't have much." She patted Arthur’s shoulder—not giving him a hug, just a perfunctory pat. "Be a good lad now.”

“Aye, Mrs. Byrne,” Arthur said, looking up at her wide-eyed.

“I’ll miss you, but you'll be happy in Glenhaven. Dr. Ian is kind and generous," Mrs. Byrne said.

Arthur's face scrunched up. "I'll miss you too, Mrs. Byrne."

Ian smiled at him. "Are you ready then, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded eagerly.

After they said good-bye to Mrs. Byrne, Ian took Arthur’s hand and led him to the car. “You’re limping,” Ian said, glancing at Arthur’s legs. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Aye,” Arthur said quietly.

“Where?” Ian asked.

“Here.” Arthur raised his trousers’ leg and showed him a bluish purple bruise that covered his shin from his knobby knee to his scrawny ankle.

Natasha flinched and closed her eyes, feeling his pain as if it were her own.

Ian knelt and gently touched the tissue surrounding the bruise, his dark brows creased over sympathetic eyes. “How did that happen?” 

“The lads kicked me,” Arthur said. “I kicked them back, but it didn’t help. When I yelled, Mrs. Byrne came and stopped them.”

Ian shook his head. “Sorry to hear they did that to you.” He gave the boy’s back a comforting pat. “You’re going to be okay. It won’t happen again,” he assured him.

"Arthur, there's someone here who needs a friend," Natasha said, pointing to the teddy bear in the back seat.

Arthur’s eyes brightened. "Is that for me?"

Ian ruffled his hair. "Yes."

"Can I hold him?"

"Of course. You can hold him and cuddle him at night,” Natasha said smiling at Arthur.

Arthur's cheery grin warmed her heart. He rose on his tiptoes and motioned for her to lean down. Depositing a kiss on her cheek, he said, "Thank you, Natasha. And thank you, Dr. Ian."

"You're welcome, honey," Natasha replied, hugging his thin frame and helping him in the car. 

They stopped for lunch before heading back to Glenhaven. The drive was glorious. A cool mist enveloped the varied landscape of the Highlands providing an enchanted background as Ian described his castle and estate to Arthur. He told him he would let him stay in the room he grew up in. Arthur's eyes lit up like sparklers when Ian promised to show him his collection of medieval swords.

Listening to them talking filled Natasha with happiness. Arthur already seemed less timid and less afraid, and Ian was enjoying his company. 

When they arrived at Glenhaven in the early evening, Maggie, Ranald and Dugie beamed at them as Ian carried Arthur and his teddy bear inside. He had dozed off with it in his arms during the drive. Ian had called ahead and let them know he was bringing Arthur.

Signaling to Maggie and Ranald that they would talk later, Natasha followed Ian into the castle. Once upstairs, she helped tuck Arthur in bed. She ran her hand softly over his fuzzy, dark hair and leaned down to kiss his scarred cheek. A surge of affection and maternal feelings surfaced as she gazed down at his sleeping face. She desperately wanted to see self-confidence there, not fear or inferiority. To see him strong and robust, running and laughing like a normal child with other children.

A lump lodged in her throat as she watched Arthur's face in repose. Nobody should ever have to experience the dejection he had already had in his young life. Ian removed the boy’s worn shoes and his threadbare socks and skinny little ankles were revealed. At that moment, she met Ian’s gaze and knew he was feeling as badly as she. He took her hand and kissed the back of it tenderly, exchanging a look of compassion that warmed her heart more than any words he might have said. His eyes mirrored what was in his heart—a longing to make Arthur's life better. Natasha wanted that too, more than anything she had wanted in a long time.

Leaving Arthur sound asleep in the room, Natasha stepped into the hall with Ian and turned to him, concerned. "Arthur is painfully skinny. I know it can't be helped, but he's going to bed without dinner."

"Let him sleep. We'll check on him in a little while." Ian smiled reassuringly. "I'll have Dugie save dinner for him in case he wakes up."

When they reached downstairs, Maggie and Ranald were waiting for them in the front hall. Ian told them about the flash drive and filled them in on the details of Arthur's temporary residence.

Maggie turned to Natasha. "You had a phone call today from a Detective Carson."

Natasha's heartbeat quickened. "What did she say? I wonder why she didn’t call my cell phone."

"She did but you must not have had service where you were. You're to call her back as soon as possible."

“Okay, thanks. I’ll call my lawyer first thing tomorrow,” Natasha said, glancing at Ian.

Maggie's eyes widened. "Oh, my! With all the excitement about wee Arthur's arrival, I almost forgot to tell you about your visitor this morning."

"My visitor?" Natasha’s palms grew cold and clammy.

“Who was it?” Ian asked, his brows snapping together as he stared at Maggie.

"It was Natasha’s agent. Marty Cranshaw."

Natasha blinked. "Marty?” she said, astonished. “That can’t be. Why would he come here?"

Maggie shrugged. "He said he had important things to discuss with you about a contract."

"That’s odd. He could have just called me." A wave of apprehension crept over Natasha. Something was way off.

"He wouldn't come in when I invited him to,” Maggie said. “He said he’d be back to speak to you in person.”

“Did he say where he’s staying?” Natasha asked.

“No, but he said he’d return tomorrow."

Natasha frowned at Ian. "That’s weird. What else did he say, Maggie?"

"That was all." Maggie darted a look at Ranald. "When he turned to leave, I couldn't help noticing how fine-looking he was."

"You think he’s fine-looking?" Natasha asked, bewildered at her choice of words. Marty was short and wiry, with close-set eyes, a hook nose and a balding head.

"Aye. He was tall and strong, yet slim with black hair and dark eyes.” Maggie nodded thoughtfully. “Looked like a verra handsome Italian."

Natasha's heart rose to her throat. "Maggie, that man wasn't Marty!"

Maggie stared at her with mystified eyes. "What do you mean it wasn't Marty?"

"It doesn’t fit his description at all." Natasha turned to Ian, her pulse beating rapidly. “It had to be one of Tony's friends. Maybe Rico."

Maggie glanced from Natasha to Ian. “Who are Tony and Rico?”

Ian’s gaze zeroed in on Maggie. "Can you give us a better description?" he asked, deflecting her question.

Maggie pursed her lips. "Well, let’s see.” She pondered a moment. “As I said, he was handsome. In his early thirties, I'd say. Wearing a fine suit.”

“I wonder who he was,” Natasha said, suspicion crawling under her skin like a snake.

"Call New York and alert them. It doesn't matter what time it is,” Ian said. “Whoever's on duty can help you, even if it isn't Detective Carson."

"Okay," Natasha said, reeling from the news.

“Do you think he’s dangerous, then?” Maggie asked, her gaze darting from Natasha to Ian.

“Aye,” Ian said tightly.

Maggie gasped and rubbed her arms. “Och, I just got a chill in my bones.”

“Aunt Maggie, until all of this is resolved, don’t open the door to anyone without knowing who they are.”

“I told you not to answer the door so quickly, woman,” Ranald chastised Maggie. He wagged his finger at her. “When are you going to learn to listen to me, Mrs. Duncan?”

Maggie lifted her chin and ignored him. She turned to Natasha. "You must be hungry. I'll see about heating dinner.”

“Where’s Evita?” Natasha asked.

“Wee Evita is asleep in her little bed,” Maggie said smiling. “Do you want me to bring her to you?”

“No, don’t disturb her. I’ll see her in the morning,” Natasha said absently.

When Maggie and Ranald left, she and Ian went into the study where Natasha made the call. Thankfully, Detective Carson answered. After speaking with her briefly, Natasha hung up, feeling unhinged.

"What’s wrong? What did she say?" Ian asked right away.

Natasha's eyes welled up and her lips quivered as she struggled to speak. "Marty's in the hospital with fractured ribs and two broken legs. Somebody wearing a ski mask broke into his house in Connecticut. He beat Marty up and left him for dead."

“The bloody bastard,” Ian said contemptuously. He pulled Natasha in his arms. “Sorry to hear it,” he said, rubbing her back consolingly.

She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes to block out the horrific image as she leaned her forehead on Ian’s chest. "Marty would have died if he hadn't gained consciousness and called for help. He told the police his passport was missing along with my personal file of contracts and headshots."

Ian swore savagely. “Damn it. What a convoluted mess.”

“I know,” she said, heartsick about her poor agent. “When I told Detective Carson that someone showed up here pretending to be Marty, she told me to go into hiding.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, his concerned eyes roving her face.

“I’ve been better, but I’m not going to let this destroy me,” Natasha said, straightening her spine and lifting her chin. “I hope they’re getting ready to close Rico's club and arrest everyone using the evidence. But who knows? There's nothing I can do but wait.”