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“He’s still financially responsible,” the lawyer in Raine felt duty-bound to point out. “In fact, there are laws—”

“I know. Old Fussbudget told me all about them. But he got a bunch of his friends to say they slept with me, so we have to wait until the baby’s born for a blood test. Not that it’s going to do any good proving it’s his,” she said, looking far older—and more defeated—than her sixteen years. “Because he’ll figure out some way not to pay.”

She drew in a ragged breath. “Anyway, if I keep the baby, at least something good will come out of all this bad. And I’ll have someone to love me.”

Raine wondered how many thousands of unwed teenage mothers believed exactly the same thing. “How did you end up here?”

“I was hanging out in Seattle and panhandling on the ferry. I asked Mama Ida for some change, and she gave me a long lecture about how dangerous it was to be living on the street. And how I owed my baby more. Then she brought me home.”

Home. Family
. It could not escape Raine’s notice that these two themes kept popping up. “Well, we’ll do our best to keep you here,” she promised.

Only yesterday Raine had been responsible for the financial future of a multibillion-dollar petroleum company. Yet somehow, that hadn’t felt nearly as weighty as the responsibility Ida had placed on her—the future of this troubled girl who was obviously desperate for the stability of a loving, protective family. Which, it appeared, she and Ida had already created.

“There’s one thing I want to make clear.” Raine’s voice and her eyes turned firm. “If I have any indication you’re making life harder on my grandmother, I’ll do everything in my power to get you moved to a new foster home.”

“Mama Ida says that we’ve all been a real help to her,” Gwen said. “We’ve taken over most of the cleaning and cooking.”

“That was wise,” Raine murmured. “Taking over the cooking.”

“It was kinda for self-defense,” Shawna spoke up. “And Gwen’s been a whiz in the garden.”

“I’ve always liked flowers,” Gwen revealed shyly. “But I never lived anywhere long enough to grow a garden.”

“You must be responsible for all these.” Raine gestured toward the cheerful displays.

Gwen ducked her head. “I ordered the bulbs out of a catalog.”

“They’re lovely. In fact, I think I’ll take a few pictures, showing all you’ve done.”

“Do you think that will cause the judge to let me stay?” Gwen asked, openly dubious.

“I don’t know,” Raine admitted. She’d never lied to a client and she wasn’t about to begin now. “But it’s one more weapon in our arsenal.”

“So Gwen has a chance?” This from Shawna.

“About a fifty-fifty one. But I’m going to do my best to raise those odds.”

“You’ll win,” Renee said. “Mama Ida says that you’re the best lawyer there is. That you never lose.”

With that positive endorsement, a weight as heavy as a truckload of bricks landed smack on Raine’s shoulders. When she saw Gwen’s wretched, unconfident expression, it got even heavier.

This was turning out to be one helluva week, Jack thought, two days after the standoff as he pulled the Suburban up in front of Linda’s Beads and Baubles, a small boutique located in the outlet mall a few miles outside of town. And now, after a less than spectacular day, it looked as if he and Raine Cantrell were due for another skirmish.

Timing, Jack reminded himself as he hauled himself out of the truck, was everything. He clicked the lock shut with a beep of the remote, and headed for the store.

Sure enough, the first thing he saw when he entered was one of Ida’s girls, slumped in a chair while a tall red-haired woman stood guard over her. The store smelled like flowers, reminding him of the fragrant potpourri Peg had scattered around the house in pretty crystal dishes shaped like seashells. New Age music drifted from hidden speakers on the scented air.

It was a decidedly female atmosphere, which had him feeling like a bull elk on the loose in a crystal shop as he wove his way through the racks of bright silk scarves, summer straw hats, and sparkly jewelry.

“What’s up?” he asked, already suspecting the answer. He’d run a records check on all three girls during the standoff and had discovered that this one had particularly sticky fingers.

“I caught her leaving the store with a pair of earrings.” Linda Hanson held out a pair of dangling gold earrings set with colorful stones Jack couldn’t identify.

“Had she actually left the premises?”

“Well, not exactly.” The boutique owner’s mouth pulled into a tight frown. He and Linda had graduated from high school the same year and Jack remembered how back in her cheerleader days, those cherry-tinted lips had been a lot friendlier. “After all, if I’d let her get away, I might not have caught up with her.”

“So, she was technically inside the store?”

“Technically.” Linda’s frown reached her eyes and made horizontal lines in her forehead as she followed his train of thought. “If you want to split hairs. But I’ve been in the retail business long enough to recognize a shoplifter when I see one. And this kid had every intention of stealing those earrings.”

“That may be, but a court just might see it a little differently.” Irritated at the way she was complicating his life yet again, Jack speared the delinquent with his sternest look. “Is she right? Were you going to steal those earrings?”

Gwen shrugged. “I could have been.”

“You realize I’ll have to report this to your juvenile probation officer.”

“Geez. Now there’s a surprise.” Her mouth pulled even tighter than the boutique owner’s.

Shit
. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I should just haul you down to juvie, hand you over to social services authorities, and suggest they throw away the key until you turn eighteen.”

“Might as well,” Gwen countered. “Since I’m gonna end up back there anyway.”

“Well, it just so happens that this is your lucky day, kid. Because I’m going to give you a break and take you back to Ida’s.”

He motioned her to her feet, grateful when she obeyed, placed a hand on her elbow, and began shepherding her out the way he’d come.

“Aren’t you going to put handcuffs on her?” Linda asked, openly miffed that her case wasn’t being treated seriously enough to suit her.

“I usually save the shackles for the serial killers and bank robbers.”

“You don’t have to use that tone with me, Jack O’Halloran. After all, you and I go back a long way.”

Jack wasn’t surprised that her voice indicated a past intimacy. They’d dated for a brief, carefree time, back when he was playing high school football and she’d been waving her green and white pom-poms.

“Sorry,” he said, reminding himself that public servants weren’t supposed to resort to sarcasm, no matter how provoked. “But I think I can handle one teenager.”

“That’s not what I heard. I heard this one and the other delinquents—” her scornful tone made them sound like mad dog killers—“had you over a barrel the other day.”

“You heard wrong. And now that we’ve stopped this crime wave, I’d better get back to work. No telling how many miscreants are out there planning to bring mayhem to our peaceful little town.”

As he led Gwen out the door, he couldn’t miss the girl’s chuckle. “Something funny?”

“I guess you put Miss High and Mighty in her place.”

“Miss High and Mighty just happens to be the mayor’s daughter. His
only
daughter. Not to mention being the youngest of five kids, the other four being boys, which makes her just about as spoiled as any pretty girl can be.

“Now, I don’t see any point in putting you in a cell just because you’re acting stupid because you’re afraid you’re going to be sent away again,” he said as he opened the door and helped her up into the passenger seat. “But if you felt moved to return to a life of crime, you definitely picked the wrong store. If you were trying to get taken out of Ida’s home and thrown back into the system, you might have succeeded. And you sure didn’t help my day any.”

She turned away and pretended vast interest in the towering trees flashing by the truck window as they drove back toward Coldwater Cove.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into not telling Mama Ida about this?” she asked finally.

“Sorry. If she’s going to stand up and vouch for you in court, she’s entitled to know what you’ve been up to.”

Another silence. Then, “I know I’m fat right now. But before I got pregnant, a lot of boys thought I was pretty.”

He slanted her a glance, afraid he knew just where this conversation was heading and hoping like hell he was wrong. “A lot of boys are right.”

“Lots of them wanted to sleep with me. Even after I got pregnant. But I said no.”

“Smart girl.”

“And pretty,” she reminded him.

“That, too.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he waited for the inevitable. Jack decided to try to sidetrack her before things got really sticky. “When you grow up, you’ll probably be a heartbreaker.”

“I’m almost grown up now,” she reminded him. “So, maybe we could work out a kind of deal? You could forget this ever happened, and I could give you something—”

“Dammit, that’s it.” He jerked the wheel, pulled off the road onto the gravel shoulder, and cut the engine. “You listen to me, and you listen good, kid, because I’m not going to repeat myself. Understand?”

Biting her lip, Gwen nodded.

“I asked if you understood.” His sharp tone could have cut diamonds. “When a law enforcement officer asks you a question, you damn well better answer.”

“Yes, sir!” she snapped back, with a flare of spirit he suspected had kept her alive and reasonably sane during a lifetime bereft of any security or affection. “Sheriff.”

She’d spat his title from between tight lips. Not wanting to break her spirit, but needing her to understand exactly who was boss, Jack nodded his approval. “That’s better. Now, a smart girl like you should realize that prostitution is a one-way ticket straight to the gutter.”

“It wouldn’t be prostitution, because I wasn’t asking for any money. Besides, you’re a lot nicer than the other guys I know.”

“Which definitely suggests you need to find new friends,” Jack said dryly. “As for not asking for any money, it doesn’t matter. What you were suggesting was wrong, kid. Legally and morally. And damn dangerous, because some guys might actually take you up on it.”

“But not you.”

“No. Not me. Not in this lifetime. No way. No how.”

“Well, I guess you made yourself real clear.” She turned and began staring out the passenger window again, but not before Jack witnessed the sheen of tears that matched the strangled, frail voice.

Once again he was given an insight he could have done without.
Christ
. And here he’d fooled himself into believing that life was only nasty in the big city.

“Look at me, Gwen.”

Apparently having learned her lesson, she obeyed, giving him a view of a face even more miserable than the one he’d seen when he’d put her into the back seat of the Suburban last night.

“Whatever happened to you in any of those foster homes, whatever anyone did to you, whatever you thought you had to do, it wasn’t your fault.” He wanted to touch her, just a soothing hand to her shoulder, but feared that a male touch right now was the last thing she needed. “Do you understand?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Then, remembering his instructions to answer his questions, managed a weak, “Y-y-yes.”

But her bleak, dark eyes said otherwise. Jack cursed again, mentally this time. “Is he the one who got you pregnant?”

“No.” She sniffled. “It was his son. Randy was my boyfriend for a while. Until he knocked me up. But it could’ve been his father. If I hadn’t gotten away in time.”

“Did you ever tell anyone at social services??

“Are you kidding? Hell, no. Not that there was all that much too tell.” She sniffled. “It was the last home I was in, before Ida’s. The guy kept trying to cop a feel whenever his wife wasn’t looking. He always pretended it was just an accident, but I knew better.

“Then one day, when she was working late and I was fixing dinner, he caught me alone in the kitchen and said that he’d found out I was putting out for his son. And then he said that if I was that hot to trot, I oughta try a real man.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. “He pushed me up against the refrigerator, shoved his tongue down my throat and put his hand up my skirt.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“He sure was that, all right. But I took the butcher knife I’d been using to cut the chicken and threatened to cut off his balls.”

“I imagine that had some effect.”

“Yeah. He let go of me real quick and afterwards, he pretended that he’d just been kidding and that if I knew what was good for me, I’d better keep my mouth shut. Which I was going to do anyway, because I knew that when it came down to my word against his, Old Fussbudget would believe him. Because he’s a deacon at his church and he and his wife are always taking in stray kids. Back when I was staying there, he got an award for being foster parent of the year.”