Irish Eyes (Stolen Hearts Romance) (2 page)

She sighed. Even after all these years, it tugged at her heart not to be able to reach someone. But Craig was right. The storm could break out at any moment and they couldn’t stay any longer. She could only leave the groceries and hope that tomorrow her outreach workers could coax the person in.

“We’re going now,” she told the voice. She set the bag down in the thick grass at her feet and stepped back. “Why don’t you come get these before they get rained on?”

“How do I know you won’t snatch me once I come out? Or, for that matter, that what you’ve got in that wee bag is worth the leaving of me humble abode?”

“Humble abode?” Craig whispered. “Who’s he kidding? If that abode were any humbler it would be a hole in the ground.”

“You’re better than this, Craig,” she said, smiling at the charm of the phrase in this situation, “I know you can’t just walk away from a fellow human being in need any more than I can. We must be—”

“Out of our ever-lovin’ minds,” he concluded with good natured resignation. He flipped the collar of his jacket up against a sudden gust then directed his gaze toward the flapping garbage bags. “Look here, pal, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s what the lady planned to live on for a few days. Some bread and peanut butter—”

“And jelly?” the voice asked.

“Sorry, no jelly.” Julia said, craning her neck to see if she could spot the speaker. “But there are three apples and a candy bar, and half a gallon of milk.”

“Milk? Did you say milk?”

The mysterious loner had been hooked.
Julia
stepped back to show she meant no aggression and said, “Half a gallon of cold, sweet milk.”

“All right, then. Leave the bag and be on your way.”

“I’m going.” She took another backward step. Sensing more than seeing that Craig had done the same, she whispered to her assistant from the side of her mouth, “At least now we know he won’t go hungry,”

“Yeah, but you will.” Craig turned to hurry on down the hill to the car.

Julia followed suit, but she couldn’t resist a quick glimpse over her shoulder and she stopped cold.
No matter how often she encountered it in her line of work, each time she came across a child living in the streets— or in this case, beside the expressway—it had a profound, chilling effect upon her.

No way would she let this little redheaded imp slip back under that billboard to spend another night on his own. Luckily for her, the boy, clad in a green windbreaker and surprisingly clean jeans, had stopped to rifle through the contents of the bag. Withdrawing the milk, the boy ripped open the half-gallon carton and began swigging down its contents.

Three strides brought her almost on top of the child, who didn’t seem to notice her until she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Gotcha.”

“You said you wouldn’t be snatching me,” the child roared as he thrashed from side to side in her grasp.

“I said no such thing.” She tightened her hold, tipping her head up to keep the churning headful of red curls from crashing into her chin.

“You said you had no right to be forcing me into your shelter,” he reminded her as droplets of milk from the open carton splashed in her face.

“I said I couldn’t force you if you were an adult—but you’re not.” She thanked Craig with a nod when he strode up to take the carton. “There is no way I’m going to leave you out here alone.”

“I’m not—”

“Not what?” Julia demanded. “You’re not going to try to tell me you’re not a kid, are you?”

The boy’s emerald green eyes flashed in panic as he shifted his gaze to Craig, then Julia, then to their surroundings. He hunched his slender shoulders.

“Th-that’s right, lass, that’s just what I’ll be telling you." The lie was neither well-planned nor well-presented. He ducked his head and could not keep his gaze fixed to hers.

Julia couldn’t help but wonder what he had been going to say—that he was not alone? Could he be protecting someone? She scanned the area but could not see anyone else in or near the makeshift campsite.

As if he sensed her suspicions, the boy raised his shoulders and cocked his head, his voice wavering but loud. “I’m telling you I’m no more a kid than you are.”

To emphasize this point he swung his legs back, trying to kick her shins.

She set his feet soundly on the ground and leaned in to speak clearly in his ear. “Here’s a helpful hint: next time you try to convince someone of your maturity, leave off the part where you throw a temper tantrum.”

Craig took one of the boy’s arms and she the other. He sulked along between them all the way to the car.

“Listen, son, don’t feel bad that you got caught. I’m an old hand at this kind of thing,” Julia told him, trying to keep the lines of communication open. “I’ve been a social worker for over a decade. Six years in the Department of Child Welfare
and the last four running a homeless shelter.”

She helped him over the fence, keeping a firm but gentle grip on the scruff of his neck. Her feet were nearly frozen now, and to add insult to inconvenience, her struggle with the boy had caused milk to spill down her leg and drip into one sorry excuse for a shoe.

Her discomfort probably fueled her weary sarcasm as she prodded him toward her car. “There isn’t a story you can concoct that I haven’t heard, son—and in several languages, to boot. Nothing you can say will make me leave a child to spend a single night on the streets alone.”

“But I tell you, I am no child,” the boy insisted.

“Let me guess,” Craig strode forward and opened the back door of the car. “If you’re not a kid, judging from that accent, flaming red hair and green jacket, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes—you’re a leprechaun.”

The boy, whose movements had already stilled, went positively rigid. The flash in his green eyes quieted, and he tipped his chin up at a proud angle. “I am.”

“You are what?” Craig crowned the bright red curls with his large palm to try to urge the boy inside the car.

The boy jerked his head away. “I am one of the little people of Ireland—a leprechaun.”

A stress-breaking bubble of laughter burst from Julia’s lips. As lies went, this one was a whopper. But it was original, she had to give the boy that. He had to be protecting something— or someone—pretty important to try anything this creative to distract them.

“Well, I have to admit, you’ve got me there, kiddo. That is one story I’ve never heard,” she said. “But just because you’re a terrific storyteller doesn’t change the fact that you’re a minor in need of assistance.”

“I’m no miner.” A resigned grin broke across his face, his green eyes glinting in mischief. “Leprechauns don’t mine their gold, they bury it. You must be thinking of dwarfs.”

“No, I’m thinking of dinner, and how standing here listening to your nonsense is keeping me from it.” Craig set Julia’s groceries inside the car and motioned for the boy to get in as well.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell us your name?” Julia asked through the open driver’s door as the boy curled up in the back seat and Craig plunked down in the passenger’s side.

“Oh, no, you won’t be tricking that out of me.” He scowled up at her.

“Why not? Is that some kind of leprechaun superstition?” She regretted the bitter tinge of her words, but she was cold and tired. Tired, not just from the grueling day-after-day struggle for the shelter’s survival, but tired to the depths of her spirit over situations just like this one. It sometimes seemed that every day, more and more hands stretched out in need, and fewer and fewer reached back, ready to help.

Craig slammed his door shut. “Whatever we’re going to do, Julia, could we get on with it?”

She sighed and folded her hands on top of the car, scanning the thinning traffic in the dim evening light. Darkness and stormy weather were fast approaching, her car was on a ramp headed away from any facilities that could take this child for the night, and Craig had made it clear he had plans and would not welcome delay.

A passing car flicked on its headlights. Thunder resonated from deep inside the billowing gray clouds. If only she could find a police car and wave it over—that would be ideal.

“I’ll tell you what, my little lucky charmer, I could use some leprechaun magic right now,” she muttered to the kid in the back of her car.

“What is it you’d wish for, lass?” The child’s slight weight moved the old car as he leaned forward to peer up at her from behind the driver’s seat.

What is it you’d wish for?
The question echoed through her being. She knew what she must work for, even what she would hope for, but what would she
wish
for? The distinction of the single word gave her a wistful feeling, like a child with her pencil poised over a Christmas list.

“Days like this, my friend, I think I’d wish—” She imagined enough money to afford a hot meal out somewhere, nothing fancy but filling. Decent shoes. The shelter full of volunteers, its bankrolls filled to capacity, its occupancy at an all-time low. She sighed. “I guess I’d just wish—for a little help.”

“Granted.” The word rushed out like a breath of fresh Irish breeze.

Julia stared down at the boy, who pressed his lips together the way a child does before he imparts his deepest secret. But before he could utter a single sound, the whoop of a police siren made her jump.

Whirls of red light spun across the scene as an unmarked cruiser pulled up behind her old car.

A wave of relief washed over her, sweeping away the dim cast of her mood. She glanced from the stopping police car to the boy and grinned. “I suppose you’re going to try to claim this is all courtesy of your benevolent blarney, Mr. Leprechaun.”

“No need to thank me, lass. I’ll just be on my way”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Craig lurched after the boy, but the youngster was too fast. He slipped away and out the car door.

“Hold it right there.” Julia fell into her I’ll-brook-no-argument-from-you voice with great ease. She snagged the boy, who glanced toward the cruiser and the officer climbing out of it with anxiety in his green eyes.

“I’m telling you,” the boy said in a harsh whisper, “I’m a leprechaun. I’ve granted your wish for help, now you have to let me go.”

He fought like a wildcat for release, but Julia held firm.

“Stop that this instant,” she said, then let her tone soften to show the real empathy she felt for the child. “Listen, sweetie, I know a kid in your situation has a natural distrust of the police, but I promise you, the officer is here to help you. This is really for the best. We can’t leave you out here alone.”

“I’m not...” he clamped his mouth shut.

Alone.
He didn’t have to say it for Julia to hear it. She glanced to the billboard but saw no other sign of life there.

She returned her gaze to meet the boy’s searching for the answers he masked with a flash of defiance.
Beyond them, she heard the swish of the policeman’s boots in the tall roadside grass. “If someone else is out here, you’d better tell me now.”

“What? Do you think there are other leprechauns lurking about, Julia?” Craig teased, his own mood obviously lightened. “You’ve already caught your limit, and besides that, he hasn’t forked over his pot of gold.”

The boy went rigid beneath her restraining hand.

“Don’t be silly, Craig,” she said, trying to keep everyone calm until the policeman, who was scribbling down her license plate number, got to them.

“It’s not silly, Julia,” Craig protested, poking his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He sniffled in the damp air. “The legend goes, if you catch a leprechaun, he has to surrender his pot
of gold. Isn’t that right, Red?”

The boy’s green eyes sparked. “Indeed it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just be getting that gold...”

“What seems to be the problem here, ma’am?” The tall, imposing officer strolled up to their little tableau, his face partially obscured by the brim of his dark brown hat.

“Hello, sir. I’m Julia Reed, director of St. Patrick’s Homeless Shelter.” She extended her right hand. “I am so glad you came along when you did, Officer...?”

“Shaughnessy.” He took her hand and gave it one jerking shake. “Michael Shaughnessy.”

Was it her imagination, Julia wondered, or did the man’s presence make the child bristle more than it should?

“How can I help you?” Officer Shaughnessy asked, his gaze fixed on the boy.

The gesture made Julia shiver, but she fought off any apprehensions by concluding that perhaps the two had had run-ins before. Street kids and cops did not mix well, at any rate, so even if there was nothing personal between the two, they would respond as adversaries out of habit.

“Um, you can’t help me, exactly, Officer,” Julia said, caution coloring her words. “It’s this fellow here.”

“I see,” the officer said, his voice flat. “Well, you just leave him to me. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

The boy glowered at the uniformed man.

The situation didn’t feel right to Julia, but she had no reason for her misgivings. Swallowing down the cold lump in her throat, she reached in her back jeans pocket to find a business card.
“If you need anything, son, please call.” She offered the card to the boy. “Here’s how you can find me.”