One Summer (38 page)

“Mr. Craig has every reason to believe that he’s Angel Harper’s father. And now that her mother has died, he’s come to take custody of his daughter.”

“She’s not an item that can be traded, like some velvet Elvis paintings on eBay,” Charity snapped. She shot the car dealer a skeptical look. “She’s eight years old. If you’re that concerned about playing the role of her father, where have you been all this time?”

“My client has been in Las Vegas,” the lawyer began.

“I was talking to your client,” Charity snapped. Oh, yes, he was reminding her of her former fiancé more with every word. “Who, I would think, could speak for himself.”

“I didn’t know where my daughter was,” Craig asserted.

“So you did know there
was
a daughter.”

“Crystal mentioned something about being pregnant.” The lobes of his ears turned as scarlet as a boiled crab, giving Charity the impression that Angel’s mother had done a lot more than merely
mention
it. The poor woman probably would have felt desperate. “But then she left town and I couldn’t find her.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you looked really, really hard, too,” Charity muttered. “How did you find her now?”

“I hired a private detective, who saw Crystal’s obituary online, on your local newspaper’s Web site. Naturally, I got on the first flight I could book out of Las Vegas. To come here, meet my daughter, and bring her home.”

Damn. Charity suddenly hated the Internet.

There was more to the story. More he wasn’t telling her. Charity exchanged a look with Gabe, whose expression told her that he was thinking the same thing.

“Do you have any proof Angel even
is
your child?”

“Ms. Harper listed my client as the father of record on the child’s birth certificate.” Once again answering for his client, the attorney reached into an alligator briefcase and pulled out the piece of paper, which bore an official-looking state seal.

“From what your client has said, the woman wasn’t exactly a credible witness,” Gabe entered the conversation. “She was mentally ill. According to what Johnny told us, she seldom stayed on her medication.”

“She firmly believed God spoke to her,” Charity added.

The conversation with Johnny Harper about the years he’d lived with the woman had been one of the most difficult of her life, making all those announcements from her own mother that their family was breaking up again seem practically benign.

She suspected he’d just skimmed the surface of what he’d survived, but refraining from weeping in front of the boy, who, although he was nearly as tall as her, was still just a child, had taken every ounce of her self-restraint.

Yesterday, the day after the fire, inspectors had ruled that the blaze that had destroyed the cabin had started from a cigarette in the cushions of the sofa in the communal living room. Which verified Johnny’s claim about his mother believing God had instructed her to protect them from evil.

The thought of the tortured woman, who’d been fighting her own demons for what sounded like most of her life, chain-smoking as she’d held vigil over her children to the very end broke Charity’s heart.

“Unfortunately, that’s true about her hallucinations.” The lawyer’s cool voice broke into her unhappy thoughts. “Which is why my client also didn’t believe her when she told him that she was pregnant. She was, after all, known to be a habitual liar. Even by those who’d been given the responsibility to protect the children from her.”

“She was ill,” Charity repeated, more sharply this time. Crystal Harper had died in a misguided, confused attempt to protect those same children. There was no reason to attack her when she wasn’t here to defend herself.

“Whatever.” The lawyer shrugged and reached into the monogrammed case yet again. “We also have an order for a blood test.”

“Blood tests aren’t conclusive,” Gabe said.

“Which is why we’re also requesting a DNA test.” Craig’s attorney was starting to remind her of a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat as he revealed yet another document. “Meanwhile, Mr. Craig’s wife is staying at an inn in Shelter Bay, where the girl will join them until the blood test results are in. Then, unless it negates the possibility of paternity, they’ll be taking the girl back to Las Vegas.”

“The
girl
has a name,” Charity said. “It happens to be Angel. And how can you just take her out of state without a hearing?”

“Mr. Craig’s credentials are very strong,” the social worker finally spoke. “He’s a respected member of his community. We have no problem giving him temporary custody while this matter is sorted out.”

“I don’t believe this,” Charity flared. “These children have already spent too many years in a system that offered benign neglect at best. They’ve been apart for most of Angel’s life. Now not only could they have died—they lost their mother. This is no time to uproot them.”

“Yet isn’t that precisely what you were planning to do?” the lawyer asked. “Mrs. Greene here”—he nodded toward the social worker, who looked as if she’d spent her morning sucking pickles—“tells me that you’ve applied to foster the children, which would involve taking the girl, Angel,” he corrected at her glare, “from her current home.”

Although she’d never hit a person in her life, as Gabe straightened out her fingers and smoothed his hand down the back of hers, Charity realized she’d actually made a fist.

“So Johnny and Angel could be together,” she said between gritted teeth. “You’re threatening to permanently separate them.”

“The boy isn’t my son,” Jack Craig said. “I don’t see where I have any responsibility toward him.”

“How about a moral responsibility?” Gabe asked.

When the man’s face turned blank at that question, Charity swore that there was no way in hell she was going to let this horrid man separate those children yet again.

“My mother just happens to be married to a judge,” she said. “A Washington State Supreme Court justice with powerful friends in Oregon legal circles.”

She had no idea if that was true, but surely after all these years on the bench, Benton had connections he could call upon. “One phone call and he’ll stop this travesty of justice from taking place.”

“Do your best.” Not appearing all that intimidated, the lawyer closed the briefcase with a decisive snap. “Meanwhile, Mrs. Greene will be at your home to retrieve the girl and take her to my client and his wife at three this afternoon. Please have her packed and ready.”

He walked out the door, the heels of his Italian loafers clicking on the tile floor, the other two members of his unholy trinity trailing like sheep behind him.

“The idea of handing Angel over to that man, even for a short time, makes me want to cry,” Charity said as she blinked back tears more born of anger than sorrow.

“I know.” Gabe drew her close and pressed his lips against her hair. “But we’re going to beat the guy. Somehow.”

She wondered if he’d even noticed that he’d said
we
. As if they were a team.

Which they were.

She needed him. So much, Charity thought.

And he needed her. Along with the family she intended to create. Gabe was too alone. Had been too long. And the saddest thing was that he didn’t even know it.

Yet.

It was brutal. That was the only word Charity could use to describe it. Angel screamed bloody murder at being told that she was going to be taken away to live with a father she’d never known, away from her brother.

She struck out, swinging wildly at the sour-faced Mrs. Greene, one small fist connecting with the woman’s jaw. Apparently prepared for resistance, Craig and the lawyer had brought along Kara, who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“It’s going to be all right,” Kara repeated what Charity had said countless times since she’d returned to the house to find Angel in tears. “This is just a temporary situation, darling.”

“But it is rough,” Charity admitted. She went down on her knees and took hold of the small, trembling shoulders. “And unfair. But here’s the deal. My mom’s husband is a very important man. He’ll figure out a way to fix this. But right now, you have to go with Sheriff Conway and meet your father.” She tried to put a positive spin on this situation that was anything but positive. “Your father’s been waiting to meet you for a very long time.”

“I d-d-don’t want to be with him.” She reached out and grasped Gabe’s hand, which was so much larger that her hand disappeared inside it. “I want Gabe to be my daddy. And I want Shadow to be my dog. And I want to live here and marry Trey.”

Well. No one could accuse her of not knowing her own mind. And actually, Charity thought it all sounded like a lovely plan.

“Shadow?” she asked.

Angel looked up at Gabe. “He needed a name. So I decided that Shadow would be a good one because he’s black and because he always sticks with you and me. Just like a shadow.” Her lower lip, which had been stuck out in a stubborn pout, started trembling. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I think Shadow is a perfect name,” he assured her.

“Me, too,” Charity said, purposefully ignoring the fact that whatever happened with her foster-care application, by the time Angel was back home under this roof, the dog would probably be in Washington State. With Gabe.

Since the tantrum had stopped, for now, Gabe scooped her up into his arms. “How about I give you a piggyback ride out to Sheriff Conway’s car?” he suggested.

“The police car?” She perked up a bit at that suggestion.

“We brought the limo,” the attorney said.

“I’ll drive her to the inn,” Kara said in a no-nonsense, don’t-even-try-to-mess-with-me cop tone Charity had never heard from her, but bet it had worked really well on perps back in Southern California, where she’d been a cop before moving home to take over her father’s job as sheriff.

They all walked out with her.

Gabe’s hand rested on Johnny’s shoulder as they stood on the sidewalk, watching the black limo glide down Harborview, followed by Kara’s police cruiser. Then both disappeared around the corner.

“This is one more suckfest in a truly rotten week,” Gabe told the teen. “But you can help set things right.”

“Like, yeah. That’s worked real well these past years,” he muttered.

“No. Seriously. Listen to me.”

Charity couldn’t imagine anyone not. His Marine voice, like Kara’s cop one, radiated quiet authority.

“I know what you’re thinking. That you might as well just split. Run to Portland. Or maybe Seattle.”

Johnny scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the concrete. “I was thinking Seattle,” he admitted.

“You’ve been carrying all this crap all by yourself for too long. You’ve got yourself a dream team now. Charity, her mom”—he gestured toward Amanda, who’d been a blessing during this difficult time—her husband, who’s a big-shot judge, and me.

“We’re going to get your sister back and the two of you are going to move into this house and someday down the road, you might even have to warn Trey Conway that if he ever dares to drink and drive with your sister in the car, or treats her with anything less than the respect she deserves, you’re going to have no choice but to rip his heart out and feed it to Peanut as a midnight snack.”

That drew a hint of a smile, which Charity had known was his intent.

“Just because that lawyer is a creep doesn’t mean he’s not good at his job. He’s going to try to find some reason why his dirtbag client would provide a better home for your sister than Charity. Which is where you come in by toeing the line because no way is Angel’s dad’s new wife going to be anything like the supermom this woman was born to be.”

He smiled up at Charity. With his mouth and his eyes.

His words shouldn’t cause her such a rush of pleasure. And, dammit, hope that just possibly Gabe might be including himself in that family portrait. But they did.

“I’ll try,” Johnny muttered.

Gabe squeezed his shoulder. “That’s all we can ask, son.”

Charity couldn’t think of anything but what might be going on at the Sea Cottage Inn.

She’d tossed and turned all night long. Despite having claimed that he didn’t want complications in his life, instead of escaping while he could, Gabe had not only stuck around and spent the night; he’d taken Johnny out for the day of fishing and whale watching with the Douchett men on Cole’s crab boat. She knew that the teen was every bit as distracted as she was, but took it as a positive sign that he trusted her when she promised to call Gabe’s cell if there was any news of Angel.

Amanda, meanwhile, was on the phone, calling every one of the judge’s friends and acquaintances, trying to track down her errant husband.

Knowing that her distraction wouldn’t be fair to any animal she might be treating, Charity arranged to have two other vets rotate for her for the next few days until her life hopefully settled down into something resembling normal.

Her nerves already on edge, when her cell phone rang, she scooped it up without even bothering to check the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Charity?” a familiar, sonorous voice boomed. “It’s Benton.”

“Benton? Where the hell have you been?”

She hardly ever cursed. It was a sign of her mental state that she did now.

“Sailing back from Maui. Is your mother there?”

“Yes, I’ll go get her—”

“Don’t do that,” he cut her off.

“Why not?” Surely he wasn’t leaving her to tell his wife that their marriage was over?

“You’ll see soon enough. Bring her down to the yacht-club dock in fifteen minutes.”

The way he’d stated it, as a directive rather than a request, might have annoyed Charity had it not spoken to the fact that he was a man used to getting his own way. A judge she was counting on to help give Johnny and Angel Harper the family they deserved.