Stolen Miracles (3 page)

“What?” He glanced up and caught her grinning. “Oh, you’re kidding, right?”

“Of course.” One eyebrow arched beneath her curls. “But I had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Shame on me. I should have remembered your facetious sense of humor.” He laughed softly. “This is all new to me. Kimmy—well, her mom used to…” His voice trailed off. No point getting into that now. He motioned toward the enrollment file. “Can I fill out what’s most important now and bring the rest back tomorrow?”

“You like homework?”

“No. But in this case…”

“Well, of course, it’s all important.” Rebecca leaned forward and thumbed through the papers, selecting a few. “But I need the medical release and family history the most. We’ll do a quick interview, as well.”

“How quick? Kimmy’s birthday is coming, and I have to order her cake,” Cole explained, glancing at his watch. “The bakery closes in half an hour.”

“Wow, you continue to astound me.” Rebecca reached for a pen and slashed a note in her memo pad. “Procrastinator, check.”

“Guilty as charged, but—”

“When do you want Kimmy to begin attending Precious Miracles?” Rebecca donned her reading glasses, the pen poised over paper, ready to slash once more.

“How about…tomorrow?”

3

“Tomorrow?” Rebecca dropped the pen and glanced up, the glasses slipping over the bridge of her freckle-dusted nose. “But I won’t have an opening until next week at the earliest.”

“I’m desperate.” Cole offered a weary grin and snatched a piece of chocolate from the bowl on her desk. “Please?”

“I won’t ask why.” Rebecca pushed her glasses up and retrieved the pen once again. She jotted a few careful notes. Cole imagined her voice had the same tone she used with disobedient children. “But perhaps I can work something out. We have a student leaving this Friday. I suppose a few days won’t hurt…”

“Please. I’m knee deep in a crucial case.” He drained his cup and stepped over to the coffeemaker to pour a second. The aroma of robust java offered an adrenaline jolt to his system. He gripped the cup between both hands and sucked a deep breath. “My client is depending on me.”

“You’re an attorney?”

“Yes.” He stretched kinks from his neck and leaned against the wall, unable to sit any longer. His nerves hummed as he got to work on draining the cup. “My sister’s pregnant with twins, and the doctor’s about to put her on bed rest. I have to work, and Kimmy needs a safe place to learn and play with other kids while I’m at the office.”

“What kind of attorney?”

“Does it matter?”

The glasses came off. She tossed them onto the desk. Her luminous eyes drew him like magnets. “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t.”

“Family law.” He took a second chocolate Kiss. “It’s not Ivy League, but I give kids a voice when no one else will. That matters more to me than dollar signs.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks paled. “I’ve been to every attorney’s office in Mill’s Landing. Why haven’t I run into you before?”

“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.” Frustration laced Cole’s voice. He peeled the foil from the candy and tossed it into his mouth, chewing around his words. “Why were you hitting law offices, anyway?”

Rebecca waved him off. “Never mind.”

“Look, Rebecca, everyone says Precious Miracles is the best preschool in the county, and though the director seems a bit overbearing—”

“Would you like me to start you a caffeine IV?” she interrupted as he reached for the coffee carafe and poured himself a third cup.

“No, thank you.” He lifted the cup as if offering a toast before drawing the first heated sip. “Like I said, I’ve done my research, and your school seems like the best choice for Kimmy.”

“It is.” Rebecca grew suddenly quiet. She pressed an index finger to her forehead and massaged. “Did it just get dark in here?”

“No.” Cole’s voice softened as he took a step toward her. “Are you OK, Becca?”

“I feel a little woozy. It’s been a crazy day. I don’t think I ate breakfast—or lunch.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Just give me a little air. I’m fine.”

“Well, you don’t look fine.” Cole touched her shoulder, easing her back in the chair. “You’re pale as Zambonied ice.”

“Thanks for the observation.” She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. Cole felt the quickening of her pulse as he grasped her wrist. “I’m just a little hungry.”

“It’s my fault. I’ve kept you here much later than you should be.” He dipped a hand into his pocket. “Here, have some fruit snacks.”

“Fruit snacks?”

“Uh huh. See?” He handed a pouch to her. “Go on.”

“Do you make it a habit to carry food in your trouser pocket?” She ripped open the foil packet emblazoned with colorful fish and tossed one into her mouth.

“Um…yeah.” Cole nodded. “Kimmy gets hungry, and a little snack works wonders to avoid a low-sugar meltdown.”

“Though I’d truly like to, I am not having a meltdown.” Rebecca emptied the gummies into her palm. “But that type of planning is very resourceful and pure genius. Any other tricks I should know about?”

“Yes, but they’re top secret.” Cole shrugged. “Highly confidential.”

“I see.” One by one, the snacks disappeared. “As for your child care predicament…I’ve worked hard to make Precious Miracles the best, and I employ only the most qualified teachers. I’m also careful to follow state guidelines to a tee.”

“I imagine so. Despite that—”

Rebecca glanced up, blowing a wisp of hair from her narrowed eyes. “Is it your standard procedure to ask people to break the law?”

“What?” He took a step back. “That’s ludicrous.”

“There are clear-cut student-teacher ratio regulations that are expected to be followed. Being an attorney, you should respect that.”

“I do, and I would never ask you to break the law. But, isn’t there anything at all...?”

“Let me see.” Rebecca sighed and turned to face the computer. A few taps on the keyboard and she nodded. “OK, there
is
one student who plans to be out the rest of the week for a family vacation. And, by the time he returns, another will have withdrawn because his parents are being transferred. So, I suppose we can work something out.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Rebecca jotted a note. “But I won’t break the law, Cole. I’ve experienced firsthand the devastation that leads to.”

“And so have I.”

She gave the keyboard a few more taps. “What other preschools has Kimmy attended?”

“None. My wife was a stay-at-home mom.”

“Was? She’s gone back to work?”

“No.” Cole shook his head slowly, and then drained his coffee cup for a third time. “It’s not that.”

“Well, I’ll need her signature on some of these forms, as well as yours, before we can begin the enrollment process.”

“That won’t be possible—to have my wife’s signature, I mean.” Cole brushed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “She died last fall.”

“Oh.” A flash of heat raced up Rebecca’s spine. The room teetered once again. She squeezed her eyes tight against the glare of the computer monitor, drew a deep breath, and worked to steady the tremor in her voice. “I’m so sorry. That explains…things.”

“Thanks. It’s been tough. I took a leave from work for a few months, and then, when I finally went back, my sister offered to help with Kimmy. But Patty’s due to give birth in a few months, and she needs to take care of herself—and her husband—now. So, you see, this is an emergency of sorts.”

“I…yes.” Rebecca removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A quick glance at the clock over the doorway told her it was nearly six-thirty. No wonder she was starving. Exhaustion settled deep in her bones. “I suppose it is.”

“Tomorrow would be a godsend.” Cole took the empty snack packet from her desk and tossed it into the trash. “I’ll feel terrible if something happens to Patty or the babies. I’ll beg if I have to.”

“Though I’d enjoy seeing a bit of that, it’s not necessary.” Rebecca held up one hand and waggled her fingers. “You build a very convincing case, Counselor. Tell you what. Take all the papers with you and just get them back to me in the morning when you drop off Kimmy.”

“No fingerprints?”

“Not today.” Rebecca stood and switched off the computer, then the coffeemaker. She offered Cole the carafe. “We’re done for now. Would you like a to-go lid?”

“Thanks, but no.” Cole tossed his cup into the trash and gathered the forms. He stuffed them back into the file folder. “I suppose this means I passed the interview.”

“The jury’s still out.”

“Story of my life.”

****

“Becca, hang on a minute.” Cole grabbed his jacket from the chair and followed her out of the room.

“Change your mind on that to-go cup?” She glanced back over her shoulder as she strode toward the exit, switching off the hall lights as she went. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I owe you dinner.”

Rebecca paused and turned back to face him. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember the day you came to the arena crying? It was nearly a decade ago. Maybe you’ve forgotten.” A decade…the passage of time had only made Becca more beautiful.

“No. I remember.” The sorrow that shadowed her eyes told him he’d stirred up painful memories. She tilted her head and tucked a stray hair over one ear.

“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“It’s OK.” She slipped her purse strap over one shoulder and started down the hall once more. “I also remember you bought me hot chocolate that day, and then you made me laugh when you challenged me to score a goal on you.”

“That’s right. I told you if you got one by me I’d buy you dinner.”

“You didn’t believe I could.” She smirked at him. “It took me a dozen tries, but I finally lobbed one in.”

“You refused to give up.” He shrugged, remembering the victory dance she’d shimmied across the ice while singing some in-your-face tune. “Not bad for a girl in figure skates.”

“And, despite that, you never bought me dinner.”

“Because you started dating some other guy before I had the chance.”

“Steve.”

“The two of you came to the rink together fairly often after that. He never skated, but he watched you from the stands, and I knew, from the way he watched…” Cole shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t going to ask under those circumstances. It just wouldn’t have been right.”

“That’s awfully noble of you.”

“I’m a noble kind of guy.” Truth was, he’d bitten his tongue on more than one occasion to keep from spilling the beans and making a complete and utter fool of himself. He’d pined after Rebecca for nearly a year, waiting for his chance to swoop in, until Leah came along to claim his attention.

“So, are you asking me now?”

“I am…but not for the official dinner. I have to get home soon.”

Rebecca’s belly growled. “My stomach says it needs some real food, so if this is an offer of more fruit snacks, I’m going to have to pass.”

“It isn’t.” Cole laughed. “I know a great deli. We can get something quick—sounds like you need it.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

“Then, this weekend, I’ll take you out for a real dinner.”

“Real…I assume you think I’ll agree to that.”

“Why should I assume any different?”

“Just saying…” She shrugged. “You never know.”

“Oh, I know.” He winked. Maybe Patty had a valid point when she said he needed to get on with his life. Patty—he’d better shoot her a phone call to let her know he’d be delayed a bit—and to be sure she was resting as much as humanly possible with Kimmy underfoot. “So, I’ll need your phone number.”

“I see you come by the nickname Smooth Seibert honestly.”

He laughed. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

4

“You know, this won’t earn you brownie points,” Rebecca teased as she fell in step beside Cole. Her pumps clacked along the tile floor and muted sunlight spilled through windows to cast shadows along the walls. “You still have to do your homework.”

“I know.” He held the door for her, then waited while she locked up and set an alarm. The evening air was warm and a gentle breeze teased Rebecca’s hair. The look brought back memories of the whimsical smile she’d worn the first time he saw her skimming over arena ice, stretched in a graceful spiral. “Do you skate much anymore?”

“No.” She tucked the keys into her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “I haven’t been skating in years. And you?”

“About the same.” Truth be told, he hadn’t skated since Leah got sick. He missed racing across the ice, the pure physicality of it. A game of hockey—a round of speed over ice—was good medicine for just about anything that ailed. Being with Becca reminded him of all he’d been missing. “Too busy.”

“Ordering birthday cakes, right?”

“Oh, man…” Cole paused at the car and glanced at his watch. “Do you mind a little side trip before we hit the deli?”

“Not at all. Those fruit snacks hit the spot.”

“Good idea, huh.” He gave her the impish grin that used to set her pulse skittering. “If we hurry, we can make it before the bakery closes.”

“I’ll bet you drive like you skate, Mario.”

“No tickets on record, and the speed only counts if you get caught.”

“Just keep it under eighty.”

“I can manage that.”

“You’d better.” She waited while Cole opened the passenger door for her, and then lifted a few picture books from the seat before she slipped into the passenger side. “A bit of light reading?”

“Kimmy likes to look at stories while she rides.”

“I see.” Rebecca glanced through the titles before she set the books on the back seat. “That’s a nice collection. Do you read to her often?”

“Every night at bedtime, and whenever I can in between.”

“She’s a lucky little girl.”

“I hope so.” He scooted into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

“You’re not sure?”

“She’s been through a lot.” He shrugged and switched on the radio. Music with a heavy beat blasted through the cab before he quickly lowered the volume. “Losing her mom. It was a shock to both of us.”