The Christmas Child (8 page)

Would have been if he hadn't just been hit with a sharp pain in his solar plexus. “I came to pick up Davey. You're late. Sheba was driving me crazy.”

That was true enough. The dog had paced, whined at the door and had dragged Davey's pillow into the living room. The minute they'd barged into the classroom, Sheba had made a beeline for her new charge. Davey had fallen on her neck with obvious adoration. A man could get jealous about losing his dog that way if the sight wasn't so rewarding. Davey needed Sheba in his corner.

“I think you've met my principal, Mr. Gruber.”

Kade gave a short nod. “We've met.”

“McKendrick.” Gruber was stiff as a two-by-four. “Back again so soon?”

“Walked right in.” Kade itched to tell the stuffed shirt how easily he'd entered the building with no challenge, no visitor's card, no one to stop him if his intentions were evil.

To Gruber's credit, he only said, “You can be assured, it will not happen again.” He turned, again stiffly, to Sophie. “I'll see you tomorrow, Sophie. Good night.”

As soon as Gruber was out of hearing range, Sophie said, “You're full of sunbeams this evening. Want to go Christmas shopping? Santa is making an appearance at Benfield's Department Store. You can tell him your wish.”

He glowered at her, but he wasn't annoyed. Not at her anyway. Sophie was the bright spot he needed after a discouraging day. Even though he was glad to be focused and working again, he'd hit enough dead ends to make him wonder if Davey had dropped from the sky. “This school is an open invitation to trouble.”

“Biff said he's working on it.” Jingle bells dangled from her earlobes and a small reindeer pin blinked from her shoulder. She arched a sassy eyebrow. “Seventeen seconds?”

The muscles in his back relaxed. “He told you?”

“About your ninjalike visit to his office? Uh-huh.” Face alight with amusement, she hitched an overstuffed school-bag over the blinking Rudolph. “You made quite an impression.”

“I might have exaggerated a few seconds.” He jerked his chin toward the giant clock on the wall. “It's long past three.”

She grimaced. “I should have called you. There's so much to do this time of year. I have trouble leaving on time.”

“As long as Davey's all right.” And you.

He felt stupid to have been worried, but after surveying the poorly secured building, his mind had run scenarios all afternoon from black-cloaked teens with AK-47s to kidnappers in cargo vans snatching kids from the soccer field.

“He's done well today, Kade.” Sophie lowered her voice, even though Sheba and Davey were several yards ahead, bopping down the hall toward the exit. “The special-needs teacher did some preliminary testing.”

He slid her a glance. His eyes wanted to stay right there, focused on that sweet, gentle face. “Bad?”

“He has some basic skills, but he's nowhere near grade level. He tests at late kindergarten, early first grade, although we suspect he should be in second or even third.”

“Figures.” The kid hadn't been in school. Period. Wherever he'd been, whatever someone had been doing with him, academics had been ignored.

By now, they were outside. The wispy, swirling clouds and tempestuous wind threatened a weather change. They made him edgy, stressed, as if a storm was coming and he couldn't stop it.

He hoped with everything in him that the wrong person didn't discover Davey's whereabouts.

“I'm parked in the teacher's lot,” Sophie said, pausing at the place where the chain-link fence opened to the street.

“I'm over there.” He motioned needlessly to the sports car parked at an angle next to the curb. She couldn't miss it. Davey was already there, waiting. Kade lifted his remote to open the door and watched as boy and dog clambered inside.

Still, Kade lingered, not quite ready to let her go.

“I'll see the pair of you in the morning,” she said, that mile-wide smile lighting her eyes.

“We need to talk.”

She stopped, turned, curious. “Okay.”

“Do you have dinner plans?” Probably. With Gruber. Although, hadn't the overzealous student in Sophie's classroom said Miss B. didn't date much? Try as he might, Kade couldn't be sad about that little piece of information.

“No.”

“We could get a pizza.”

Her face brightened. “Sounds good. Pageant practice starts tonight, so an early dinner is perfect. Want to come?”

“For pizza? I invited you, remember?”

Her quick popcorn laugh was exactly the reaction he'd been shooting for. Mt. Vesuvius in his gut settled a little.

“No, silly, to practice,” she said. “Tonight is an organizational meeting to determine parts and such.”

He sort of knew that. Ida June was building the Nativity scene at town center where the pageant terminated in some kind of town free-for-all, and she kept his ear full of Redemption's Christmas festivities whether he wanted to hear them. The whole idea gave him hives. What was there to celebrate? A bunch of greedy people making a buck in the name of Jesus? Or the upsurge in domestic violence and drunk driving inherent in the holiday? Give him a padded room first.

“I'll pass on the pageant,” he said. “Thanks anyway. Meet you at the Pizza Place.”

 

Sophie tried not to feel hurt, but Kade's abrupt departure as well as his gruff refusal had stung. He'd reacted the same way to a church invitation, but this was different. Kind of.

As she'd driven to the restaurant, she'd had a good talk with herself. Whatever gnawed at Kade had nothing to do
with her. She just happened to be in the line of fire. Either that or she was unintentionally pushing all the wrong buttons.

Now, as she sat across from him, downing pepperoni pizza and bubbly fountain soda, she decided to clear the air.

“Why do you get prickly every time I mention Christmas?”

He was in midbite, a string of melted mozzarella stretching from a rather attractive mouth to the pizza slice. Okay, so his mouth was
really
attractive. Firm, sculpted, with tiny brackets on either side. Davey sat next to him, the towhead barely reaching Kade's elbow in the deep booth. Kade had dropped Sheba at the house with the promise to both dog and boy to save a slice for her.

He chewed and swallowed, an amazing accomplishment considering how tight his jaw always was. “I told you I'm not much on Christmas.”

“Why?”

“Too commercial. Crime rates skyrocket.”

“I've heard people say that.”

He peered at her over his soda. “But you don't agree.”

She intentionally shook her head hard enough to make the bell earrings jingle. “Didn't you have Christmas when you were a boy?”

Something passed over his face but was gone faster than Davey's first pizza slice. “Sure. I was a kid. Kids do Christmas. They don't know any better.”

She was certain he wanted to say more. Certain there was a “but” at the end of his sentence. But something had changed him, something had stolen his childlike belief in all things Christmas.

“I believe,” she said simply.

“In Christmas?”

“And in the reason for Christmas. Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

Was that a “yes, he believed in Jesus,” or a polite acknowledgment of her faith?

She leaned forward, put a hand on his forearm. It was rock-hard with hewn muscle. “Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year, Kade. So many good things happen. People give more, reach out more. I know there's trouble in the world. There always has been. There were griefs and heartaches when Jesus was born. He faced plenty of His own, but He never let that stop Him from sharing joy and peace and love.”

He made a soft noise, not quite a harrumph or a humbug. More of an interesting-but-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it sound.

“Did you ever read the
Grinch Who Stole Christmas?
” she asked.

“You saying I'm a Grinch?” Was that a sparkle she spotted behind that scowl?

“No, I'm saying I have the DVD. If you want I can bring it over sometime for Davey to watch. Or he can come to my house.” There were lessons to learn in that simple Seuss classic.

Davey leaned forward, eagerly nodding.

“Looks like that's a yes.” She handed Davey a napkin. “I'll loan it to you tomorrow. I loved the cartoon version when I was a kid.”

“Me, too.” Kade's admission was almost as good as an all-out victory. He
had
liked Christmas at one time.

“Christmas at our house was such fun,” Sophie said, with a nostalgic smile. “Dad was one of those Santa Claus kind of fathers who made tracks outside our house and jingled bells in the middle of the night. My brother and I would go crazy with excitement.”

“Sounds great.”

“Yes, it was. The best Christmas we ever had, though, was when I was sixteen. We didn't exchange gifts that year. We spent Christmas Day at the church serving meals and handing out gifts to anyone who needed them.” Her heart warmed with remembrance. “I experienced Jesus in a new way that year, and it's stuck with me. I learned giving really is more fulfilling.”

Kade gazed at her with a bemused expression. “You must have great parents.”

“I do.” Or rather did. A shadow passed over the nostalgic mood. “They're divorced now.”

She could almost hear his brain cranking out cynical comments.
See,
he was probably thinking,
life really is lousy.
But Sophie would never believe that. Bad things happened, but all in all, life was good and Christmas was better.

“Divorce can't erase those wonderful memories. My brother, Dad and I still talk about them.”

“What about your mother?”

“She lives in Tulsa with her new family. I generally see her on Christmas Eve, but it's not the same, of course.” In fact, chitchatting with Mom, Edward and his adult children was an evening to endure, not to enjoy. Her brother, Todd, hardly ever came anymore, which made things at Mom's house harder. Mom tried to include her, but Sophie was the fifth wheel, the one who didn't really belong. She'd much rather be here in Redemption with Dad and her friends.

“What was Christmas like in your family?” she asked.

He pushed aside a plate of pizza crusts. Neat little semi-circles of leftover bread lined the edges of the dish. Next to him, Davey was beginning to slow down, too.

“Two older sisters. Mom's an executive accountant and Dad's a hotshot lawyer. We had lots of presents.”

“Were you the spoiled baby brother?”

His lips curved. “Something like that.”

Elbow on the table, she leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, fascinated to think of Kade as a small boy. “Tell me about a typical Christmas at the McKendrick house.”

He hitched a shoulder. “Open gifts, maybe go to Grandma and Grandpa's house. Hang with the cousins, play football or torment our sisters.”

“I can see you doing that.” Which led her right back to the same question. What soured him on Christmas? “Are you going to Chicago for the holidays?”

When Davey stared at him with interest, Kade ruffled his hair. “Don't worry, buddy. I'm not going anywhere.”

Kade's gaze found hers and held. She understood. He was here until Davey's mystery was resolved. Sophie appreciated him for that. When Kade started something he finished it, and he did it with a fierce passion.

“Am I being nosy if I ask how you're related to Ida June?” Sophie asked, eager to know more about this man she couldn't get out of her head.

“Nosy? Yes.” He softened the answer with twinkling eyes. “But I'll tell you. She's my grandmother's sister.”

“Is your grandmother anything like Ida June?”

“If you mean does she drive backward down the street and spout quotations, no. But they are both strong, feisty ladies who can take you down with a hard look.”

“You always know where you stand with Ida June.”

“Grandma, too. That's why I'm here.” As soon as the words leaked out, Kade shut down again. The light in his face evaporated and he shifted uncomfortably in the booth.

“You know I'm dying to ask,” Sophie said.

“Long story.” Kade wadded a paper napkin and tossed it on the plate. “Ready, Davey?”

Davey slid the leftover pizza and bread sticks into the takeout box and made a petting motion with one hand.

“For Sheba,” Sophie interpreted. She reached for the check, but a strong hand trapped hers on the table. “My treat.”

The quiet insistence warmed her. Here was a man whose pride might suffer if she said no. “Okay. Thank you.”

Still, he didn't remove his hand and she began to notice the subtle differences in his skin and hers, the long length of his fingers, the leashed strength.

A flutter tickled beneath her ribs. She lifted her gaze to his.

“I should go,” she said softly. Regretfully. “Practice.”

“Right.” He freed her hand, flexed his once before snatching up the check. “What time?”

“You're coming?” She sounded like a ten-year-old elated over a trip to Disney World.

“Davey,” he said, pushing up from the padded seat. “He can go.”

“I was hoping you'd reconsidered. The pageant is wonderful, Kade. I promise you'll feel more Christmas spirit if you attend.” She couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice. He
needed
to get involved. She was sure of it.

“Not this time. Sorry.”

Her optimistic spirit soared.
Not this time
could only mean one thing: there was still a chance, and if anyone in town needed a little Christmas spirit this year, it was Kade McKendrick and the mute child he'd taken under his wing.

“W
ho spit in your sandbox?”

Kade slouched in front of the laptop, jabbing keys with enough force to jiggle the table. Ida June stood with one hand on her hip and a chocolate-chip cookie in the other.

Davey was fast asleep, exhausted from his day at school and the excitement of whatever he'd been doing with Sophie.

Ida June poked at his shoulder. “GI Jack saw you eating pizza with Sophie B. You after that girl?”

Sophie. The woman was giving him no peace. Just like his great-aunt.

“Strictly professional.”

Ida June made a rude noise. “I didn't think my sister's daughter would raise such a stupid child. ‘Who can find a virtuous woman? Her price is above rubies.'”

“I don't think Sophie's for sale, rubies or not. She's all about cookies.”

Ida June whacked his shoulder. Cookie crumbs scattered down his shirt. “I'm gonna have to call your mama, boy.”

“Tell her I love her.”

“Tell her yourself.” She slapped a cookie on the table beside him.

Kade closed the laptop with a snap and took up the cookie. No use trying to work with Ida June on him. He'd call his mother in his own good time, when he was ready to give her something besides bad news about her son.

“How was work on the stable?” he asked.

“Slow. I need you back out there tomorrow.”

“I can give you a couple of hours.” The rest of his hours, both day and night, would be focused on solving this case.

“And then?” The metal chair legs scraped against linoleum as Ida June perched across from him. She stacked three more fat cookies in front of her. “You got any leads on our little guest?”

He sighed in frustration. “None.”

“You will. It's early yet.”

Much as he appreciated her confidence, he wasn't so sure. “It's as if he fell from the sky.”

“Well, maybe he did.” She pointed half a cookie at him. Melted chocolate oozed out in a thick glob. “Miracles happened at Christmas.”

Kade squinted at her. “You been in the eggnog, Auntie?”

Ida June slapped the table and cackled. “Life is sure perky since you moved in.”

“Yeah, I'm a barrel of entertainment.”

“You'll be happier when you get involved.”

His great-aunt was pushier than his shrink—a shrink he hadn't called since Davey entered his life. He hoped the agency didn't send out the guys in white jackets to see if he'd offed himself.

There was no use denying his unhappiness to Ida June. She was in on the conspiracy to get him out of Chicago, though like his family, she didn't know the complete story.
Even his supervisors had only part of the picture. Fine with him. If he let his mind go there, to what he'd seen and done in the name of justice, he'd be a dead man.

For a while he had been. Then a blue-eyed boy with no voice had given him a reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes the voices in his head said he was trying to make amends, but he knew he couldn't. Not ever.

“I am involved.” When Ida June lifted an eyebrow, he went on. “With Davey. He matters.” The words sounded angry.

“No argument from me. But he's a child and children need Christmas.” His aunt patted the back of his hand with her leathery fingers and rose to rummage around in the kitchen cabinet. “Wherever he came from, whether good or bad, Davey has to be full of heartache. If he's lost from his family, he misses them terribly. If something else—” she paused, drew a breath, the wrinkles in her white forehead gathering in concern “—well, all the more reason for him to grieve.”

Kade leaned back in the chair to study his aunt. She was eccentric but also wise. “What are you saying?”

“Keep him busy. Redemption is a loving place at Christmas.”

“Sophie's taking him to some pageant thing tonight.” His belly started to hurt. He shouldn't have eaten the cookie.

“Good. You go, too.”

He wished for an antacid. Or anesthesia. “I'll pass.”

Ida June snapped around with a glare. A cabinet door banged shut. “Not and live in my house, you won't.”

Or maybe a quick poison. “Blackmail, Ida June?”

She gave him a spunky little grin, like a possum. “Your
choice, nephew. You could move elsewhere, but think about Davey. He's just now settling in.”

Kade rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Sure, she was wise, but she was also pushy. He didn't
do
Christmas. Why couldn't the females in his life get that through their heads?

His own thoughts circled around to replay. Was Sophie part of his life now? Did he want her to be? The better question was, could he allow her into a life as messed up and confused as his?

“What do you want me to do?” he growled.

“When Sophie B. shows up to get Davey boy, you just pack yourself right on out the door with her.”

“You go. Christmas doesn't interest me.” Maybe he should record the announcement for playback at the appropriate moment.

“You're going to deny that poor child in there a little holiday happiness?”

Kade clasped his hands over the back of his head and stared at the ceiling in exasperation. Ida June would not back down. She would not give up. At this juncture, he hadn't the inner reserves to fight her. “All right, I'll go, but that's it. Don't ask me to do more.”

“Ask her to help you put up a tree, too.”

His hands dropped to his sides. “Didn't you hear a word I said?”

She leveled an index finger at his nose and ignored the protest. “A real tree, too. Not one of those plastic things.”

He glowered, hoping to shut her up. He didn't.

“She's a sweetheart, our Sophie B.,” Ida June said merrily. “A man couldn't do much better.”

Mt. Vesuvius churned to a boil. “I agreed to a Christmas tree for Davey. Leave Sophie out of this.”

“You don't think Sophie's pretty?”

Ah, man.

“She's beautiful. And kind and good.” All the things he wasn't.

She also lingered in his head like a sweet fragrance, a song he couldn't stop humming. Being around her eased his conscience, calmed the churning in his belly
and
in his soul.

He dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his eyes, tormented and confused. He had no business getting involved with Sophie. But he wanted to more than he'd wanted anything in a long time. So much so that he was tempted to pray. Not that God would listen.

Ida June lightly touched his shoulder and when he didn't look up, she gave him two gentle pats before padding softly from the room.

 

Davey was a shepherd boy.

A swell of maternal pride rose in Sophie as the towheaded child, along with several others, tried on various robes and headpieces in pursuit of an appropriate costume for the Journey to Bethlehem parade.

They were inside the community center two blocks from the center of town. Dozens had gathered in the wide space for the meeting, some wanting character or singing parts, but most, like Sophie, taking on tasks behind the scenes. The majority of character parts were played by adults, but they'd made an exception for Davey and a few other children. Davey's expressive face was alive with excited pride at being chosen.

Standing next to Sophie, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, Kade murmured, “You must have pulled some strings.”

“I might have put in a word with the director,” she ad
mitted, grinning up into his face. She was still surprised to find Kade here after his earlier refusal.

“How did you get Sheba in on the act?” Kade hitched his chin toward the big dog sitting patiently while Davey placed a halo around her ears and tied angel wings over her back. Catching the adults' attention, Davey pointed at the retriever and laughed his silent laugh.

“Sheba doesn't seem to mind, does she?” Sophie asked.

“She's crazy about him.”

“So am I,” Sophie admitted.

“I know what you mean. As if he's always been here.” And then, half to himself he added, “Wonder why that is.”

Since the moment Kade had appeared at Ida June's wreath-laden door behind a spotless, eager Davey, Sophie had had butterflies in her stomach. A few hours ago, they'd been having pizza and getting better acquainted, but she felt as though she'd known him much longer than a few jam-packed days. In reality, she didn't know him at all, but there was something, some indefinable pull between them.

Maybe their mutual love for a lost little boy had connected their hearts.

“Christmas is about a child,” she said. “Maybe God sent him.”

One corner of Kade's mouth twisted. “Now you sound like my great-aunt.”

“She's a very smart lady.”

“More than I realized,” he said softly, a hint of humor and mystery in the words. “A good woman is worth more than rubies.”

“What?” Sophie tilted her head, puzzled. Even though she recognized the proverb, she wasn't quite sure where it fit into the conversation.

“Something Ida June said.”

“Ida June and her proverbs.” Sophie smiled up at him. “What brought that one on?”

Kade was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady on hers. He gently brushed a strand of hair from the shoulder of her sweater, an innocent gesture that, like a cupid's arrow, went straight to her heart.

“You,” he said at last.

Sophie's heart stuttered. Although she didn't quite get what he meant or why he was looking at her so strangely, a mood, strong and fascinating, shimmered in the air.

Their eyes held, a kind of seeking for answers neither of them had. All Sophie had were questions she couldn't ask. So far, every time she'd approached the topic of his life in Chicago, Kade had closed in on upon himself and locked her out.

A good woman above rubies, he'd said. Had he meant her?

“Sophie!” Someone called her name from the other side of the room. She startled. Kade's fingertips skimmed down her arm, steadied her and brought her back to the large, noisy room. Then, he stepped away and broke the curious mood. But for a heartbeat of time, the festive noise of Christmas had faded into the background. And they had connected.

Had Kade felt it, too? Or was Sophie in danger of becoming one of those single women who imagined herself in love with every man five minutes after they met?

No, she wasn't imagining anything.

Something deep and elemental had stirred when Kade McKendrick looked into her eyes.

Flummoxed, face warm enough to blush, she forced a light laugh. “Better get busy before they fire me.”

The cynical curl of lips returned and pushed her away again. “What's your part in all this?”

“Refreshments.”

She hoped no one had noticed her staring at Kade like a lovesick teenager. She wasn't a teen and she wasn't lovesick. She was…something.

Sophie swallowed down the crazy stir of confusion. “I'm in charge of concessions. Along with some great volunteers, fifth grade sells cookies, coffee and hot chocolate during the event.”

Was her voice as strained and tinny as she thought?

If it was, Kade didn't let on. Or he didn't notice. “Cookies,” he said, amused. “I should have guessed.”

Sophie's tension evaporated. Cookies had a way of calming anyone.

“So,” she asked. “Which job do you want?”

He drew back, frowning. “Me?”

“You're here.” She raised both palms. “This is a meeting of volunteers.”

“I'm with Davey.” He jerked a thumb toward the child, who was now shoving his skinny arms into an oversize brown robe.

“Coward.” She made a teasing face.

His scowl deepened. “Don't push me, lady.”

She gave his shoulder a playful shove. He growled and bared his teeth. Sophie wasn't the least bit intimidated. She laughed. So did Kade.

The sound shot straight to her center and settled like a melody. Happy and light.

Davey heard it, too, and flapped a hand engulfed by a too-long sleeve in their direction.

“Better rescue our boy,” Kade said.

Sophie nodded, caught on that one troubling, inadvertent turn of phrase. Our boy. He'd meant nothing by it, of course. It was simply a light and easy term of endearment.

But suddenly Sophie couldn't get the phrase out of her head. She'd always planned to have children someday.

What would it be like to say “our boy” to Kade and really mean it?

 

The next week passed in a blur as Sophie taught school, ran the cookie project and volunteered for every Christmas event Redemption had to offer. And there were plenty. When he'd cooperate, Kade came along. He came because of Davey's involvement and perhaps because of Ida June's pushiness, but knowing she wasn't the reason didn't stop Sophie's pulse from jumping or her smile from widening.

Her friends had started to tease her about the time she spent with Ida June's mysterious nephew. Even her father noticed and asked what was going on. All she could honestly say was that she and Kade shared a mutual concern for Davey. And if they spent more and more time together because of the lost little child, what harm was there in that?

Kade was frustrated to the point of fury over the lack of progress in Davey's case. He blamed himself, though Sophie didn't understand why. When she'd asked, she'd gotten one of his black silences in reply. He'd made an early escape that night, too, now that she thought about it. The “why” in Kade's life was one of his hot buttons. Press for details, and he withdrew.

Sophie considered pumping Ida June about her nephew's mercurial moods, but that seemed so junior high. If Kade wanted Sophie to know about his past, good or bad, he'd tell her.

Yet, she suspected something bad had gone down, either professionally or personally. Something bad enough to leave him wary of letting others close.

On this particular night, with the crisp December
air clear enough to see the stars like a billion diamonds against black velvet, Sophie slapped her gloved hands together for warmth and stood outside a makeshift concession kiosk. The Journey to Bethlehem procession wound in slow, stately fashion toward Town Square.