My Three Girls (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 2

  “You don’t have to feed us,” Karen interjected. “I made us sandwiches.”

  Ollie started to whine. “But I don’t like—”

  “Hush. She might let us spend the weekend if she doesn’t have to feed us.”

  Dana felt more emotion pulse through her in sixty seconds than she’d allowed in the past five years. She’d chosen this job in the middle of nowhere to avoid feeling anything. Now white, scalding anger was directed at Beverly Moore, wherever she was. How dare she abandon her children as if they were overgrown vegetables easily left on the doorstep of unwary neighbors. But the tearstains on Karen’s face had her fighting for control.

  “I don’t mind feeding you. Then I’ll call some nice people to give you a place to stay.” She tried to smile, but her face felt like it was cracking in half.

  FRIDAY NIGHT was generally busy, but tonight, Brady Moore’s usual rounds were quiet. He didn’t know how many miles he’d driven that night along the county roads that wound from the Gabilan Mountains to the Diablo Range without seeing anything worrisome. No drunk drivers. No speeders. Always a bad sign. In his fifteen years as a sheriff’s deputy for San Benito County, the quiet evenings were the ones that ended in something bad.

  The dispatcher came over the radio. “There’s a call from the Panoche School. Three juveniles abandoned.”

  “I’m in the south county,” he replied. “Is there someone closer? Or maybe CPS?”

  “You’re going to want to take this one, Brady,” the dispatcher said, her voice terse.

  “Why?”

  “Three girls,” she emphasized. “Last name Moore.”

  Brady felt himself stiffen.

  “Thought you might want to check it out before we call in CPS.”

  His brother Carson had three little girls whose last name was Moore.

  Brady didn’t carry around a lot of guilt. He didn’t give a second thought to lying to drug dealers or unbalancing suspects, if it meant that he could clean up his little section of the universe. But it didn’t take much soul-searching for him to realize that he’d been a bit too eager, nearly five years before, to oblige his sister-in-law when she’d told him to never contact her and the girls again.

  Only fifteen months apart, he and his brother had grown up together, but even though Carson was older, he’d always been just a little too intellectual, too bookish to fit in well with his peers. That meant Brady had been the one who sold all of his brother’s raffle tickets, fought his battles at school and introduced him to the world of girls.

  It was no surprise when they grew up that they’d choose different career paths. Brady went into law enforcement, Carson into accounting. But the differences in their temperament only strengthened the bond between the brothers. Maybe that’s why Brady had been so hurt when Carson had introduced him to his new wife, Beverly. Brady would never have dreamed Carson would give in to the impulse to marry a woman he’d only known twelve hours.

  Even though Karen had been born ten months into their marriage, Bev hadn’t seemed happy. But Carson’s loyalty to his wife put an enormous amount of pressure on Brady and his mother, Edie, to accept her. And they’d tried. Since they’d left home, the brothers had always visited their mother once or twice a week. When Carson’s visits dropped to once or twice a month, then eventually only on major holidays, it was hard for Brady not to blame his sister-in-law. Especially once the reason for her unhappiness became clear.

  Bev had thought Carson was a lot more successful than he actually was. Carson’s accounting firm had a few good clients and was growing steadily, but the family lived on commissions and the small salary that Carson allowed himself, investing any other profit into the business or Karen’s college fund. Bev wasn’t content being a stay-at-home mom who needed to budget carefully. She wanted more—designer clothes for her and Karen. A nice car and house and furniture. She couldn’t understand why Carson wouldn’t move to the city and work in a big firm with big clients.

  In spite of these differences, Brady believed Carson and Bev cared enough about each other to work out their problems. That was confirmed when the joyful pair announced they were expecting a second baby. Jean’s birth was followed almost immediately by the conception of their third, and then all hell broke loose.

  Edie—who’d never remarried after the death of her husband—had become sick and four terrible months later died. During those long days and endless nights of treatment and pain and sadness, Carson had managed only two short and awkward visits. In his grief, Brady’s anger and resentment at his brother grew. It would have been nice if just once Brady could have relied on Carson. A month or two later, when Carson was arrested, Brady pretended not to care. His brother had completely changed. The irrefutable evidence showed this once honest and sensitive man had become an embezzler to further his wife’s ambitions. Rather than help his brother through the complex legal system, Brady had turned his back. In what seemed to be just days, Carson accepted the court-appointed lawyer, took a plea and was sentenced to a minimum-security state penitentiary.

  Bev, of course, blamed Brady, refusing to see how her own behavior had corrupted Carson. If it hadn’t been for the girls, Brady would have gladly washed his hands of her. She wouldn’t let him see the girls, so his only option was to deposit money directly into her account every month. It assured him that Bev wouldn’t have to work and would maybe compensate for the fact that the children didn’t have a father. It didn’t help the guilt, though, and it didn’t change the reality that his brother was a criminal. More than anything, it made Brady never want to get close enough to anyone to be that disappointed again.

  “You still there?” the voice crackled over the radio.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I notify CPS?”

  No matter what had passed between him and his brother, no matter how much his sister-in-law hated him, he would not let the girls go into foster care. They were still his family.

  “No,” Brady said.

  DANA TRIED TO GET through as much of her grading as she could. She spread the papers out before her on the table, feeling very anxious, while Karen, Jean and Ollie lay curled together on her couch. She adjusted her reading glasses and still squinted at the papers in front of her. She’d called the sheriff’s department over an hour ago, but no one had come yet, though it was close to midnight.

  Dana’s chest tightened. The girls weren’t trouble. Jean and Ollie had cried a little because they wanted to go home, but Karen had comforted them with adultlike pats and soft words, and they’d quickly settled down.

  For their dinner, Dana had scraped together three scrawny peanut butter sandwiches. She rooted through her kitchen cabinets looking for something that came from the fruit and vegetable portion of the food guide. She rose triumphant with a jar of peaches given to her by a parent. Laid out on the Corelle, the dinner didn’t look too bad. Three pairs of large eyes, so stoic that a lesser woman would have wept, stood in the door of the kitchen, not even daring to enter.

  “Dinner’s on the table. Why don’t you come in and eat?” she’d invited with a small smile.

  “I’m not hungry, Miss Ritchie,” Karen had said, her voice polite. She had her arms around her sisters. Ollie whispered something to Jean, who put her hand to Karen’s ear. Karen listened and then looked up again. She reported, “But the girls are, so I guess they should eat. I don’t need to.”

  “Come, all of you,” Dana ushered them into the kitchen and got them seated. She should have put her arm around Karen and let her know that she didn’t have to carry all that responsibility, and that everything was going to be all right. But Dana had done that before.

  After the girls were settled and eating, Dana called her mother on the phone in her bedroom. “Have you called the police?” her mother had asked as soon as Dana had explained the day’s events.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Her mother was emphatic. “I don’t want
you to get involved. Remember what happened last time.”

  Last time.

  At first, her concern for the little kindergartener named Adam was strictly professional, then as the situation with his drug-addicted mother became clear, it turned to fond sympathy, followed quickly by a love she didn’t believe she could feel for a child who wasn’t hers. It changed her from a carefree young woman heedlessly taking an ordinary path from college to career to husband to children to fierce protector of the most innocent and underprivileged. No one could have predicted that all the love she’d had for Adam could vanish with one cold and ugly act. After that she’d changed again. This time into a woman who never wanted to be touched—emotionally or physically.

  Her parents had stood by her the entire time, never questioning her decision to resign from her position at a progressive urban elementary school to sign on here. They’d simply helped her move. It was then that her mother—with a reassuring peck on the cheek—had warned her about hiding from her grief. But her mother had underestimated Dana’s resolve. Dana was a smart, capable woman. If anyone could dodge grief, she would. She would conquer it by working so hard that her brain became numb.

  One of the girls whimpered and Dana was brought back to the present. Karen, Jean and Ollie were fast asleep, their heads hanging at awkward angles. Dana looked at the stacks of papers in front of her, accepting the fact she wasn’t going to get them done. She went over to the girls and straightened them out on the couch, placing a granny-square afghan over them. Adam had lain under this same blanket, giggling as he peered at her through the holes.

  Karen opened her eyes. “Are they here yet?”

  Dana shook her head. “Soon.”

  “Can’t we stay here? This is comfortable.” Her gray eyes were serious. “Momma said she’d be back on Sunday.”

  Dana couldn’t keep them until Sunday. That was out of the question. They needed some motherly attention, a bath and clean clothes, real meals. Dana couldn’t give them that.

  “You’ll be best off with people who can take care of you.” Dana spoke in a practical tone. She knew where the conversation was leading as Karen’s lips pinched together to keep them from trembling. Jean moaned again.

  “Is Jean okay?” Dana asked with concern. Before she could stop herself, she’d moved toward Jean and put a gentle hand on the small forehead.

  “She’s fine,” Karen said quickly. “She has bad dreams sometimes.”

  Karen nudged her sister with her foot and Jean’s eyes struggled to open. She was disoriented and her face crumpled with fear.

  “It’s just me, Jean,” Dana soothed, the waves of some indefinable emotion washing through her. “You’re okay.”

  Jean’s face cleared and her eyes closed; clearly she’d never fully woken up.

  “You can take us,” Karen said, her voice small but brave.

  Her back to Karen, Dana squeezed her eyes tight as she readjusted the afghan. “No, I can’t. It’s not right.”

  She ventured a look over her shoulder and felt even worse as Karen’s eyes swam with tears. “Yes, it is. We get along okay at school, don’t we?”

  Dana couldn’t answer that question, so she answered one that made her feel better. “A nice lady or man from Child Protective Services will come pick you up and find you a nice place to stay.”

  “All of us? Together?” Karen asked anxiously.

  “I’m sure they’ll try their best,” Dana hedged and dropped her hands from the crocheted coverlet. She couldn’t adjust the afghan forever.

  “Why can’t you keep us?” Karen’s clear treble had a pleading edge to it.

  “I’m your teacher. Technically, I’m not even supposed to be baby-sitting you. And we need to know that you’re okay if something happens to your mom.” As soon as the words came out of Dana’s mouth, she wanted to take them back. Karen, if possible, paled more.

  “Do you think she’s in trouble?”

  This was another one of those situations in which a normal woman would tug the eleven-year-old into a tight hug and whisper heartfelt reassurances. Karen looked as if she would welcome that. Instead, Dana patted her arm. “I’m sure she’s okay. But it’s good that you’ll be with people who can take care of you. Try to get some sleep. They should be here soon.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  BRADY RAPPED on the door. He checked his watch and adjusted his belt, his heart beating erratically. Ridiculous. This wasn’t a hostage situation; these were just little girls. Of course, it didn’t help that he couldn’t remember their faces or even the littlest one’s name. Olive? Oleander? Would Bev actually name her daughter after a bush? He doubted that. Would he even know his nieces? They certainly wouldn’t know him. He knocked again, automatically surveying the grounds. The school sat to the left of this small house.

  “Just a minute,” came the muffled response.

  Brady looked at his watch again and stared at the front door. He heard rustling, then the door opened a crack and one eye peered at him. He noticed the flimsy chain on the door and the rotting wood it was clinging to. An intruder would have no difficulty entering this residence. A hefty shove would topple both the person attached to the eye and the door. Hardly safe for a woman living alone. He’d never met the schoolteacher but he didn’t think that an elderly woman should be living out here all alone. He made a mental note to talk to her about safety.

  She opened the door a little wider with a breath of relief. “Deputy…” She looked around him as if she was expecting someone else.

  “Are you okay, ma’am?”

  She nodded. “I’m just surprised.”

  “Surprised?”

  “I thought that Child Protective Services would have at least sent a woman, since these are three young girls.”

  Brady swallowed, not wanting to lie to her. “I was sent out to evaluate the situation,” he said instead. He wasn’t sure who this was. Was she the schoolteacher’s daughter? He couldn’t stop staring at the freckles splattered across her nose as if someone had taken a paintbrush and flicked it at her. She couldn’t be a day over thirty. Her plain T-shirt was tucked neatly into some well-fitting jeans, making her seem more youthful than she probably was.

  She stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. “I am so glad you were able to get here on such short notice. I’m Dana Ritchie, Panoche School’s teacher.”

  Brady hid his surprise as he stepped through the doorway. “You live alone, right?”

  “Yes,” she said abruptly. “Is that a problem?”

  Brady wondered what was making her so defensive. “No. But you ought to get the door frame done in steel. And get a dead bolt and a peephole rather than that chain. You might want a dog for some additional protection.”

  She blinked at him, a small smile coming to her lips. “I’ll talk to the school board about that on Monday. I’m not sure a dog is in my contract.”

  Brady stepped farther into the foyer, pulling out his notebook. “Now, what’s the problem?”

  She put her finger over her mouth, tilting her head in the direction of the living room. “The girls are sleeping,” she whispered. “They’ve been waiting a long time.”

  Brady swallowed. There was always a chance that these weren’t his nieces.

  “May I see them?” he asked.

  She nodded and quietly walked toward the couch.

  Brady looked down at the sleeping girls. Their hair was falling over their faces, so he couldn’t tell. Then the oldest girl’s eyes popped open, wide and gray, guarded.

  “Uncle Brady.” It was a flat statement, surprising him. He didn’t think Karen would recognize him. She’d only been seven when she’d last seen him.

  “Karen.”

  “Uncle Brady?” the schoolteacher asked.

  Brady stared at the woman who faced him, her head tilted, her eyes ready to do combat for these girls. “Brady Moore. I’m their uncle, their father’s brother.”

  HE WAS THEIR UNCLE. These girls had family! Dana nodded and
moved away, leaving Karen and the deputy watching each other. She was sure that he wasn’t displeased by Karen, but he was glowering at the little girl. Surprisingly, Karen didn’t blink. Her jaw tightened, but she never broke eye contact.

  Quickly on the heels of the relief that came from learning the girls had family were second thoughts. How could Dana let these girls go off with a man who didn’t even smile?

  She glanced at Karen whose fingers poked through the holes of the afghan as she clutched it close to her. She didn’t seem frightened, but neither was she reassured by the presence of her uncle. Dana took a deep breath and surprised herself by laying her hand on his arm.

  “Deputy,” Dana said to break the tension. He shifted his sharp gaze to her, and she tilted her chin to stare back. If Karen wasn’t going to be intimidated, she wouldn’t be either. She supposed he couldn’t change the angles of his jaw to make him seem less authoritative or alter the keen intelligence in his eyes to make him appear less intense. She tried not to notice the flat crease of his pants. Meticulous. Not a hair out of place, not a little bit of five o’clock shadow.

  On top of that, she noted with irritation, he was damn composed, given the situation he was in. Shouldn’t he show just a smidge of embarrassment at his sister-in-law’s behavior or some other kind of emotion that indicated this was a big deal? If Karen’s reaction was any gauge, they weren’t close. Yet Dana could feel him radiate a peculiar—for lack of a better word—detachment that she found more disturbing than his physical presence. His eyes swept over the room as if he was used to evaluating everything he saw.

  She didn’t know why a hot flush began to inch up her neck. She wasn’t ashamed of her modest home. The furniture might not match, the rug was a brown, teal and purple throwback to the seventies, and the only decorations were student art projects from years before, but the place was clean and she liked it. So what if it screamed spinster schoolmarm.

  He looked at her hand. “That grip is lethal.”