скачать книгу бесплатно
Angry tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. No one besides her aunt and uncle knew what Christopher had done—or at least she’d thought so. The local news had covered the story on all channels, but as a minor, Chris’s name had been left out, both on television and in the newspapers.
But why else would someone paint the word on their garage door?
Who would be so quick to judge her and her son with such hatred? Her landlord would be livid. And here she’d always thought of the little Colorado mountain town of River’s End as peaceful, welcoming.
“Holy crap!” Christopher exclaimed. His face clouded over. “I told you we shouldn’t have moved here.”
Darci only shook her head. She went inside the house and put her cowboy hat on the closet shelf, then changed into a faded old shirt before going back outside. She entered the garage via the side door and rummaged through some boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked, Chris tagging at her heels. Tears stung her eyes. She would not let some stranger’s horrible actions get to her.
“Paint thinner, paint thinner…” she mumbled. Had to be here with the other odds and ends she’d brought with her for household repairs. There.
Darci lifted the container from the box, along with some clean rags and a pair of rubber gloves. She’d have to make a trip to the hardware store and get a can of matching yellow paint to completely obliterate the word. Suddenly she felt angry, and that anger was directed at Christopher.
Her own child had made her life a living hell, and she’d had enough. Every penny of her small nest egg was meant to carry her and Chris along until she had a steady paycheck coming in. And now because of her son’s stupid actions and some hateful vandal, she had to waste money on paint for what had been a perfectly fine garage door just this morning. Who had had the nerve to do this in broad daylight anyway?
Biting her lip to keep her tears and frustration at bay, Darci tossed the rag at her son. “Here. Clean that off.”
“Why do I have to clean it?”
“Maybe because you’re the reason for it,” Darci snapped, then took a deep breath at the stricken look on her son’s face. “Chris, I’m sorry. Christopher!” But he was already pushing his way through the screen door to the house, letting it slam behind him. “Chris!”
He ignored her. Since his father had left a year ago, Christopher had changed from a quiet boy who loved to read, hike and skateboard to a troublesome young man Darci barely recognized as the child she’d given birth to. These past couple of days, he’d seemed more like his old self again, settling in to their new home better than she’d hoped—or so she’d thought.
Silently, Darci berated herself for directing her anger at him. He was still her son. She got to work with the rag and paint thinner. To her surprise, Christopher came back outside with a larger rag in his hand.
“I’m sorry, Chris,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I just can’t believe trouble has followed us here so fast.”
“It’ll never stop,” Chris said, his face nearly as red as the paint he viciously scrubbed. “I made one dumb mistake, and now—”
“It will stop,” Darci said. It had to, or she’d lose her mind. “We have to believe that. It’s just going to take a little time.”
He grunted. “I doubt that.” He indicated the smeared graffiti. “No one wants us here. We could move to China and everybody would still hate me.”
“No one hates you,” Darci said, wishing she could believe her own words. For one moment, Christopher looked like the little boy she used to cradle in her lap when he skinned his elbow riding his bicycle. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand, and sometimes they react in inappropriate ways.”
“Now you sound like Dr. Kingsley.” That was Chris’s psychologist in Northglenn, who’d referred them to Nina Drake.
“Hey, don’t forget you’ve got me. And Aunt Stella and Uncle Leon.” Darci’s father had left her mother when Darci was a child, and her mother hadn’t been a very good grandmother to Christopher. But then, she lived in California and mostly only saw him on the occasional holiday. Likewise, his father’s parents were too busy with their fishing business for Chris. “Now come on, let’s not let some jerk spoil our weekend.”
Darci worked beside the son she loved, no matter what he’d done. She hated having to uproot him from everything familiar. From the place where he’d lived most of his life…from the people he knew…
The move hadn’t been any easier on her than it had on him. But what choice did she have?
No one in the Denver area wanted a kid in their neighborhood who had taken a realistic-looking gun to school and terrified a cafeteria full of students.
CHAPTER THREE
JORDAN DRAKE SLOWED his SUV as he passed the pale yellow house in the middle of his quiet, tree-lined block. The house had been vacant up until a few days ago, but now a petite woman with short blond hair and a young boy were busy scrubbing what looked like graffiti from the door of the attached garage.
Darci? Unlikely. But as she turned in profile, he recognized her—and that was her little red Chevy parked in the driveway. He’d had no idea she lived down the street from him.
He frowned at the graffiti. They’d already wiped away part of it, but Jordan could make out what was left of the word leave.
What was that all about?
“Dad, someone moved into Mimi’s old house,” Michaela said. “Oh, my gosh, it’s the lady who helped us with our tire yesterday.”
“It sure is.”
“Dang! Someone graffitied her garage door. Who would do that in River’s End?”
“I don’t know, honey.”
Crime happened everywhere.
A sudden thought hit Jordan. When the previous tenant—Mimi Hopkins—had lived in the rental house, he’d painted that very garage door for her. In fact, he and Michaela had done the entire exterior of the house and garage for their eighty-year-old neighbor to help her save a little money. Her landlord had agreed to give Mimi a month’s free rent if she looked after the much-needed paint job.
When his neighbor had moved to the assisted-living apartments in town, Jordan had forgotten all about the half gallon of yellow paint still in his shed. Until now.
He slowed the Explorer and pulled halfway into Darci’s drive. She looked up, then laid down the rag she was holding.
He lowered the window as she approached the driver’s side door, her hand cupped over her brow to shade her eyes from the afternoon sun.
“Hi, there,” she said, then grimaced. “We had an uninvited visitor.”
“So I see. How would you like some free paint to cover that up with?”
She raised her brows. “You have some?” Then quickly added, “I’ll pay you for it.”
“No need.” He shrugged. “I painted this house for the woman who used to live here. I’ve still got about a half gallon of that pale yellow sitting in my shed. I don’t need it. You might as well put it to good use.”
She bit her bottom lip, obviously hesitant to accept his offer.
“Consider it repayment for helping me with my tire,” he said, before she could protest.
“That’s not necessary,” Darci said. “I didn’t expect any payment.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I’ll go get the paint. Be right back.” He raised the window, relishing the air conditioning as he put the SUV in Reverse. This late in the day, and the temperature was still rising. Or was it just the way he felt, being so close to Darci?
Idiot, Jordan chided himself. He hadn’t dated in so long—maybe it was Darci’s pretty, blue eyes and cute smile that was affecting him. Or the vanilla perfume she wore. He’d noticed it at the hospital and again when he’d reacted to the sound of the truck backfiring, pressing his body against hers.
She’d felt warm and soft, her smooth skin damp from the rain. Her blond hair was wet, curling a little on the ends. He’d felt a quick rush of attraction right before it was replaced by embarrassment at his overreaction to the noise.
You’re losing your mind, Drake. Just get the paint.
He told Michaela what he was doing, then walked out to the shed, feeling a strange kind of anticipation at the thought of seeing Darci again.
Chewy ran out of the doghouse to greet him, and he paused to scratch the dog behind one ear. The gallon bucket of “lemon ice” was right where he’d left it last spring, sitting on a shelf along the shed’s far wall. He wondered if Darci had a brush or roller. Probably not. Jordan gathered a paint pan, stir stick, an old screwdriver to open the lid and a clean roller, before heading back outside. He hesitated. A tarp. She’d need one to keep from splattering her driveway. Might as well bring his own along, in case she didn’t have one. He opened the driver’s door of his SUV and reached inside to flip the lever beside the seat, raising the hatch. Jordan placed the paint supplies inside, intending to return to the shed for a tarp. For a moment, he stood without moving, staring at the vast, mostly empty cargo space. His stomach churned as Sandra’s voice came to him clearly in memory.
Let’s get the seven-seater, babe. I want to fill the thing with kids and soccer balls and football equipment and ballet shoes…
He’d laughed at her enthusiasm. Sandra had been brave and optimistic, no matter what life had thrown at her. She’d suffered a miscarriage prior to Michaela’s birth, and two more afterward. But as Michaela’s tenth birthday approached, she’d begun to talk about adopting, quickly catching Jordan up in her excitement. With their daughter growing so fast, Sandra was already dreading the day they’d have an empty nest, and she’d wanted to do something about it.
Jordan slammed the hatch shut.
After her death, he’d folded every one of the five extra passenger seats down, leaving only the two in front for him and Michaela. The only time he raised the other rows was if Michaela had friends along. But afterward he laid the seats back down, not wanting the reminder of what should have been. He’d thought about selling the Explorer, but it was handy in the harsh, snowy conditions winter often brought to River’s End, and for pulling his cabin cruiser. Plus he hadn’t wanted to upset his daughter with yet another change. She and her mother had loved the big, black SUV.
Shaking off his thoughts, Jordan got the tarp and drove back to Darci’s.
Christopher was in the driveway on a skateboard when Jordan pulled back in. The kid glanced his way, then pushed off down the sidewalk. Jordan had barely gotten out of the vehicle when Darci’s next door neighbor—Eileen Hathaway—strode across her front lawn in Chris’s direction. Eileen’s enormous black Newfoundland bounded ahead of the older woman, barking at the boy.
Christopher halted the skateboard and faced the monstrous dog without a bit of fear. The kid’s face lit with a smile, and he reached out to ruffle the dog’s thick fur. The Newfoundland slobbered all over him, lapping at his hands and wrists with a tongue as long and wide as a two-lane highway.
“Saylor, come here!” Eileen called. “You, too, young man!” Appearing not to notice Jordan or Darci, who’d been waiting near the garage, Eileen focused on Christopher as he turned his board around and reluctantly came back her way.
“It is against the law to ride a skateboard on the sidewalk,” Eileen scolded, grabbing hold of Saylor’s collar. She shook her finger at Chris, causing the loose skin above her elbow to jiggle. “I heard about what you did in Denver, and if you don’t stop roaring past my house on that thing, I’m going to call the police.”
Christopher smirked. “Fine.” With some fancy footwork, he popped the board into the air, carried it into the street where Darci’s car was parked, and set it back down, hopping on again. “I’m not on the sidewalk.”
“Christopher!” Darci strode forward but the boy had already taken off.
Eileen turned to glare at Darci. “You need to discipline that boy,” she said, her gaze raking Darci judgmentally. “From what I just heard, a trip to the woodshed might do him some good!” With that, she flounced up the steps, tugging poor Saylor along, and slammed the front door shut behind her.
“We don’t have a woodshed!” Darci called after her, echoing her son’s sarcasm. “Argh.” She pushed one hand through her bangs, whirling to face Jordan. The look of surprise and despair in her eyes got to him. “How did she—” Darci began, then shook her head. “Never mind.” She helped him with the painting supplies as he took them from the cargo space.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Jordan said, wondering what exactly Eileen had meant by her comment. What had Chris done that had the woman so upset? Did it have anything to do with the spray-painted graffiti? “Eileen yells at everyone’s kid. She reamed Michaela out a while back for letting our dog pee on the grass near the curb when Mac took Chewy for a walk. And yet she owns a dog big enough to poop buffalo chips.”
“Yeah, well at least everyone in town isn’t gossiping about your daughter,” Darci said. “Sorry.” She pressed her fingers to both temples. “I’m just thinking out loud.”
“You want to talk about it?” he asked.
“I’ve got to go find Chris. Thank you for everything, though. I’ll get your stuff back to you later today.”
“No problem.” He waited as she ducked inside the house to retrieve her car keys. “Call me if you need anything.”
There he went again. But she obviously did need someone to talk to.
Darci nodded, then drove off.
Jordan stood for a moment in the driveway, still holding the bucket of paint. He eyed the garage door. Darci had enough on her hands, and he had a little extra time. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to paint the door.
Opening the can of yellow, he stirred it, telling himself he wasn’t doing this because he was attracted to her. He was simply being a good neighbor. It bugged him that he found her attractive and that he’d seen something in Christopher’s expression when the boy interacted with Eileen’s dog. A change in his mannerism that gave Jordan the impression of a nice kid longing for something….
He hadn’t been able to save Sandra from the shooter who’d taken her life. He hadn’t been able to protect his little girl from the injuries she’d sustained that cold December day nearly two years ago, or from the psychological fallout of watching her mother die.
So why did he feel the need to reach out to Darci and Christopher?
Using the roller, Jordan hurriedly painted the section of Darci’s garage door that had been covered by graffiti, going over it a couple of times to make sure it blended into the older paint.
Then he poured the excess paint back into the can, sealed the lid, and left it beside the garage door in case Darci needed it later. He had no use for the yellow and had only kept it in case Mimi needed a little touch-up work.
Folding the canvas tarp, he loaded it and the paint supplies into his vehicle and drove home.
DARCI DIDN’T HAVE TO LOOK far to find Christopher. He was at the skate park a few blocks away, practicing tricks on the half-pipe. The park was located in an area of town that had once been farmland and open country. As more and more construction occurred, the city limits of River’s End had gradually encroached on the wilderness, eating up hillsides of sagebrush and trees, though the town still retained its rural character. It was just no longer the place Darci remembered.
The town had grown by leaps and bounds since her last visit a few years ago. The population had been only six hundred when she was a kid. She’d loved coming here summers to visit her aunt and uncle on their ranch after her parents had moved their family to Denver when Darci was nine.
Which reminded her—she’d invited Stella and Leon over for a barbecue this evening to celebrate the holiday weekend. She needed to get home and paint the garage door, and do some more unpacking so the house would look presentable.
And Christopher was darned sure going to do his share of the work, including the paint touch-up.
He glanced up as she parked at the curb, but kept right on skating on the neon-green board. Darci couldn’t help but notice three other boys about his age with skateboards, hanging around the park’s perimeter. The trio kept looking Chris’s way, as though debating whether or not to approach him.
Darci wished he’d make some friends. If her neighbor knew about what Chris had done at his old school, had other people in town found out, too? Darci swallowed over the scratchy lump in her throat. What had the world come to, when a child could be bullied and harassed over the Internet to the point of being pushed to do something completely outside his nature? Cyberbullying was on the rise, and her son had become just another statistic.
Unfair. Yet they had to deal with it.
Surely Chris would make friends with someone at his new school, someone who wouldn’t prejudge him. He’d enrolled in River’s End Middle School a few days after the school year started, but that couldn’t be helped. Darci had gotten them into the rental house as quickly as possible, once it had become available. She’d also had to wait for Christopher to serve out the four-month sentence the juvenile-court judge had rendered before making big changes in their lives.
At least Chris hadn’t missed out academically, since Darci had been homeschooling him ever since he’d been expelled from North Star Middle School in Northglenn in the middle of the school year.
She’d thought putting him back in the public school system this year would be good for him. The family counselor they’d been seeing in Northglenn had advised it, as had Christopher’s psychologist, both of them agreeing Chris had to learn to make friends again, to fit in with society. Basically, play well with others, Darci thought as she tapped the horn, then motioned for Christopher to come to the car. He ignored her, running the skateboard up and down the cement bowls.
Her patience frayed, Darci got out of the car.
“Chris!” she called, walking over to stand near one of the ramps. “Let’s go. You’ve got work to do.”
“Can’t I stay awhile longer?” Sulkily, he looked at her as he brought the board to a halt. “The garage door isn’t going anywhere.”
“Nope. Work first, play later. Besides, I don’t want people seeing that mess, so come on.”
Grumbling, he got into the car, and Darci did her best to ignore the sneers on the faces of the other kids. She hated having to embarrass her son, but he was the one who’d taken off without permission. Of course, at his age even walking through the mall with her could classify as embarrassing in Chris’s eyes, depending on the mood he was in. She longed for the days when he was a little boy who needed her, and the worst of her worries was making sure he didn’t wander out of sight, or decide to draw a mural on his bedroom wall with a pack of crayons.
He still needs you.
But what had happened to the boy who’d loved to read about Harry Potter and go hiking and horseback riding with his great aunt and uncle in the mountains, happily helping them out in the stables?
“By the way,” Darci said. “I don’t want you mouthing off to Mrs. Hathaway anymore.”
“Why? She’s a nosy old bat.”
Darci struggled for control. “That may be. But she’s our neighbor, and if we’re ever going to fit into this town and have people accept us, we need to show them that we’re nice people who are above pettiness. So be polite to the old bat.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw him trying not to smile. “All right?”
“Okay.” He pulled his iPod from his pocket.
“And it wouldn’t hurt to apologize, either.”
Chris paused, his earbuds halfway to his head. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
