With the help of the map app on his cell phone and Violet’s knowledge of the area, Jake steered his truck through downtown Atlanta traffic.
Abigail slept peacefully in the backseat as Violet sat quietly beside him. She wore perfectly pressed khaki slacks and a summery silk blouse in a soft yellow color that made her look feminine. It reminded him of one of Aunt Edith’s expressions—a breath of fresh air.
“Let’s get off at the next exit,” Violet said. “We’ll miss some traffic on The Connector.”
Following her directions, he drove down the exit ramp. High-rise office buildings swallowed them as they wove their way along smaller roads, deeper into the city.
“I appreciate you showing me the back way,” he said. “We seem to have avoided some of the worst bottlenecks and one-way streets.”
“When I was a resident, I moonlighted at a couple of Atlanta hospitals.” Brushing back the flippy edges of her hair, she smiled. “I learned all the shortcuts.”
“Must’ve been tough working all those hours.” He glanced over at her. “I imagine you were a serious student.”
Chuckling, she shook her head. “Yeah, you can say that. Definitely determined.”
“I’m sure your parents are proud.”
When she didn’t immediately answer, he looked over.
“Oh, slow down,” she said, pointing at the next street sign. “We need to turn there.”
She still didn’t acknowledge his comment. Could she be avoiding the topic of her parents?
Interesting.
Jake took a right and then went left one block later. At their destination, he parked in a small pay lot. The area had a few boarded-up buildings but otherwise looked like a small community. Across the street he spotted a pawnshop and dry cleaners. On their side of the street were a tiny grocery store, a barbershop and a deli. Power poles were papered with layer upon layer of faded concert and event posters.
“I don’t think we’re going to find a shelter for women and children around here,” Violet said as she climbed out of the truck.
Jake opened the back door and removed Abigail’s carrier seat. “Doesn’t look residential at all, does it?”
They walked along the sidewalk.
“Oh, look. Here’s a building number.” Violet indicated a peeling painted address over the doorway of the deli. “Nine sixty-two.”
“Then we need to look on the other side of the street.” He touched her elbow as they waited for two cars to pass before crossing. Full of energy, she searched for their address a step ahead of him, her flowery scent drifting his way.
“There it is.”
Sure enough, the place had a worn sign on the door stating they’d found Peace House. The interior looked dark. He pulled the door handle, but it was locked.
Frustrated, he groaned. “What a waste.”
“No, it was worth the trip.” She held her hands to the glass to look inside. “There’s still furniture here. Maybe it’s not closed permanently.”
“With the phone disconnected?” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh. “I can’t believe Remy was in danger, escaped somewhere like this and didn’t tell anyone in our family.”
The idea of her being mistreated by a man who was supposed to love her made him want to punch a fist through the glass.
With her eyes still between cupped hands, Violet moved from window to window, surveying the interior. “I don’t think she ever stayed here. It’s only a small office.”
“Regardless, it’s a dead end.”
“Don’t give up so quickly.” She stepped off the curb and glanced up and down the street. “Come on. Let’s go do some investigative work.”
A vise lifted from his chest, and he found himself breathing deeper. It was nice to have someone on his side. He hefted Abigail’s carrier a little higher. “Lead on.”
Like a hound with its nose in the air, Violet eyed each of the surrounding shops, checking out the signs, peeking inside. The thought of her possibly stopping someone walking down the street to ask questions made him smile.
He was seeing a new side of Violet Crenshaw. Probably the determined side she mentioned earlier.
“Come on,” she said. “I think this is a good place to start.”
They waited for an elderly couple to pass, then opened the door and entered the mini-market. The inside was dimly lit and somewhat grungy. A lone employee was leaned over, restocking a shelf with potato chips.
“Excuse me,” Violet said, her sweet voice like sunshine in the dim recesses of the crowded aisles.
The man continued to slap small bags of chips into a display rack. “What?” he grumbled.
“Do you know if Peace House is still in business?” she asked.
“Ain’t got no clue.”
“Have women been living there?”
He smashed a fist through the packing tape of an empty box and flattened it, then zipped open another package with a box cutter. “No clue.”
“So you haven’t seen staff or guests coming or going lately?”
Bent over the box, not bothering to look Violet in the eye, he sighed as if extremely put out. “Does it look like we’ve got a Hilton around here?”
Jake clenched his fist, fighting the urge to knock the man six blocks over to that particular hotel. “Hey, man. You don’t have to be rude.”
“And if you’re not a paying customer, I’d say it’s time to move along.”
Jake pulled Abigail protectively closer as he nodded Violet toward the door. “Come on.”
They stepped out into the sunlight, and Abigail cringed at the brightness. He pulled open the built-in fabric canopy on her carrier to shade her face.
“Well, so much for my keen eye,” Violet said.
He couldn’t help but grin. “Who could’ve guessed Mr. Personality would work there?”
A laugh burst out of her. “I wish you could have seen your jaw twitching where you must’ve been grinding your teeth.”
“Believe me, I was sorely tempted to say something that’s not very nice. He didn’t have to be so sarcastic with you.”
“Well, I appreciate you standing up for me.”
Her smile was so lovely, he wanted to reach out and trace it with his fingers.
She pulled her gaze away, glanced at the ground, then looked back up to the storefronts. “Let’s go in the pawnshop.”
The folks there ended up being nice but had no idea what was going on at Peace House. Next they tried the dry cleaners.
When they exited, Violet wore a perky expression. “Well, that helped some.”
“You’re such an optimist,” Jake said with a chuckle. “The pawnshop clerk said she’d seen a worker at Peace House last week. I don’t know how you find that helpful.”
She shrugged. “It’s better than a poke in the eye.”
“Or a man grunting ‘No clue’?”
“Yeah. See? We should be thankful for every scrap of info.”
He shook his head, yet he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face and wouldn’t go away as he followed her across the street.
“Hey, look. There’s a beauty shop,” she said. “That could be a gold mine.”
As they approached, Abigail started to cry.
“She’s got to be hungry,” he said.
“Here, I’ll feed her while you talk to the ladies inside.”
Holding Abigail in the crook of her left arm, Violet popped a bottle in the baby’s mouth. Abigail greedily slurped it down.
Jake held the door for Violet, and they stepped inside. The smell of chemicals nearly bowled him over and made his nose crinkle.
Violet stifled a laugh. “Not your usual hangout, huh?”
“Hardly.”
Two stylists stood at stations with customers. One snipped at the ends of a young woman’s long dark hair. The stylist looked like something out of the fifties, wearing a poufy hairstyle and an old-fashioned waitress outfit.
The other stylist squirted something liquid on the white hair of an older woman, hair that was wrapped around colorful curler things. He suspected the solution was the source of the chemical smell.
“Hi, folks. How can I help you?” asked the one in the pink waitress uniform.
Jake nodded at them. “Good morning, ladies. Do y’all know if Peace House is still in business?”
The hands of the hairdresser stilled. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking?”
“I believe my cousin lives there. I’m trying to locate her.”
The young woman in the seat, whose back was to him, glared at him in the mirror.
He could understand their concerns.
Violet stepped closer with a pleasant, friendly expression. “We read online that it’s a shelter for victims of domestic violence. I assure you, Jake here is not a husband or boyfriend of a resident. He just wants to help his cousin.”
Fifties Woman seemed to relax a bit. “The shelter itself is in a secret location. The office is only open a couple of days a week. But they won’t give you any information. You’ll have to email the address on the website. If your cousin is a resident, they’ll pass along your message to her.”
“And if she’s no longer there?” he asked.
“I doubt they’ll give any forwarding information.”
Secret location. Limited access. But they were dealing with an organization designed to protect. He’d have to be patient and let the system work. A system that might be protecting his own family.
Anxiety clenched at his gut. Was Remy safe? “Thanks for your help. I’ve already emailed them. I guess I’ll have to wait and pray I find Remy.”
Something flared in the stylist’s eyes. Did she know Remy? He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me if you run into my cousin. I want to help her.”
The woman glanced at Abigail as she reached out with long, hot-pink fingernails and took the card. “Will do.” She read Jake’s information, then tucked it in a pocket of her little white apron.
“Thanks for your help,” Violet said.
“Yeah, we appreciate it.” Jake hoisted the diaper bag and then picked up the carrier.
Lifting a section of hair, the stylist gave two brisk snips. “The three of you make a beautiful family.”
His heart gave a jolt. He wasn’t going to go into details of his situation with strangers. It could put Abigail at risk. “Uh, thanks.” His gaze snapped to Violet, who glanced away, her cheeks flushed.
Fifties Woman and the other stylist shared a look.
They knew something.
“Well, I’ll give you a call if I find out anything about your cousin. Remy...?”
“Remy West.” He nodded as he held the door for Violet. “Thanks again.” Following her out, he grabbed the salon’s business card off the checkout counter.
Dotty’s Dippity-Do
Dotty Simmons, Owner
As soon as the door closed behind them, Violet spun around to face him. “They know something.”
“I agree. We have to hope they’ll decide I’m safe and will contact me. Or they’ll at least contact Remy if they know where she is.”
“Yeah. I’m afraid that’s as close as we’re going to get for now.”
Abigail pushed out the bottle. Violet burped her and then placed her in the carrier.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry about the lie of omission in there. About us being a family...”
“Oh, no big deal.” As she leaned over the baby and adjusted the seat straps the back of her neck flushed.
For some odd reason, he wanted to smooth a hand over the blush, cooling the heat. Instead, he pushed the diaper bag farther up his shoulder, then ushered Violet toward the car.
Today might feel like a dead end. But as Violet said, it was better than a poke in the eye.
When they got to the truck, he snapped the car seat in place. He started the engine, cranked up the air conditioner, but then turned toward Violet.
“So, trying to be optimistic like you,” he said with a smile, “I’d say we had a bit of success today.”
His joking made her chuckle. “I’m glad to know I can be of service.”
“We now know the office is open a couple of days a week, and, like you suspected, the shelter is in a hidden location.”
“And that eventually someone should answer your email,” she added.
“Good point.”
Her pretty greenish eyes sparkled with humor. “Of course, you may have to work on being patient waiting on that email. Which could prove difficult.”
The fact she was lightening up, teasing him, sent a shot of awareness through him. Awareness at how beautiful she was. How sweet. And helpful.
And beautiful. Definitely beautiful.
“I beg to differ.” He forced a serious expression. “I’m a very patient man.”
She raised her brows. “Really? Who slapped a baby car seat in his truck all willy-nilly before trying to look online to find out how to do it?”
“Hey, now. Abigail was screeching. And I hate to inform you, but it wasn’t impatience that led me to slap it in the truck. It was sheer panic.”
A short laugh slipped out before she bit her lip, holding it in, and then looked away.
Why couldn’t she just let loose? It seemed every time they enjoyed each other’s company for a moment, she backed away.
He’d love to get to know her better. “How about lunch?”
“I’m starving. And I did take the whole day off, so there’s no hurry to get back.”
“Good.” A cozy warmth seeped inside him. The same feeling he used to get on the rare occasions he, Remy and his aunt and uncle spent an evening at home together, everyone getting along nicely. Times that made him feel secure...at least until Remy acted out again, and Paul and Edith held him up as an example of a good kid. Making Remy resent him more. Making him fear he couldn’t always live up to his aunt’s and uncle’s expectations.
As always, that fleeting glow of security reminded him how pathetic he was to long for those close relationships. Having a perfect family was an unattainable ideal anyway.
No, he could only depend on himself.
But lunch was the least he could do for the woman who hadn’t given up when they’d found the shelter’s office closed, who’d encouraged him to investigate further. Thanks to Violet, Jake now had a lead on someone who possibly knew Remy.
He’d give his favorite hammer for one of the ladies at Dotty’s Dippity-Do to call him with information on Remy.
* * *
“Now, that’s the kind of smell a man wants to have hit his nose when he walks into a place.”
The aroma of pizza dough and tangy tomato sauce filled the air as Violet and Jake waited to be seated in a nondescript pizza parlor in a hole-in-the-road town between Atlanta and Appleton.
Glad she’d agreed to come along, she hoped to get to know him better during lunch. To find out more about this man who was in charge of Abigail’s care. To make sure he was as dependable as he seemed.
“You don’t like the smell of permanent solution, huh?” she asked with a smirk.
“No way. I don’t know why women with straight hair want curly hair anyway. And why women with curly hair want straight hair. Men just like it to be clean and silky so we can run our fingers through it.”
Violet’s face flamed and probably matched the sauce on the pizza at the table beside them. She couldn’t look at Jake until her face cooled.
And even then, she couldn’t forget the thought of him running his fingers through her hair.
“Come on back,” said the hostess. She led them to a booth along the wall, tossed down menus and then hurried away.
“I like my pizza with thick crust and double meat,” Jake said. “You?”
“Uh-oh. I like mine thin with veggies.” She leaned her chin on her hand and gave him a smart-alecky smile. “I guess you lose.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He winked at her. “They sell it by the slice.”
His wink made her stomach do a pirouette.
The waitress arrived, and they placed their order. Because the women’s restroom was more likely to have a changing table, Violet offered to take Abigail for a diaper change. When she returned, Jake had his cell phone on the table.
“I haven’t gotten a response yet from Peace House. I thought maybe I’d email again now that I know more about the shelter.”
“Okay.” Violet passed the diaper bag back to Jake.
He took Abigail, popped a pacifier in her mouth, then put her in her carrier beside him on the vinyl seat of the booth. “In my original email, I only said I was looking for my cousin, Remy West, who’d given the shelter’s address as her last place of residence.”
“Then I definitely think you need to mention she left Abigail with you and that you’re trying to get hold of her to discuss Remy returning to get her child.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
As he typed in the text of the email, she watched his big, calloused fingers stumble over the letters, backtrack and then try again.
He had a cut on the back of his hand that was mostly healed and a new, red and tender scrape on one of his knuckles. Various scars marked previous wounds. He’d probably injured himself on the job numerous times, carrying on without giving the nicks, cuts and bruises a moment’s notice.
Had he done the same thing with his bruised heart after his parents died? And what about after any women had broken his heart?
“Tell me what you think,” he said, handing her the phone.
In the message, he’d explained the situation and then asked Ms. Phillips, the director, to please pass along word to Remy that Jake was worried and wanted her to email or call him.
“Looks good.”
“Then let’s send it.” After hitting the send button, he put the phone in his pocket.
Violet wanted to smooth the little divot of tension from between Jake’s eyebrows. “Don’t worry. I think she’ll answer this time.”
The waitress swooped in and delivered two plates covered in the largest slices of pizza she’d ever seen.
“Enjoy,” she said. “I’ll bring drink refills ASAP.”
Abigail had fallen asleep sucking on the pacifier and napped peacefully. Violet put her napkin in her lap and reached for the fork.
Jake reached across the table. “Let’s say a blessing.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He opened his hand, palm side up.
She swallowed and put her hand in his. As she’d imagined, his was warm and work-roughened. But she didn’t mind—only thought it felt strong and capable.
His blessing over their meal included a request for God to reunite Remy and Abigail. A prayer that left tears in her eyes at his heartfelt plea.
With a brief squeeze of her hand, he released her. As he picked up his fork, she noticed he once again looked worried.
“What are you thinking about that’s got your brow wrinkled?” she asked.
“You.”
Her hand stilled on the fork. “Me?”
“I hope you’ll still stand by your word to give me time to locate Remy. At this point, I think we’re at the mercy of Ms. Phillips.”
Oh. Disappointment slid in to replace the initial thrill that he’d been thinking of her.
She wanted to huff at her silliness. Why had she set herself up for that roller coaster of emotion? “Of course I will. I gave my word.”
“Thanks.” He resumed eating with gusto. But no sooner had he bitten off a huge bite than Abigail startled and began to fuss.
Attempting to sweet-talk Abigail, Jake spoke in a high-pitched voice while he rocked the carrier.
Impressed, Violet watched as the infant quickly settled and went back to sleep.
She had to admit her opinion of him was quickly changing. All week she’d sensed a gap between the villain she’d imagined and the man sitting across from her rocking a car seat and talking baby talk. Was she allowing him to sway her? Would she lose her objectivity?
Still, she was pleased—and relieved—to see that Abigail was in good hands.
Having arrived at the middle of her slice of pizza, she put down her fork, picked up the wedge and chomped off a mouthful. The oozing cheese stretched until it pulled apart and the string hit her chin.
Jake snickered. “I love watching you go after that pizza, determined to conquer it. Like you do everything else—no holds barred.”
He hadn’t seemed so thrilled when she went about buying the pediatric practice. “So you think of that as a positive trait rather than negative?”
He seemed taken aback by her question. “Well, positive for the most part. As long as it’s for good, and no one gets hurt in the process. Like today, when you didn’t give up after finding the shelter office closed.”
At least he didn’t mention his aunt and uncle. “Yeah, I’m pretty driven.”
“Why is that?”
If only she could throw out something simple, some adversity all teenagers faced that had made her stronger. But no, she had a much more complicated story. A story she never shared. “I had a falling out with my parents late in high school. Struck out on my own after graduation. Put myself through college, worked hard for good grades, got in med school. I had to be driven to make it through that.”
“What caused the falling out?” He chugged some sweet iced tea and looked at her with a pleasant expression, as if expecting a typical answer. Overbearing rules, disapproval of her goals, didn’t like her friends.
What would he say if she told him she’d gotten pregnant, and when she said she wanted to keep the baby, they refused to support her, whisked her away to her aunt and uncle’s house in another state and arranged for an adoption?
“Just the regular stuff,” she said.
No one outside her hometown knew her secret and she preferred to keep it that way. She’d enjoyed the freedom from people judging her or, worse, the looks of pity.
“Seems to me it would take more than the standard disagreements to cause a total break with someone as important as your mom and dad.”
“I was sorry to learn your parents died when you were young. What happened?”
He wiped a napkin over his mouth. “They were killed in a car accident. I was six.” His eyes crinkled as he grimaced. “I can’t imagine refusing to see my parents over an argument or ‘regular stuff.’ I’d trade my right arm to have them back.”
Shame burned her face. Shame and dread. Because if she and Jake became friends, she would eventually need to tell him the whole truth—how she’d failed everyone who loved and trusted her and then, when faced with the consequences of her mistake, was too weak to stand up to keep her own child. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand how you must think my behavior ridiculous.”
She excused herself to go to the restroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror, pressing a damp paper towel to her cheeks.
Every time she relived those moments, regret nearly ate her alive.
What if she had been brave enough to strike out on her own, deliver the baby and keep him? Would her life be full and happy now?
Violet dabbed the cool cloth to her neck. Took several deep breaths to gather herself. She’d come to lunch to get to know Jake better. But she’d ended up faced with her own baggage.
Being around Abigail was messing with her mind.
Being around Jake was making her feel vulnerable, as if his good opinion mattered.
But she didn’t need Jake or his good opinion. She didn’t need anyone.
* * *
Jake jolted awake to total quiet. Bolted straight up in bed, looking at the clock. Five-thirty in the morning. Panic sent his heartbeat racing. Was something wrong with Abigail?
He sprinted to her room and stood over the travel crib. Her deep, even breaths left him weak-kneed with relief, his reaction to Abigail sleeping through the night exactly as Violet had said it might be.
Apparently, they’d worn out the little gal with their trip to Atlanta the day before.
Eager to see if Remy had emailed him, he hurried to the kitchen, bypassed the coffeepot and went straight to his laptop.
An email from the shelter director was in his box. Once again, his heart raced. This could be big news.
Clicking on the message, he held his breath.
Dear Mr. West,
At this time, Remy is not willing to share her contact information. However, she gave me permission to pass along this message:
Jake, I appreciate you caring. I’m doing well. But I have no desire for contact since it will be easier on me, and better for the baby, to make a clean break.
Love, Remy
Jake jammed a hand through his hair. The baby. Remy hadn’t even called Abigail by her name. As if distancing herself from her child.
At this time? Did that mean Ms. Phillips thought Remy would change her mind down the road? Was it a subtle message to be patient and not give up?
This cloak-and-dagger stuff was going to make him crazy.
He needed to talk to Violet. To get her take on the email. Maybe she’d be on her patio having her morning coffee and watching the sunrise.
He stepped outside and, sure enough, she sat in the semi-dark in shorts and a T-shirt...barefoot...leaning over the table, the light from her tablet illuminating her face.
Always busy, always working. As if she felt she couldn’t afford to stop.
Or didn’t deserve to?
Not wanting to startle her by calling out her name, he stepped into his yard and waved until she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up.
“Good morning. Can you come over when you get a minute?”
“Sure.” She carried her tablet and coffee mug back into her house and then a moment later reappeared wearing flip-flops.
“Hey,” he said when she met him in his yard, looking bright-eyed and sunny...beautiful without makeup, even with a little poof on one side of her hair, as if she’d gone straight from bed to her morning routine.
“Good morning.”
An awkward silence fell over them. There was something intimate about meeting before dawn in the middle of dewy grass, her hair rumpled from sleep.
He coughed and shoved the thought out of his mind. “Um. I got an email from the director.”
“Really? That’s great news.”
“No, it’s not good news. Do you have time to come read it?”
She nodded and followed him inside.
Violet took a seat at the table, tapped the touchpad to wake the laptop and stared at the screen. Her eyebrows drew downward as she read. “I guess this is good news and bad.”
He sat beside her, leaning his arms on the table. “Definitely see the bad. How do you see good?”
“Someone responsible knows where Remy is so that means she’s probably safe.”
“Good point. I got so caught up on Remy wanting a clean break that I didn’t think of that.”
“But this also confirms her connection to the shelter, which means she has been, maybe still is, a victim of domestic abuse—horrific to consider.” Violet looked away from the screen and put on her serious doctor look. “And, like you said, it confirms Remy doesn’t want to come back to get Abigail.”
Her stern brow and narrowed eyes raised his hackles. “You promised to give me time. The search isn’t over.”
“I’m not going to take any action yet. You’ll get your time.”
He knew that left unsaid was her suspicion that nothing would change during that time.
“Jake, I think you should consider that Remy may be doing the disappearing act to protect Abigail from an abusive father.”
“She said he died.”
“Maybe that was to keep you from searching for a birth father.”
He stood and paced across the kitchen. This would all be a bit easier to swallow with a shot of caffeine.
He grabbed the bag of ground coffee beans. “She seemed different when she was here. I’d like to take her at her word.”
“Desperation will make a person say anything—even an outright lie.” A flush pinkened her cheeks, then her gaze dropped to the table.
Had she lied to him? From the guilty avoiding of eye contact, he couldn’t help but suspect she had, maybe in all the hedging she’d done yesterday about her past. Or if not outright lying, maybe hiding something.
Once the coffee and water were in the chamber, he jammed the pot in place and hit the button. “I’m not going to drop the search. I’m going to keep the connection open through the shelter director.” He turned and stared into her pretty eyes.
Greenish-brown eyes that looked so innocent and caring didn’t necessarily mean she knew best in Abigail’s situation.
Regret filled those same eyes. “Fine, continue the search. But I think it may be time for you to contact your lawyer. If nothing else, maybe he or she could help locate Remy.”
Violet closed the laptop. She sat perched on the edge of her chair as if expecting him to send her away.
Why, when she looked so vulnerable, did it eat at him? Make him feel like a big, jerky clod?
With an irritated huff, he went to get two cups of coffee out of the machine before it was done brewing. Dripping coffee sizzled on the warmer as he quickly poured them.
“Well, you’ve stated your opinion. But I’m willing to wait a little longer to give Remy a chance. If she’s off the drugs, I know she’ll come back.”
He sure hoped he was making the right decision and wasn’t just acting out of fear of having a baby thrust into his life.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I know this is a complicated family matter for you and your cousin. I’m just trying to focus on Abigail’s welfare.”
“So am I. So, ultimately, we’re on the same side.”
“You’re doing a good job,” she said.
“Only because you’ve shown me everything I know about caring for a baby.” He gave her a grateful smile, glad they’d both shared their opinions without anyone storming out. Simone, the last woman he’d dated, had loved drama. And of course, he’d grown up with Remy’s rebellious behavior, which kept the household in an uproar most of the time.
He placed a mug in front of her. “I’m sorry I don’t have cream. How about sugar?”
“Black will be fine.” She held the mug with two hands as if warming them. Then she took a sip. Her eyes darted to his over the rim and his gaze locked with hers. Once again, he felt an odd sense of intimacy. This time over having morning coffee together.
He must be sleep deprived.
After a few more drinks of the brew, she stood. “I’m sorry to rush off. I have a patient to check on at the hospital this morning. Will you work today?”
“Working from home again. Zeb’s keeping me updated. I plan to make an announcement at church tomorrow asking for help with child care.”
She went to the sink, rinsed her mug and placed it in the dishwasher. “I hope someone comes forward. In the meantime, I could come this afternoon if you want a few hours to go to the job site.”
“You’d do that again?”
“Sure. I close at noon on Saturday.”
“Then yes, I’d appreciate that. As payment, I’ll bring carryout home with me and feed you dinner.”
With arms crossed in front of her, she clutched her elbows, looking tense, nervous. “How about I make dinner? I love to cook and rarely take the time for just myself.”
Surprised, he eyed her. “After babysitting all afternoon, why would you do that for me?”
“Because...I love to cook?” She laughed, and some of the earlier tension left the room.
He sure loved to hear her laugh. He leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and decided to tease her a little. “Doc, why spend a Saturday evening with me and a baby when you could invite some nice man over and cook for him, like a real date?”
“Well, now, that would be rude of me since I already invited you. Of course, if you decline...”
He barked a laugh. “No, I’m not declining. A good home-cooked meal sounds amazing. I admit, I’m seriously wondering your angle.”
“Quit trying to figure me out.” Her smooth cheeks turned pink. “If I offer, and you want to accept, then accept. Don’t get caught up in motivations.”
The problem was, they both seemed to have complicated motivations. And it was going to drive him up the wall trying to figure out hers. He needed to stick with the facts.
The fact was, she was willing to help him with Abigail...for now.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I might send Remy some photos of Abigail, hoping it’ll make her want to come home.”
Pain sliced across Violet’s expression. Was she sympathizing with Remy?
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to try,” Violet said. “But Remy told you a break in contact would be easier on her.”
“I’m not trying to make it easy on Remy. I’m trying to reunite Abigail with her mother.”
And he wouldn’t quit trying to do that, even if he was finding he enjoyed Abigail more each day.
Even if giving up the baby would end time together with Violet.