Abby's Christmas. Lynnette Kent
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“We can find your dad.”
Again that smile. “Daddy.” Without hesitation, the little boy held out his arms to be picked up.
Rolling his eyes, Noah did just that, settling the child easily on one arm. The dog in his backpack hadn’t so much as stirred.
“Right.” Noah shut the car door and turned toward the street. “Let’s see—”
“Hey! Hey, put him down!” The shout came from behind. “Leave my kid alone!” Noah pivoted to see a man running toward him from the alley behind the building across the street.
“Daddy,” the boy in his arms cried, laughing now. “Daddy!”
“Hurt him and I’ll kill you,” his dad yelled. Nothing about him seemed dangerous—he was just a guy in sneakers, jeans and a dark blue windbreaker.
“I’m worried,” Noah yelled back. “Real worried.”
The man slowed as he reached the back of the car. “Just put him down. Tyler, come to Daddy. Come on, Tyler.”
Noah didn’t doubt that Tyler recognized his father. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to leave a child with such an irresponsible jerk.
He walked back toward the car. “Are you crazy, leaving a little kid alone like that? You’re lucky he didn’t just get out and wander away. Or that some pervert didn’t steal him.”
“He was okay. I was only gone a minute.” The guy looked beyond Noah to the street, then over his shoulder in the direction he’d come from. “Put him down.”
“He was crying his eyes out. And the doors were unlocked, for God’s sake.”
“I thought I locked the door. Just give me my kid and butt out, damn it.”
Noah put Tyler on the ground, steadying the little body until he got his balance. Tyler took off across the broken, rocky pavement, straight for his dad. “Daddy!”
The guy scooped up his kid. “Let’s go home, Ty.” Without another word to Noah, he buckled the kid into the car seat in the back of the car, slammed himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Gray smoke belched from the tailpipe and the motor ran rough. But within five seconds, the car shot across the lot, turned into the street and disappeared.
Noah went back to his bike, put on his helmet and headed toward Boundary Street. Abby had wanted to warn his mother. He’d sure given her plenty of time.
Thinking about that meeting in the diner, he shook his head in wonder. Whatever kind of greeting he’d expected when he came home, Abby’s generous welcome had totally surprised him. Her gold-green eyes had sparkled like polished topaz, and her smile had been genuine, without a trace of malice. He recalled the smoothness of her skin against his lips. She wasn’t slender, but who wanted slender when he could have a woman with such wonderful curves? His hands clenched as he thought about playing with the thick, reddish brown hair curling softly on her shoulders.
Slow down, son. Noah shifted on his seat. His body reacted to just the hint of sex with more enthusiasm than the circumstances warranted. Then again, until this week he hadn’t even seen a woman for a long, long time, let alone been with one, so maybe he could be pardoned for an overactive imagination.
He laughed at himself. Pardoned. Now, there was a word. No pardon had come down for Noah Blake. Just early parole and time off for good behavior.
And, maybe, a chance to start over.
Just below the top of the biggest hill in town, Boundary Street performed the function for which it was named, cleanly separating the already-haves in New Skye from the wish-I-could-gets. The north side of the street was heavily wooded, sheltering the upper class from the harsh realities of life on the south—and poor—side.
Noah pulled the bike to the curb in front of a little house midway along the south side of Boundary. The white siding cried out for paint, the blue shutter on the right side of the living room window hung by one nail, and the roof needed replacing. But the chain-link fence, rusty and sagging though it was, still enclosed the well-tended flower beds that had always been Marian Blake’s pride and joy. Neatly raked and weed free, the garden displayed flowers even in December. Camellias bloomed pink, red and white. Pansy faces danced in pots on the steps, while ivy and periwinkle twined underneath the azaleas.
With his helmet braced under his arm, Noah stared at the garden he’d spent hundreds of hours on. He struggled for a deep breath, but a pair of giant hands seemed to have closed down on his windpipe.
Across the street behind him, a car door slammed. With quick steps, Abby joined him. “She loves her garden. There’s always something blooming, which is a miracle as far as I’m concerned.”
Noah cleared his throat. “I…I’m surprised she keeps it up.” He pulled himself together. “What are you doing here?”
“I wondered if even a call might be upsetting. So I thought I’d—”
“Introduce me? Like a butler or something?”
Abby put her hands on her hips. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need any help with my own mother, thanks.”
She returned his glare without flinching. “I didn’t for a minute think you did. But maybe she needs some help with you.”
Without waiting for his answer, she pushed open the lopsided gate and marched up the sidewalk to his mother’s front door. The bell hadn’t worked fifteen years ago. Judging by the fact that Abby used the knocker, it still didn’t.
After what seemed like a long time, the door creaked open. Noah heard his mother’s voice—high, a little hoarse—and Abby’s warm tone. Like it or not, he was being introduced.
In the pack on his back, the dog wiggled, fighting to get out. Noah shrugged out of the bag, stepped into the front yard and secured the gate, then let the dog run free.
The few steps he took along the front walk required more guts than Noah had expected. Finally, he came to a stop just behind Abby and looked up into his mother’s face. He might not have recognized her if he’d met her anywhere else. Her skin was pale, and not just from shock at his arrival. She’d gained forty or fifty pounds since the last time he’d seen her. Once a warm brown, her unkempt hair was now streaked with white and faded to almost beige.
She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth a circle of surprise. “Noah?”
He managed a smile. “Hi, Ma. How are you?”
“I can’t believe…” she said faintly. Then she looked beyond him. “Get that dog out of my flowers! What the hell is he doing in my yard? Get him out, get him out!” There was nothing at all faint about the order.
Noah turned at the same time as Abby, and they both went after the dog. The mutt, of course, decided the chase was all a game. He dashed from corner to corner, wagging his tail and panting, refusing all pleas to come, to be a good dog, to get the hell out of the flower bed.
Marian Blake stood on the porch step, yelling instructions. “There he is! He’s heading toward the back—don’t let him run over the irises! Don’t you step on my daylilies, Noah Blake!”
Vaulting over the fading lily leaves, Noah bent to crawl under the camellias next to the wall of the house. “Stupid dog. I’m gonna strangle you when I get my hands on you.”
“That’s not incentive.” Abby crawled in beside him. “I wouldn’t come if you talked to me in that voice.”
“Yeah, you’ve been real successful in getting hold of him so far.”
“I came closer than you did.” She eased farther down the house wall, peering under the bushes, crooning, “Come on, sweetie. It’s okay. Nobody will hurt you.”
The dog sat halfway between them, among the fallen camellia blossoms, feinting one way, then the other, every time