Single with Kids. Lynnette Kent
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disappeared into the shadows under the leaves.
After another minute of peace and quiet, Rob dug his keys out and unlocked the kitchen door. Inside the house, the television was defiantly loud. A ghostly flicker filled the living room. Ginny had put on her movie.
His little girl lay in front of the TV on top of her big soft floor pillows, with her crutches discarded nearby. Her eyes were open, but she pretended to ignore his presence, punishing him for the treachery of exhaustion.
With a sigh, Rob sat in the recliner in the corner. The cool leather embraced him, molded to his body by years of use. He’d slept in this chair many an hour, holding his daughter through a long, disturbed night. He could do it again. Even with loud cartoon voices and sound effects in his ears.
Along about midnight, though, when the movie had ended and the videotape had rewound, and when Ginny had fallen fast asleep, he got up and knelt to lift her from the floor. She hardly weighed a hundred pounds, no burden at all for him to carry. He set her gently down on the bed in her room and pulled the covers close—she would be chilled if she didn’t use the blankets. After a return trip to the living room for the crutches, he stood for a little bit watching her sleep.
The daytime lines of effort and disappointment vanished from Ginny’s face when she slept, so she appeared carefree in a way she never did when awake. He could see her mother in her thick reddish hair, the soft rose tint of her cheeks. Leah had been beautiful, enthusiastic, vibrant with life. If she had lived, she might have helped them discover the joy amidst all the compromises, limitations and accommodations. Rob knew they were lucky—Ginny’s disabilities could have been much worse.
As things stood, though, Ginny and he had struggled from the very first time he’d heard the words “cerebral palsy” applied to his child. Rob had long since given up believing that one day the struggle would end.
In his own room, he dropped his jeans and shirt onto the floor and fell facedown on the bed. He was on call for the shop tomorrow, which would keep him tied to his pager and cell phone all day long. And he had a basketball game at 7:30 a.m. Getting some more sleep tonight would be a really good idea…
Only minutes later—or so it seemed—a small fist pounded at his shoulder. “Daddy? Daddy, wake up. It’s the phone.” Ginny stood by his bed. “I let it ring a thousand times.”
Rob ran a hand over his face and realized it was daylight. “Man. I didn’t know I was asleep. Sorry.” He picked up the phone Ginny had dropped on the bed. “’Lo?”
“Rob? This is Valerie Manion.”
With an effort, he pulled himself together and sat up in bed. “Hey, Valerie. How are you?”
“I’ve been better, actually.” Her Yankee accent seemed sharper than he remembered. “I hate to bother you so early, but I need a locksmith as soon as possible.”
He glanced at the clock. Damn. He’d slept through the basketball game. “What’s the problem? Keys locked in the car?”
“Nothing so simple. I need to have all the locks changed today. According to the police, this house was previously used as a dope distribution center. The Realtor didn’t tell me that, of course—just fixed the place up and sold it for a good price.”
“You talked to the police?”
The deep breath she drew definitely sounded shaky. “I called them last night when someone tried to break into the house.”
CHAPTER TWO
“ARE YOU OKAY?” Rob said. “Are your kids all right?”
Hearing the concern in his voice, Valerie felt the tension inside her relax a little. “We’re fine. The police arrived while the guy was still trying to jimmy the back door lock, so they caught and arrested him on the spot.”
“Thank God. You spent the rest of the night with a neighbor, right?”
“Um…no. We don’t really know our neighbors yet—we only moved in last week.”
“You went to a motel?”
“We stayed here, and I pushed a couple of pieces of furniture in front of the doors.” Valerie thought back to the struggle of sliding the kitchen cupboard across the floor. “Heavy furniture.”
By his stunned silence, she could tell Rob thought her choice a poor one. Who made him the expert, anyway? She could take care of herself and her kids without a man’s input.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well, you’re right about one thing—you do need your locks changed this morning. That’s no problem—I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Thanks.” She set the phone down, propped her chin on her knuckles and closed her eyes. Grace and Connor were still asleep in her bed, where they’d all cuddled once the police had left and the doors were blocked. Valerie had stayed awake, listening to the multitude of night sounds and wondering about the windows, which were locked but vulnerable nonetheless. She’d never been quite so glad to see a sunrise as she was this morning.
Before she could give in to the need for a nap, the black van Rob had driven yesterday pulled into her drive. Blue and white lettering on the side advertised Warren and Sons Locksmiths. Somewhere in the middle of last night’s terse police questions and frantic children’s tears, her brain had latched on to a fact she’d only skimmed yesterday afternoon—Rob Warren was a locksmith. His phone number on Ginny’s information sheet had relieved at least one of her worries.
With a strength that seemed to come out of nowhere, she pushed the TV cabinet away from the front door. “I’m so glad to see you,” she called as he and Ginny crossed the grass. “Thanks for coming out this early.” Her pleasure in seeing him was totally out of proportion to the occasion. He was coming to do a job. Right?
Rob stopped at the foot of the porch steps and grinned at her. “You’re more than welcome. I’d have come last night, if you’d called. I hate to think of y’all barricaded behind furniture to stay safe.” He looked the way a man should on a hot Saturday morning in August—relaxed and comfortable in a dark blue T-shirt and faded jeans that hung a little loose on his long legs, with his hair combed back and damp from a shower.
“Grace and Connor are still asleep,” she said, willing her pulse to slow down. “But it’s good to see you, Ginny. Come in and make yourself at home.”
Ginny moved ahead of her dad, who waited behind her as she slowly climbed the steps—one crutch, then the other and then her braced legs. Her face was a frozen blank, as if she was trying to deny her own effort.
Valerie held the door open, then followed father and daughter inside. “I apologize for the place being such a wreck. We just moved in last week, and I’m still unpacking boxes at night after work. The kitchen’s the neatest, Ginny, if you want to sit in there.”
Unlike her dad, Ginny did not have a ready smile. “Whatever.”
Rob glanced at her with lowered brows, but didn’t comment. “Which locks did this guy mess with?”
“The front and back doors. He wasn’t a pro, obviously, because he didn’t get through either one, and started pounding away with something, trying just to break the door open. The police said he used a tire iron.”
Nodding, Rob turned back to the front door and squatted down to examine the deformed dead bolt and splintered wood around it. His long fingers moved lightly across the different surfaces. He clicked his tongue. “This lock was no great shakes to begin with. But he’s pretty much destroyed your door.” In a clean, easy motion, he straightened to his full height. “How about the back?”
“This way.” She led him through to the kitchen and heard Ginny follow them across the wood floor with a thump of crutches.
“Oops, I haven’t moved that cupboard yet.”
“Excuse me.” His warm hand on her shoulder gently