Susan Mallery: The Bodyguard & Ms Jones

She applied a fresh bandage. “The kids are outside playing,” she said and stood up. She reached for the pair of jeans she’d folded earlier and placed on the footboard. “If you can get dressed and out to the family room before they come inside, that means you get to control the TV remote. If you don’t, they have the power.”

He shuddered at the thought. “Do you know what’s in those cartoons?”

“Yes, that’s why I try to be out of the room.” She tossed him the jeans, then bent over his duffel bag and dug out a T-shirt. “Think of it as your aerobics exercise for the day. A race for the remote control.”

His heart was already getting a workout, he thought, watching the way the fabric of her shorts pulled tight around her derriere. The feminine curves tempted him. He didn’t know what the problems had been in her marriage, but he was willing to bet her husband hadn’t left because he wanted someone better-looking. If Mike was wrong, her husband was a fool.

Cindy tossed him a T-shirt then started for the door. Before she left, she glanced back at him. “About Beth,” she said, then nibbled on her lower lip. “She’s just talking. She tries to be very worldly and all, but she’s in love with her husband. She’d never actually do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just didn’t want you to think that she was like that.”

“Maybe when I meet her, I should offer her a quick look.”

Cindy laughed. “Only if I can be there to see the expression on her face.”

“Deal.”

“Get dressed, eat your snack, then head for the family room. The kids will be outside for another half hour or so.”

With that, she left. He found it humorous that she would tend to the wound on his thigh but she always left him alone to dress. She treated him with amused tolerance. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d joked with someone, or bothered to relax. He’d been working too hard, without a break between jobs.

If nothing else, this forced time off would give him a chance to regroup. As soon as he was able, he could move into Grace’s house. Once there, he would think about what it was he wanted to do with his life. His recent encounter with death had him wondering about different career options. He was pushing forty. Next time he might not be so lucky.

He grabbed his jeans and started to slip them on his good leg. Before he’d pulled them up past his knee, there was a scream from outside.

“Mommy, Mommy, Allie’s been hurt.”

“Allison!”

Mike heard Cindy race through the house, open the front door and call for her daughter. He jerked on the jeans, and about lost his balance when his head started to swim. He grabbed the footboard and held on. The room twirled and darkened, then slowly returned to normal. He pulled the trousers up over his hips and quickly fastened the buttons. He started out the door in a slow shuffling step.

Pain radiated from his bullet wound. Darkness nipped at the edges of his vision. He could hear conversation and someone crying. As he reached the entryway, Cindy came in carrying Allison in her arms.

The little girl was sobbing. She clung to her mother as blood oozed from a scrape on her knee. Behind them, Jonathan and a couple of other kids he didn’t know trailed in. Cindy looked up and saw him.

“Mike, could you bring that box of medical supplies into the kitchen, please?” Before he answered, she looked over her shoulder. “Billy and Ashley, you’re going to have to go home now. Jonathan, shut the door.”

Mike headed for the bathroom. By the time he got to the kitchen, he was breathing hard and hanging on to walls for support. Jonathan stood by the entrance to the family room, just watching. Cindy had settled on one of the kitchen chairs, with Allison’s injured leg propped up on the one next to it. Using a damp washcloth to wipe away the dirt, Cindy cleaned the still-bleeding wound.

Mike shuffled forward and placed the first-aid kit on the table. Cindy glanced up at him. Her green eyes widened. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Take a seat.”

He sank onto the chair across from hers.

Allison’s cries had quieted to sniffles, but she still kept her face buried in her mother’s neck. She winced as the washcloth touched her scrape.

“Hush, baby girl,” Cindy murmured. “It’s going to be all right.”

She reached for the antiseptic and dampened a cotton ball. Mike flinched, knowing what was coming. He’d treated some bad wounds before, but those had been on adults. This was seven-year-old Allison who came to visit him every morning and told him about her imaginary friend, Shelby. He hated to see her face streaked with tears.

“Take a deep breath,” Cindy warned, then touched the cotton to the scrape. Allison shook all over. She sucked in another breath, then let it out in a hiccuped sob.

“I know,” her mother told her. “Almost done. You’re going to be fine, although I don’t think you’ll be swimming this afternoon.”

“Can I still have cookies?” Allison asked, then sniffed.

“Sure.” Cindy opened a bandage and placed it over the scrape. After smoothing it in place, she hugged her daughter close.

Mike stared at the pair. He felt something odd inside. A hollowness, as if he was just now noticing a piece that had been missing from his life for a long time. The ache felt old and bitterly familiar. It came from being on the outside looking in.

As Cindy held her child and rocked her, light brown hair fell over blond. Her voice was soft as she hummed tunelessly. He could hear Allison’s breathing calm.

The girl opened her eyes and looked at him. A single tear dripped onto her mother’s shoulder.

“Better?” he asked.

Allison nodded.

It was as if a giant fist were squeezing his heart. Maybe it was seeing all he’d never had. Not just the house, although his family had been poor. He’d grown up in a one-bedroom apartment, sleeping on the sofa, or the floor of his mother’s room if she was entertaining. He’d always felt passed over in the business of her life. First she’d been working so much, then she’d remarried and had Grace. Her new child had claimed her time. Funny, he’d never blamed his half sister for that.

Watching Cindy hold Allison reminded him of all he’d missed. The caring, the bond between a mother and child. The love. Until that moment, he’d forgotten the emotion even existed.

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