Delores Fossen - GI Cowboy

Bailey stared up at him. She also huffed. “You have a knack for making me feel like an idiot, you know that?”

“Really? Because I didn’t think I was getting anywhere with you.”

“You’re not getting anywhere,” she snapped. “Other than the making-me-feel-like-an-idiot part. I’ve already said I’ll take precautions—”

When she stopped, Parker followed her gaze.

His son, with helmet in hand and his bike propped against the steps, was standing there on the porch. And he was eyeing the close contact between Bailey and Parker.

“Zach,” Parker managed to say. “You’re here already.”

“Zach?” Bailey repeated. She jerked away from Parker. “Uh, this is nothing. I’m just a little upset, and your dad lent me his shoulder.”

“Okay.” Zach couldn’t have possibly sounded more disinterested, but he still volleyed strange looks between the two.

Probably because he’d never seen his dad close to a woman.

Parker had dated a little in the last year or two, but he had never brought women home and never introduced them to Zach. He didn’t want his son thinking he’d gotten over his mother’s death. That might feel like a betrayal to her memory.

“The money,” Parker remembered, fishing through his back jeans pocket for his wallet.

“You’re Bailey Lockhart,” Zach said, dodging eye contact with both Parker and her. “I saw a picture of you in the gym at the community center. You were, like, young then. I mean, not like you are now.”

Parker didn’t know who winced more—him or his son.

Bailey smiled, though Parker was sure it was forced. “I played basketball in high school and college. Freedom doesn’t have many so-called star athletes, so I made the cut and got my picture on the wall.”

Parker knew she’d been an athlete. It was his job to study her background, but he was surprised that his son even had a clue who she was.

“What position did you play?” Zach asked, idly taking the money from Parker. He was making eye contact—with Bailey.

“Point guard. How about you?”

“Off guard, but if I grow a few more inches, I can move to forward. I’ve already checked out the other guys who’ll be on the team, and there’s only one who’s taller than me.”

“Josh Bracken,” Bailey provided, and that prompted Zach to nod. “His dad is a deputy sheriff.”

The corner of Zach’s mouth lifted just a fraction. “Yeah. Josh is good, too. There was a basketball hoop already in the driveway when we moved in so Josh has been coming over so we can practice. He’s got a wicked outside shot.”

Parker just stared at them. This was the most he’d heard Zach speak in a year. Of course, he wasn’t actually speaking with him but rather Bailey.

Bailey smiled again, and this time it didn’t seem forced at all. “Well, since you’re the spitting image of your dad, I’m betting you’ll inherit his height, too. It won’t be long before you’re eye to eye with him and can play forward.”

Zach glanced at Parker. No more partial smile. In fact, no smile at all. His normal scowl returned. “Gotta go. The camp starts in fifteen minutes.” He mumbled something to Bailey about it being good to meet her.

“He’s a nice kid,” Bailey said, watching as Zach put on his helmet and rode away on his bike.

Nice certainly wasn’t the word Parker would have used to describe him. Their relationship was strained at best. “I wasn’t around much when he was growing up.”

“Well, he certainly turned out all right.” Bailey pulled back her shoulders, her attention still on the outside front. “People are starting to arrive.”

Parker spotted three cars pulling into the parking lot. “You’re sure you want to do business as usual?”

“I want to try.” However, she didn’t sound as certain as she had earlier. “I’ll talk to my staff and the parents and tell them what’s going on. If they want to keep their children away from here, then that’s their decision, but I’ll stay open for those who want to stay.”

Parker took a deep breath, to gear up for round three with her, but he heard someone coming down the stairs. It was Sheriff Hale, and he was taking the steps two at a time.

“I just got a call,” the sheriff told Parker. “That black car with the bogus plates that you saw on the surveillance tapes—my deputy just spotted it.”

“Where?” Bailey immediately asked.

“On Main Street, just a few blocks away, and he’s headed in this direction.”

Bailey paced across the reception area of the day care and checked the time on her cell phone. Five minutes since the last time she’d looked and over two hours since Sheriff Hale had told Parker and her about the black car.

Time was crawling by.

So was one of the toddlers, Bailey noticed.

She had to smile at the irony. Elijah, who was almost a year old, was trying to escape from the front play room. He didn’t get far before one of the workers, Audra Finmore, hurried out to scoop him up. Elijah giggled, obviously unaware of a menacing black car and her vandalized office.

“Any news?” Audra asked.

Bailey shook her head and checked her phone. Nothing other than the six calls from her mother, which she had let go straight to voice mail. Ditto for the two from her mother’s personal bodyguard, Tim Penske, whom her mother had no doubt pestered to call Bailey, as well. But Bailey didn’t want to talk to her mom or Tim until she had some answers, and right now she was very short of those.

She still wanted to believe this was nothing. Bailey wanted to stick with her bored-teenager theory to explain the slashed tires, the hang-up calls and the mess in her office. But until the sheriff spoke to the driver of that black car and got a reasonable explanation for why he was in town, then Bailey figured the knot in her stomach was there to stay.

“Enough of this,” she mumbled.

The exteriors doors and windows were all locked, the security system was on and the sheriff would call the moment he knew anything. Since she couldn’t use her office, Bailey decided to go to the playroom because she wanted the welcome distraction of the children.

First though, she stopped by the bathroom and touched up her makeup. There wasn’t much she could do about her eyes that were red from crying, but she added some powder so that her cheeks wouldn’t appear so streaked. She didn’t want anyone to know that this situation had caused her to shed a single tear.

She strolled to the playroom where the staff and children were. There weren’t many.

Two workers and seven children.

Normally, there would be six other staff members and close to fifty kids since parents from nearby towns brought their children to Cradles to Crayons. However, when Bailey had told everyone what was going on, only those with no other childcare choices left their children—even after she had assured them that she would do everything humanly possible to protect their children. And she would. But it wouldn’t bring back the children anytime soon.

It broke her heart.

This wasn’t just her business. It was her life. And that idiot stalker was trying to rob her of what she loved most.

She fought back tears, again, and looked around the room. The tears dried up instantly when she spotted Parker. He was sitting on the floor, keeping watch out the front window where he’d pulled down the shade halfway.

But there was also a baby in his lap.

Maddie Simmons was almost two years old and had blond curls that haloed around her cherub cheeks. Unlike some of the other children, Maddie wasn’t afraid of strangers.

Obviously.

She was right in Parker’s face and was babbling while she wiggled her fingers in front of him. Parker continued to glance out the window, but his attention kept returning to Maddie.