Sherryl Woods - About That Man

“Daddy, we will do our best, but this is Daisy we’re talking about,” Tucker reminded him. “I haven’t won an argument with her since she was old enough to talk.”

“Then it’s high time you figured out why that is and changed it,” King told him, shaking his head at the pitiful admission. “What kind of sheriff lets a little slip of a woman walk all over him?”

“One who’s smart enough to know when to cut his losses,” Bobby suggested.

“Exactly,” Tucker agreed.

King threw up his hands. “I swear to God I am calling my lawyer right this minute and changing my will. I’m leaving everything to a bunch of blasted bird-watchers. They’re bound to have more gumption than you two.”

“Glad to see we’ve made you proud yet again,” Tucker said, giving him an unrepentant grin as he headed for the door with the pie plate in hand.

Bobby gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed. “See you, old man.”

“I’m not old,” King bellowed after them, then sighed. He might not be old at fifty-nine, but his children were going to send him to an early grave. Every one of them seemed to be flat-out dedicated to it.

D aisy had spent the past few hours preparing Tommy for meeting his uncle. She had really tried to put the best possible spin on things for his sake, but he wasn’t any more thrilled by the prospect than she was. She had no answer for all of his questions about why he’d never even known of the man’s existence. Frances hadn’t been willing to share a single detail when Daisy had tried to pry a few out of her.

“I’m telling you I ain’t going nowhere with no cop,” he said flatly as he spooned soup noisily into his mouth late Thursday afternoon as they awaited the arrival of Walker Ames. Molly meowed plaintively, as if she understood his distress.

She had allowed Tommy to stay home from school, and she had taken the day off as well. It had probably been a mistake, since they’d spent the entire time sitting around the house brooding about whatever was to come. And when Frances had called midafternoon to report that Walker hadn’t even shown up yet, Daisy had been ready to take Tommy and vanish. What sort of man was late to a first meeting with his own nephew?

But he was in Trinity Harbor now. Frances had called from the Inn a few minutes ago and said they’d be by around six. Daisy had fixed Tommy a bowl of soup and a sandwich to distract him, but she hadn’t been able to touch a bite of food herself.

Tommy’s declaration hung in the air, adding to her stomach’s queasiness. How could she in good conscience send him away with a man he didn’t know? How could she not, when that man was his only living relative?

Finally she met Tommy’s belligerent gaze. “Tommy, do you trust me?”

“Some,” he conceded grudgingly.

“Then believe me when I tell you that you won’t go anywhere unless it’s for the best.”

He eyed her warily, his blue eyes far too skeptical for a boy his age. “Who gets to decide what’s best?”

The question made her pause. The truth was, she supposed that Social Services or the court would have to make the call. But Tommy was ten. He ought to have some say. And she intended to have quite a lot to say herself once she’d seen this Walker Ames with her own eyes. She considered herself to be a very good judge of character, although there was the matter of Billy Inscoe to contradict that fact.

“All of us,” she said finally. “You, me, a judge, the social worker and, of course, your uncle.”

When the doorbell rang, Daisy froze. Tommy dropped his spoon, sending splatters of soup every which way. For once, Daisy ignored the mess. For one wild moment, she considered grabbing Tommy by the hand and hightailing it out the back door, but that would only postpone the inevitable. She reminded herself that her students–rambunctious teens, at that–considered her quite formidable. A mere policeman would be no match for her at all.

“You can stay in here and finish your soup,” she said, then gave Tommy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

“Whatever,” he said, his doubt plain.

With Tommy’s skepticism ringing in her ears, she went to do battle with the man she was already inclined to think of as the enemy.

Walker wasn’t sure what he’d expected in terms of age or appearance when Frances Jackson had told him that his nephew was being cared for by the daughter of one of the town’s leading citizens. He’d simply dismissed her as some small-town society do-gooder without giving her another thought.

And maybe that was precisely what Daisy Spencer was, but she also happened to be years younger than he’d anticipated–no more than thirty, he guessed–and so beautiful it took him a full sixty seconds to catch his breath and accept her outstretched hand. She had the kind of beauty that came from incredible genes and a classy upbringing. Walker was rarely left speechless, nor did he tend to get poetic…but she inspired both. Her skin was flawless, her eyes the color of spring violets.

“Detective,” she said oh-so-politely, then acknowledged the woman with him with a curt nod and an unmistakable hint of betrayal in her voice. “Frances.”

Walker had the feeling it was more good manners than Southern hospitality that had her inviting them in. Daisy Spencer was studying him warily, as if she feared he might rob the place if she turned her back. He was used to being regarded with distrust, but that was usually by the bad guys, not by an upstanding citizen. The woman was uptight as hell about something, but darned if he could figure out what it was. Shouldn’t she be relieved that he was coming to see his nephew, that she’d most likely be off the hook if Frances Jackson had her way? Surely all these small-town do-gooders were of the same mind–foist Tommy off on him and end their involvement.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Ms. Spencer asked. Again, her voice was measured, with just a teasing hint of a drawl.

“That would be lovely,” the social worker said.

Frances might be content to follow some sort of local protocol, but Walker was impatient to get the reason for the visit out of the way. He had reluctantly agreed to meet Tommy today, see how they did together. Beyond that he’d remained neutral, refusing to commit to anything, despite Mrs. Jackson’s evident expectations. Now that he was here, he just wanted to get the awkward moment over with. He was still shaken by that visit to the cemetery and the finality of seeing a headstone with Beth’s name on it.

“Where is he?” he asked bluntly, ignoring the offer of tea.

The question drew a disapproving frown from the woman currently caring for his nephew. Which, in turn, drew attention to a mouth so kissable it made him forget for an instant why he was here. His gaze traveled from that tempting mouth to curves that were barely disguised by a prim white cotton blouse and linen slacks. Discreet gold jewelry flashed at her wrists, and a delicate diamond and sapphire ring winked on one slender finger. Not an engagement ring, he noted with an odd sense of relief. Wrong hand.

“If you’re referring to Tommy, he’s in the kitchen finishing his supper,” she told him, gesturing vaguely to another part of the small but tastefully furnished house.

The house hadn’t been exactly what he’d expected, either, given her reported status in town. It was little more than a cottage, really, painted a cheerful yellow, with old-fashioned white Victorian trim. It came complete with a white picket fence, all of it the epitome of a young girl’s dream. Hell, it was on Primrose Lane–how quaint could you get? The tiny front yard was a riot of flowers, even though it was still early spring. Neighboring houses were bigger, more imposing, but none had been cared for more lovingly.