cutting off the rapidly tumbling words. He held out the cup, waiting for her to take it in both hands. It shook, nearly spilling the coffee over the rim. As it depleted, she sat again. “Tell me about him.”
For a moment she stared at the coffee, as if she had no idea what it was or how she’d come to be holding it. “He’s four . . . almost five. He wants a wagon, a yellow one, for his birthday. He likes to pretend.” Lifting the cup, she swallowed coffee, and as it scalded her mouth, she calmed a bit. “Scott has a wonderful imagination. You can give him a cardboard box and he’ll see a spaceship, a submarine, an Egyptian tomb. Really see it, do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.” He laid a hand on hers as he sat beside her.
“When Jeremy and Barbara died, he was so lost. They were beautiful together, the three of them. So happy.”
Her eyes were drawn to the boxing gloves that hung behind the door. Jeremy’s gloves. They’d be Scott’s one day. Something ripped inside her stomach. Ariel began to talk faster. “He’s a lot like his father, the same charm and curiosity. The Andersons, Barbara’s parents, never approved of Jeremy. They didn’t want Barbara to marry him, and rarely saw her after she did. After . . . after the accident, they were appointed Scott’s guardians. I wanted him, but it seemed natural that he be with them. A house, a yard, a family. But . . .” Breaking off, she cast a desperate look at the phone.
“But?” Booth prompted.
“They just aren’t capable of understanding the kind of person Scott is. He’ll pretend he’s an archeologist and dig a hole in their yard.”
“That might annoy anyone,” Booth said and drew a wan smile from her.
“But he wouldn’t dig up the yard if he had a sand dump and someone told him it could be a desert. Instead, he’s punished for his imagination rather than having it redirected.”
“So you decided to fight for him.”
“Yes.” Ariel moistened her lips. Had she waited too long? “Even if that were all, I might not have started the proceedings. They don’t love him.” Her eyes shimmered as she looked up again. “They just feel responsible for him. I can’t bear thinking he could grow up without all the love he should have.”
Where is he, where is he, where is he?
“He won’t.” Booth drew her against him to kiss the tears at the corners of her eyes. “After you get custody, we’ll see that he doesn’t.”
Cautiously, she pulled back, though her fingers were still tight on his shoulders. “We?”
Booth lifted a brow. “Is Scott part of your life?”
“Yes, he—”
“Then he’s part of mine.”
Her mouth trembled open twice before she could speak. “No questions?”
“I’ve wasted a lot of time with questions. Sometimes there’s no need for them.” He pressed her fingers to his lips. “I love you.”
“Booth, I’m so afraid.” Her head dropped against him. The dam burst.
He let her weep, those harsh sobs that were edged with grief and fear. He let her hold on and pull out whatever strength she could find in him. He lived by words, but knew when clever phrases were of no use. So in silence, Booth held her.
Crying would help, he thought, smoothing her hair. It would allow her to give in to fear without putting a name on it. While she was vulnerable to tears, it was he who willed the phone to ring. And he was denied.
The passion exhausted her. Ariel lay against Booth, lightheaded, disoriented, only aware of that hollow ache inside that meant something vital was wrong. Her mind groped for the reason. Scott. He was missing. The phone hadn’t rung. He was still missing.
“Time,” she murmured, staring over his shoulder at the phone through eyes that were swollen and abused by tears. “What time is it now?”
“It’s nearly four,” he answered, hating to tell her, hating the convulsive jerk he felt because her body was pressed so close to his. There were a dozen things he could say to offer comfort. All useless. “I’ll make more coffee.”
At the knock on the door, she looked around listlessly. She wanted no company now. Ignoring the knock, she turned her back to the door. It was the phone that was important. “I’ll get the coffee.” Forcing herself to move, she rose. “I don’t want to see anyone, please.”
“I’ll send them away.” Booth walked to the door, already prepared to position himself in front of it to shield her. When he opened it, he saw a young woman wearing a bandanna and paint-smeared overalls. Then he saw the boy.
“Excuse me. This little boy was wandering a couple blocks from here. He gave this address. I wonder if—”
“Who are you?” Scott demanded of Booth. “This is Ariel’s house.”
“I’m Booth. Ariel’s been waiting for you, Scott.”
Scott grinned, showing small white teeth. Baby teeth, Booth realized. He’s hardly more than a baby. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I got a little lost. Bobbi was painting her porch and said she’d walk me over.”
Booth laid a hand on Scott’s head and felt the softness of hair—like Ariel’s. “We’re very grateful to you, Miss . . .”
“Freeman, Bobbi Freeman.” She grinned and jerked her head toward Scott. “No trouble. He might’ve lost his way a bit, but he sure knows what he wants. It seems to be Ariel and a peanut butter sandwich. Well, hey, I’ve got to get back to my porch. See you later, Scott.”
“Bye, Bobbi.” He yawned hugely. “Is Ariel home now?”
“I’ll get her.” Leaving Scott to climb onto the hammock, Booth walked toward the kitchen. He stopped Ariel in the doorway and took the two cups from her hands. “There’s someone here to see you.”
She shut her eyes. “Oh, please, Booth. Not now.”
“I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”
Something in his tone had her opening her eyes again, had her heart drumming against her ribs. Skirting passed him, she hurried into the living room. A small blond boy swung happily in her hammock with two kittens in his lap. “Oh, God, Scott!”
His arms were already reaching for her as she dashed across the room and yanked him against her. Warmth. She could feel the warmth of his small body and moaned from the joy of it. His rumpled hair brushed against her face. She could smell the faintest memory of soap from his morning wash, mixed with the sweat of the day and the gumdrops he was forever secreting in his pockets. Weeping, laughing, she sank to the floor holding him.
“Scott, oh, Scott. You’re not hurt?” The quick fear struck at her again and she pulled him away to examine his face, his hands, his arms. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Uh-uh.” A bit miffed at the question, Scott squirmed. “I didn’t see Butch yet. Where’s Butch?”
“How did you get here?” Ariel grabbed him again and gave in to the need to kiss his face—the rounded cheeks, the straight little nose, the small mouth. “Scott, where’ve you been?”
“On the train.” His whole face lit. “I rode on the train all by myself. For a surprise.”
“You . . .” Incredulous, Ariel stared at him. “You came from your grandparents’, all alone?”
“I saved up my money.” With no little pride he reached in his pocket and pulled out what he had left—a few pennies, two quarters and some gumdrops. “I walked to the station, but it took lots longer than a cab does. It isn’t as far in a cab,” he decided with a small boy’s logic. “And I paid for the ticket all by myself—just like you showed me. I’m hungry, Ariel.”
“In a minute.” Appalled at the idea of his traveling alone and defenseless, she took both his arms. “You walked all the way to the train station, then rode the train here?”
“And I only got a little bit lost once, when Bobbi helped me. And I was hardly scared at all.” His lip trembled. Screwing up his face, he buried it against her. “I wasn’t.”
All the things that might have happened to him flashed hideously through her mind. Ariel tightened her hold and thanked God. “Of course you weren’t,” she murmured, struggling to hold on
to her emotions until she’d both schooled and scolded. “You’re so brave, and so smart to remember the way. But Scott—” she tilted his face to hers “—it was wrong for you to come here all alone.”
“But I wanted to see you.”
“I know, and I always want to see you.” Again she kissed him, just to feel the warmth of his cheek. “But you left without telling your grandparents, and they’re so worried. And I’ve been worried,” she added, brushing the hair from his temple. “You have to promise you won’t ever do it again.”
“I don’t want to do it again.” With his mouth trembling again, he rubbed his fists against his eyes. “It took a long time and I got hungry, and then I got lost and my legs were so tired. But I wasn’t scared.”
“It’s all right now, baby.” Still holding him, she rose. “We’ll fix you something to eat, then you can rest in the hammock. Okay?”
Scott sniffled, snuggling closer. “Can I have peanut butter?”
“Absolutely.” Booth came back into the room and watched as both heads turned toward him. He might be her own child, he thought, wonderingly. Surprised, he felt a yearning to hold the boy himself. “I just saw a peanut butter sandwich in the kitchen. I think it’s yours.”
“Okay!” Scott scrambled out of Ariel’s arms and bounced away.
Getting unsteadily to her feet, Ariel pressed the heel of her hand to her brow. “I could skin him alive. Oh, Booth,” she whispered as she felt his arms go around her. “Isn’t he wonderful?”
By dusk, Scott was asleep, with a tattered stuffed dog that had been his father’s gripped in one hand. The three-legged Butch kept guard on the pillow beside him. Ariel sat on the sofa next to Booth and faced Scott’s grandfather. Coffee grew cold on the table between them. As always, Mr. Anderson sat erect; his clothes were impeccable. But there was a weariness in his eyes Ariel had never seen before.
“Anything might’ve happened to the boy on a jaunt like that.”
“I know.” Ariel slipped her hand into Booth’s, grateful for the support. “I’ve made him promise he won’t ever do anything like it again. You and your wife must’ve been sick with worry. I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson. I feel partially to blame because I’ve let Scott buy the train tickets before.”
He shook his head, not speaking for a moment. “An intrepid boy,” he managed at length. “Sharp enough to know which train to take, when to get off.” His eyes focused on Ariel’s again. “He wanted badly to be with you.”
Normally the statement would have warmed her. Now, it tightened the already sensitive muscles of her stomach. “Yes. Children often don’t understand the consequences of their actions, Mr. Anderson. Scott only thought about coming, not about the hours of panic in between or about the dangers. He was tired and frightened when he got here. I hope you won’t punish him too severely.”
Anderson took a deep breath and rested a hand on either thigh. “I realized something today, Ms. Kirkwood. I resent that boy.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Anderson—”
“Please, let me finish. I resent him, and I don’t like knowing that about myself.” His voice was clipped, unapologetic and, Ariel realized, old. Not so much in years, she thought, but in attitude. “And more, I’ve realized that his presence in the house is a constant strain on my wife. He’s a reminder of something we lost. I’m not going to justify my feelings to you,” he added briskly. “The boy is my grandchild, and therefore, I’m responsible for him. However, I’m an old man, and not inclined to change. I don’t want the boy, and you do.” He rose while Ariel could only stare at him. “I’ll notify my attorney of my feelings on the matter.”
“Mr. Anderson.” Shaken, Ariel rose. “You know I want Scott, but—”
“I don’t, Ms. Kirkwood.” With his shoulders straight, Anderson gave her a level look. “It’s as basic as that.”
And as sad. “I’m sorry” was all she could say.
With a nod only, he left.
“How,” Ariel began after a stretch of silence, “could anyone feel that way about a child?”
“About the child?” Booth countered. “Or about themselves?”
She turned to him, puzzled only for a moment. “Yes, that’s it, isn’t it?”
“I’m an expert on the subject. The difference is”—he drew her down to him again, circling her with his arm so that her head rested against his shoulder—“someone pushed her way into my life and made me see it.”
“Is that what I did?” She laughed, riding the next curve on the roller coaster the day had been. Scott was sleeping on her bed, with kittens curled at his feet. He could stay there now. No more tearful goodbyes. “Pushed my way into your life?”
“You can be very tenacious.” He gave her hair a sharp tug then captured her mouth as she gasped. “Thank God.”
“Should I warn you that once I push my way in, I won’t ever get out?”
“No.” He shifted so that she could sit across his lap, and he could watch her face. “Let me find out for myself.”
“It won’t be easy for you, you know.”
“What?”
“Dealing with me if you decide to marry me.”
His brow rose, and unable to resist, she traced it with a fingertip. “If?”
“I’m giving you your last chance for escape.” Half serious, Ariel pressed her palm to his cheek. “I do most things on impulse—eating, spending, sleeping. I much prefer living in chaos to living in order. The fact is I can’t function in order at all. I’ll get you involved, one way or the other, in any number of organizations.”
“That one remains to be seen,” Booth muttered.
Ariel only smiled. “I haven’t scared you off yet?”
“No.” He kissed her, and as the shadows in the room lengthened, neither of them noticed. “And you won’t. I can also be tenacious.”
“Remember, you’ll be taking on a four-year-old child. An active one.”
“You’ve a poor opinion of my stamina.”
“Oh, no.” This time when she laughed, it held a husky quality. “I’ll drive you crazy with my disorganization.”
“As long as you stay out of my office,” he countered, “you can turn everything else into a building lot.”
She tightened her arms around his neck and clung for a moment. He meant it, she told herself, giddy. He meant it all.
She had Booth, and Scott. And with them, her life was taking the next turning point. She could hardly wait to find what waited around the corner.
“I’ll spoil Scott,” she murmured into Booth’s neck. “And the rest of our children.”
He drew her back slowly, a half smile on his mouth. “How many is implied by the rest?”
Her laughter was free and breezy. “Pick a number.”
* * *
Keep reading for a special excerpt from the newest novel by J.D. Robb
DELUSION IN DEATH
Available September 2012 in hardcover from G.P. Putnam’s Sons
* * *
After a killer day at the office, nothing smoothed those raw edges like happy hour. On the Rocks on Manhattan’s Lower West Side catered to white-collar working stiffs who wanted half-price drinks and some cheesy rice balls while they bitched about their bosses or hit on a coworker.
Or the execs who wanted a couple of quick belts close to the office before their commute to the ’burbs.
From four-thirty to six, the long bar, the high-tops and low-tops bulged with lower-rung execs, admins, assistants, and secretaries who flooded out of the cubes, pools, and tiny offices. Some washed up like shipwreck survivors. Others waded ashore ready to bask in the buzz. A few wanted nothing more than to huddle alone on their small square of claimed territory and drink the day away.
By five, the bar hummed like a hive while bartenders and waitstaff rushed and scurried to serve those whose workday was behind them. The second of those half-price drinks tended to improve moods so the laughter, amiable chatter, and premating rituals punctuated the hum.
Files, ac
counts, slights, unanswered messages were forgotten in the warm gold light, the clink of glasses and complimentary beer nuts.
Now and again the door opened to welcome another survivor of New York’s vicious business day. Cool fall air whisked in along with a blast of street noise. Then it was warm again, gold again, a humming hive again.
Midway through that happiest of hours (ninety minutes in bar