Close To The Heart (Westen Series Book 5) Page 6

  “He didn’t just beat her, sweetheart,” Cleetus said. “He broke her ribs, fractured her arm. She had a busted lip, and a broken eye socket. She was lucky she didn’t lose her eyesight.”

  “Or her life,” Daniel muttered.

  “I think I remember Bobby telling me about this case. You saw her injuries?” Chloe asked Cleetus.

  He nodded. “I was on evening shift when Libby called and asked me to meet her at Doc Clint’s and bring the department’s camera. When I got there and saw how bad a shape she was in, I called your sister. Figured a lady should do the job. Harriett and Emma agreed.” His lips pursed a minute or two as he tried to get his emotions under control.

  Daniel took over the story. “Gage and I came with Bobby. The sheriff took one look at Miss Davis and put out a BOLO for Frank. We picked up the SOB before the ambulance got there to transport Miss Davis to the hospital.”

  “Knowing how protective my brother-in-law is of people, I’m surprised old Frank didn’t end up in an ambulance of his own,” Chloe said.

  “He nearly did, but it wasn’t Gage who wanted to put him there,” Daniel said, draining the last of his beer. He needed to get out of there before he put his fist through something Wes might take exception to. “I hope you got all you needed, Chloe. I need to head out. First shift in the morning.”

  Before anyone could say anymore, he grabbed his coat and hat off the coat rack and headed out the door, cringing slightly when it slammed behind him. He couldn’t help the rage he felt every time he thought of that night. How broken, battered and helpless Melissa had looked in that hospital bed of Clint’s.

  Climbing into his truck, he slammed the door and sat gripping the steering wheel as tight.

  To this day he wished Gage had let him beat the other man senseless. The slimy bastard had laughed when they got to his house, saying, “The little wifey is just a clumsy cow. Just slipped and fell down the stairs.”

  “Stairs don’t make circular patterns that look like the exact size of your fist,” he said, hauling the man up by his collar against the wall.

  Gage had peeled him off, helped put the bastard in cuffs and hauled him down to the jail at the courthouse, after giving Daniel an arched-brow-don’t-mess-this-case-up look. “Not sure I should trust you with him overnight in the office cells.”

  “Not sure you should either,” he’d replied, and he’d meant it.

  Now he finds out the woman nearly accosting Melissa in the café today was the bastard’s mother? Why was the woman even speaking to Melissa, much less trying to embarrass her in public?

  Slowly, he inhaled and exhaled, counting to twenty—ten wasn’t going to do it. Then he repeated the exercise. He had one more stop to make before he went home, and there was no way he was going to the Westen House angry.

  5

  The knock startled Melissa. She looked up from her laptop to find Geoffrey filling the doorway into the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to knock to come in the kitchen, Geoff,” she said with a smile. “I’ve told you before. This is your home. Kitchen, living room and family rooms are never off limits.”

  “I know, Miss Davis,” he said, coming in to sit in a chair opposite her. “I wanted to talk, and you looked pretty into whatever’s on your laptop.”

  “Just doing some homework.”

  She closed the laptop and set aside the notepad and pen she’d been using to take notes. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to see what she was studying. All the kids knew she was taking online classes. No, she set it aside because she didn’t want to be distracted while they talked. One of the things she suspected her charges rarely got was undivided attention from their parents or the responsible adults in their lives. Whenever they spent time with her, she made sure her attention was focused on them, especially when one of them sought her out one-on-one—like now. It was also why no phones were allowed at the communal dinner table, not even hers.

  “Want to help me out with these brownies?” she asked pushing the plate containing them to the center of the table. “I’ve already had one but am thinking four was way over my limit today. I used to always snack when I studied back in school. Unfortunately, my metabolism isn’t that of a teenager anymore.”

  He took a bite of one with a grin. “You do make good brownies,” he said after swallowing.

  “Thank you. I had a very good helper today.”

  “Shrimp seems to like it here.”

  “She is warming up to us all. I like to think you all are finding Westen House a safe place to live.”

  He nodded as he ate.

  Melissa fought back the urge to start questioning him about why he wanted to talk. She wasn’t an inquisitor. She wasn’t an authority figure like a teacher or principal. Her job was to be a cross between, friend, parent figure, and counselor. Patience was her most important tool.

  Her curiosity was piqued, though. Of all her boys Geoff was the most mature. When she first moved into the house back in the fall, all four teens living in the place had been leery of anyone wanting to help—probably from all the “rules” her predecessor tried to enforce on them.

  Honestly, how he ever got the position to mentor anyone, let alone troubled teens, was beyond her. Of course, the fact the man had been an arsonist who almost killed her friend Libby explained a whole lot about the boys’ suspicions.

  She’d started with good healthy meals. Next she’d whittled down the rules to the basics she believed they could all tolerate.

  No drugs, no alcohol, no smoking.

  Be respectful of each other and yourselves.

  Attend classes every day. You need help—ask and it will be given.

  Chores are not an option, but a way to learn to care for yourselves.

  Breakfast and dinners together every day. Lunches will be packed for school. Lunches on weekends will be made by the residents. (You need to learn to cook.)

  Make a mess, clean it up.

  Curfew 11:00 p.m. —unless you are working late.

  Get in trouble with the law, you will leave Westen House.

  Once she had her list, she’d sat down with the group and explained each of the rules and asked their opinions—over a chocolate cake and glasses of cold milk. Number six had been Geoff’s suggestion. He’d also suggested the rotating chore schedule, volunteering to do laundry first because no one had ever taught him.

  Instead of just telling the group to be respectful, she said her definition would include manners such as please and thank you when appropriate. Then she asked them what they thought being respectful of each other meant. Trent was the first to speak up.

  “Don’t call each other names like asshole,” he said with a snicker, trying to test her patience.

  “Or dickhead,” Bryan added with a shove to Trent.

  “Or numbnuts,” Trent said with a shove back.

  “Good examples,” she’d said to deflect an all-out fist-throwing battle. The look on her face must’ve mirrored the fear coursing through her at the escalating tension, because all four boys exchanged looks and settled down. She was no fool. Her court case was news throughout the county and her charges were all aware she’d been abused. “What other ways can you show each other respect?”

  “Don’t use other people’s stuff without asking first,” muttered Colt, the smallest of the four.

  “Don’t use all the hot water in the shower if you know someone else is waiting to take one,” Geoff added.

  “How about if you use the last of something? Like milk?” she asked.

  They all stared at her a moment as if she’d spoken in German.

  She almost laughed. “I’ll put a note pad on the fridge. If you use the last of something or say put the last roll of toilet paper on the roller, list it on the pad. I’m not a mind reader and I don’t follow you around. Noting it will help me with the weekly shopping. That’s a respectful thing you can do for me.”

  They’d all decided they could follow that rule and use the note pad for grocer
ies. They continued discussing rules until she got to the curfew.

  “That’s lame that we got to be in by then,” Bryan said.

  She’d waited for them to all voice their grievances over that rule until they finally settled down enough to listen. “I know you think a curfew is just my way of controlling you.”

  Several sullen faces glared back at her.

  “It’s not. It’s actually a way to protect you.”

  “From what? The boogey man?” Colt asked sardonically. “Pretty sure he was living here with us before you took over,” he said, referring to Todd Banyon.

  “He’s not here anymore,” Geoff said, and the others all nodded their heads in agreement.

  Not wanting to digress to a topic she wasn’t really ready to talk about with them, she pushed forward. “Actually, if you think about it, what is there to do in Westen after eleven?”

  Three sets of shoulders shrugged.

  “Nothing,” Geoff answered for them.

  “That’s right. So, if you’re out wandering the streets after eleven the sheriff’s department’s going to get a call from someone out walking their dog or taking out the trash and assuming you’re up to trouble. You’re here to get a second chance, because you had trouble at school or at home. You being home on time will keep you from getting into more trouble, even if you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  All four young men considered her words and nodded.

  “Besides, if you’re not here by eleven, I’ll worry something bad has happened to you. If I’m worried, I won’t sleep. I don’t sleep, I won’t be up to make breakfast. Everyone goes hungry.”

  “So, ignoring the curfew rule is not respectful to you,” Bryan said.

  She smiled and nodded.

  In the end they all agreed an eleven-p.m. curfew was very reasonable.

  Her next project had been to brighten the place up. She started with the kitchen. It was an industrial grey color. Yellow had always been one of her favorite colors. The Saturday she’d gone to pick out the exact color she’d invited all the boys to go along to the Knobs & Knockers hardware store. Instead of a shopping trip it quickly turned into a field trip with the boys, who had never set foot inside a hardware store before, asking Joe, the owner, all about tools, what they were used for, how paint was mixed, what supplies were needed, and what was the best way to paint a kitchen.

  She’d ended up with yellow for the walls, cream trim around the windows and doors, and four enthusiastic helpers. Geoff had loved it so much, he’d asked Joe if he needed a helper. Joe hired him as a part-time store clerk and sometimes painter. The young man took to the task like it was his own personal passion.

  “You know that question you asked at dinner tonight?” Geoff finally asked.

  Melissa thought back to the dinner conversation. “You mean, did anyone of you want to try out for the high school baseball team?”

  “Yeah,” he said, reaching for another brownie. “If I wanted to try out, would I have to quit my job at the Knobs & Knockers?”

  “Trying out wouldn’t interfere with your work. I would think it would only take an afternoon or two. If you’re serious, we’ll ask Deputy Löwe.”

  “Why him?”

  “Apparently, he’s the baseball coach for the school.”

  Geoff’s shoulders dropped. He deflated right before her eyes. “Guess that means I shouldn’t even try.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugged in that non-caring-but-means-a-whole-lot way all teens seemed to have down pat. “Cause I was arrested. No way would a lawman want me to play on the team.”

  When she took over as the live-in adult supervision of the house, she’d been given all the resident’s files, including any juvenile arrest records. Per the bylaws of the group home, no resident could have a felony arrest or a history of violent offenses. In Geoff’s case it was shoplifting. His parents were quite wealthy, so she suspected the theft had more to do with irritating them than him actually wanting the video games he’d lifted.

  “Deputy Löwe seems pretty reasonable. I doubt he’d hold the arrest against you. He knows you work at the Knobs & Knockers. That might play in your favor.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Wasn’t Kyle Gordon a resident here when he was working at the Peaches ’N Cream and still made the football team as a receiver?”

  “Yeah. Kyle was real good. Set the state record for reception yards in a season. Helped catch old Todd, too.”

  “He did. And weren’t the sheriff, Fire Chief Reynolds, and Deputy Cleetus the coaches?”

  Geoff sat a little straighter. “Yeah, they were.”

  Melissa smiled at him. “Instead of worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet, why don’t we talk with Deputy Löwe and let him make the decision? You might be surprised by the outcome.”

  “Okay, I guess it can’t hurt to ask.” He shoved his chair back, grabbing the last brownie from the plate. “I’ll save you from this last one.”

  She laughed as he sauntered out of the room. The more she was around that young man, the more she liked him. Daily, she wondered how he’d ended up at Westen House. He came from a well-to-do family and had well-educated parents, both with lucrative careers in international corporations. He’d excelled in elementary school, but when he’d hit middle school, he’d started having trouble. During his high school years, he was expelled from every private school his parents enrolled him in for truancy, poor academic achievement—despite having a genius IQ—and finally his arrest for shoplifting at the end of the last school year. He’d been headed to juvenile hall for a nine-month sentence when his parents intervened, calling in favors to get him placed in Westen House instead.

  Under her predecessor’s regime, Geoff’s attitude had deteriorated further—at least according to Todd’s notes in the file. But the former director’s near-dictatorship of the house and oppressive fifty rules the residence had to obey seemed to have that negative effort on all of the boys.

  The young man who’d just teased her about the brownie, was kind to a frightened little girl, held down two part-time jobs at the hardware store, and had hopes of being on a baseball team was much different than the boy in those files.

  With a quick glance at the clock, she gave a little sigh. Ten thirty. She should study for another hour, but the boys would be up early for school and she had pancakes on the menu for breakfast. Might as well get to bed early. She took her empty teacup and now brownie-crumb-covered plate to the dishwasher.

  Four brownies? What had she been thinking? No one lost weight eating one brownie, let alone four—even if she had cut them small. Thank goodness Geoff had saved her from herself.

  Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, she gathered up her laptop, notes and book. Just as she reached for the kitchen light switch a knock sounded on the backdoor.

  She froze.

  Her heart skipped a quick beat.

  Who could be at the door this time of night? For a brief moment she flashed back to Frank coming home drunk one night. He couldn’t get his key in the lock and started yelling as he beat on the door for her to open it.

  “You stupid bitch! Why the hell would you lock the door?”

  She gave herself a mental shake. This wasn’t Frank. He was locked in the state penitentiary over a hundred miles away.

  The knock sounded again, just a little harder.

  Clutching her computer and classwork in front of her like some sort of shield, she went to the backdoor and peeked through the blinds she’d closed earlier. Seeing who stood there, she relaxed.

  Daniel stood in the porch light, his head turned to the side as if he were studying the alley behind the house. When she turned the lock, his head swiveled back to her with a sheepish smile.

  “I know it’s a little late, but saw the light was still on and thought I’d take a chance,” he said.

  “Please, come in.” She opened the storm door for him, then moved back to give him room. “I was up studying. Just finished up for t
he evening.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, moving further into the kitchen. “You’re going to school?”

  “Just some online classes,” she said with a shrug.

  “What are you studying? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t mind. I’m taking basic psychology and English at the moment. Since I’m dealing with kids from troubled backgrounds, I thought it might help if I had a degree in counseling.” She gave a little laugh. “I haven’t been in school since graduating high school, so it’s a little daunting. Thought I’d start out slow.”

  “Like wading into the shallow-end of the pond?” He said with a little up turn to the corners of his mouth.

  “Something like that.”

  “Good for you. I think you’ll make a good counselor.”

  Unused to a man complimenting her, she studied his face and eyes to see if he was actually ridiculing her like Frank would. All she saw was honest respect. Heat filled her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  They stood there in the kitchen, almost two feet separating them, just looking into each other’s eyes. The world seemed to slip into the background, like an enhanced photo and they were the only ones in sharp focus.

  Overhead a door closed, breaking the spell.

  “Was there something—”

  “I just stopped by—”

  They both laughed a bit nervously at speaking at the same time.

  “You go first,” she said.

  He shifted his weight to his right side. “I stopped by to ask if you talked with the boys about trying out for the baseball team?”

  “Actually, I did at dinner tonight.”

  “And?”

  “Well, three of the four seemed interested. They’d all played on little league teams, except Colt. He’s never played sports at all. He’s the one who didn’t appear interested.”

  “He can still try out. No experience is really needed for that,” Daniel said, nodding as he considered the information. “Never know what hidden talent he may have.”

  “I think he’s worried about embarrassing himself. He’s already smaller than the others.”