She’d wedged the toes of her sneakers into the diamond-shaped holes of the trellis fence, and her hands clung tightly to the top crosspiece. In an instant the girl’s precarious perch registered, and Margo raced for the gate. The latch jammed, but she hardly dared look to see what was the matter for fear the girl would fall if she glanced away.
The girl didn’t seem concerned. “My kitten got in your yard and he can’t come out.”
“Hold on,” Margo called. “I’m coming.”
“He came right through there.” A little hand let go of the fence rail, pointed at the ground, and grabbed the fence again. From the expression on the girl’s face, Margo knew the moment her fingers lost their grip. Forcing the gate open and bolting through, she caught the child just as she fell.
The toe of one shoe stayed wedged in the trellis, twisting the little girl’s leg. With her heart hammering against her ribs, Margo eased the foot free of the shoe. By a whisper of time she’d kept the child from falling, probably saved her from a broken leg. Or a broken neck. A mere second between safety and hurt. For once she’d been in the right place at the right time.
Without warning the girl’s soft weight sent an old, familiar longing coursing through Margo’s body, tightening her lungs until she could hardly breathe.
Holding the child close, she leaned against the fence to regain her equilibrium. Two little arms circled her neck, and Margo tried to hug her closer for comfort, but the girl eased back with a little giggle.
“You smell good.”
No sign of fear in the child. Not a hint of concern in her expression. Margo inhaled deeply to reclaim her own composure.
“Can I come and get my kitten?” the girl asked.
Like a second assault, another wave of longing crashed over Margo, this time breaking against the wall of detachment she’d erected over the years. She wanted to draw this child into her life and learn everything about her, fill in the spaces her imagination couldn’t satisfy about Holly. But if she did that, would it open wounds that had closed but hadn’t healed?
Trying not to be battered by her own self-doubt, Margo concentrated on why she’d moved from Texas to Wyoming. Though free at last in the eyes of the law, she also wanted freedom from recognition, to meet people who hadn’t already judged her. In Laramie she hoped to create a normal life for herself—and a normal person would help a little girl find a kitten.
“Of course.”
The girl slipped her hand into Margo’s, as tender and trusting as if they were close friends. Soft and warm and slightly gritty, it sent a host of memories careening through her head. Oh, Holly. But even as longing swelled, Margo dammed it off. The past was past, Holly hadn’t been hers for over ten years. And the new Margo Haynes did not let passion rule her. She held the gate and led the little girl into her yard. “I wonder where he went?”
In a gesture of unconcern, the girl lifted her shoulders almost to her ears, then lowered them again. “Somewhere.” She dropped onto the ground, folded her legs tailor-fashion and grinned up at Margo. “Pretty soon, he’ll come to me.”
Margo had never owned a cat, but she knew a lot about waiting. Usually it led only to more waiting. “That might take awhile, and then your mommy will be worried about you.”
“Uh-uh. She’s dead.”
Dead. Gone forever. To lose a child, to lose a parent—how much difference could there be? Margo might be able to control her emotions, but she couldn’t forget them. She sat beside the little girl, barely resisting the urge to pull her into her arms. “You must miss her a lot.”
“Sometimes I do. Sometimes I can’t remember her very well.”
Margo remembered her first panic attack when she couldn’t make her baby’s face form in her mind. “Does that make you scared?”
The girl nodded and Margo found her own head dipping in concert. “Was there some special name she used to call you?”
“Merry Ariel, because Ariel’s my name. She used to sing it, like this, ‘Merry Airy, merry, merry, merry, Ariel.”’
“Oh, that’s lovely. I’ll bet you can hear her voice when you sing it.”
Ariel sang it again, then reached out and slipped her hand into Margo’s. “I almost forgot. But when sing it, I remember her.”
“Yes. And she’ll always be in your heart.” Margo savored the sweet warmth of the girl’s hand and thought of the little things that kept Holly in her heart. A handful of photos. A lock of hair. A can of baby powder she kept just for the scent.
She’d rarely regretted giving Holly to a childless couple who would love and protect her. But being sure of her decision didn’t purge the sense of loss, it just mitigated the fear for her daughter’s well-being.
And whoever loved and protected Ariel might be worried about her this very minute. “I think we’d better find your kitten, since somebody’s probably looking for you.” Margo touched her finger to the turned-up nose for emphasis.
“Uh-uh. Daddy’s at work. I came home from school by myself.”
A latch-key kid? While likely only in kindergarten? Alarm clutched Margo’s lungs. “Don’t you have someplace to go?”
“I always come home. But Mrs. Whittaker had to go to Nebraska, so she doesn’t live with us anymore.”
Outrage began to nose Margo’s fear aside. “So who takes care of you?”
Ariel lifted her shoulders again. “I don’t know.”
The father had to be an idiot, or incompetent. Did he have a clue his daughter was wandering the streets alone, talking to strangers? Confronted with both anger and fear, Margo fought against letting such strong emotions run amok. She’d find Ariel’s daddy and calmly give him a piece of her mind. “Let’s track down your kitten.”
“He’ll come pretty soon.”
In kid time or cat time? Either way, Margo figured it could be anywhere from five minutes to five hours. “Maybe we can bribe him to come out in the open. I’ll go open a can of tuna fish.”
“Okay.”
Margo entered the back door at the side of the house, walked through a utility room and then into the kitchen. Since she’d organized her cupboards just that morning, she knew where to find the can opener. She scooped half a can of tuna onto a paper plate and broke it up to release as much odor as possible. Hurrying back to Ariel, she pulled up short at the sight of a man standing beside the child.
He turned when the screen door banged shut behind her, and immediate images imprinted themselves on her brain. Reddish gold hair. A sprinkling of freckles. Dark eyes locked with hers, challenging and furious.
Was he a threat? To Ariel? The twin beasts of fear and anger roared inside her. “Who the he—”
Then his uniform registered, and her fingers crushed the edge of the paper plate.
A cop. A big one. Over six feet with shoulders wide enough to fill a doorway. Her heart sprinted into double time, and a lump formed in her throat too large to swallow around. She’d never met a cop who wasn’t hard, cynical, detached, driven by duty. She’d met plenty who pretended compassion only to manipulate.
This one intimidated her by his size and his demeanor. She ran a nervous tongue over her bottom lip, and hated herself for even a minor show of weakness. She channeled her defensiveness into indignation. “You’d better have a very good reason for being in my yard.”
“I came for my daughter.”
Ariel’s daddy. Indignation magnified into outrage at his carelessness. She let anger flow without restraint. “Your daughter? And you let her