She smiled. Rogue. She’d been reading too many historical romances.
Even if he didn’t fit the rogue category, there was something about him…She got up, filled with nervous energy. She went to his kitchen and saw a few dirty plates in the sink, a few clean ones in the plastic drainer on the counter. Discarded coffee filters and beer cans were all she could make out in his trash. She opened his refrigerator and sighed. Not much there. Mustard. Beer. A loaf of bread and a big salami. He’d never heal with this kind of diet.
Wondering how he’d managed so far, she went to the sink and turned on the water. There were no gloves, but there was detergent and a sponge. Having something to do helped. It made her calmer. It gave her time to strategize. When Jack came home, he was going to want to call social services, and there was no question in her mind that she wasn’t going to let him. The idea of Megan going to a stranger after all she’d been through made her sick to her stomach. No matter what, Megan was going to stay.
After finishing the dishes, she cleaned the counters and the coffeemaker. Picked up the old newspapers and tied them with some cord she found under the sink. Then she dusted a bit and, with nothing left to do, headed down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.
His decor was consistent, if nothing else. Only the bare necessities. A bed, no headboard. A dresser. A chair. Not even a chair. She shook her head, not surprised that the bed was unmade. Given his condition, she had to wonder when he’d last changed the sheets. It would be a difficult task with a cane.
Was it too personal a thing to do? She didn’t know the man at all, and now she wanted to change his sheets? Her own need for a purpose silenced her doubts, and she went to the hall closet to get fresh ones.
He only had two other sets. Both beige. Utilitarian. Fine for a man whose life was filled with work and friends, but awful for a man who was virtually house-bound.
She checked on Megan, who was still sound asleep and clutching her doll, and then headed back to his room. It took no time at all to strip the bed. When it was bare, she hurried, because the room felt too much like a prison cell.
Once she was done, she dusted in there, too, wishing she could vacuum the place. It wasn’t as if she was a neat freak or anything, but Jack had done a good deed for Megan. He’d brought Megan to her. It was only right that Hailey do something nice for him in return.
Then she remembered the pillowcase. She’d barely looked in it when she’d pulled out Megan’s fresh clothes. Hailey hurried back down the hall, and just as she took hold of the pillowcase, she heard his key in the lock.
She felt her stomach tighten as she turned. Jack walked in slowly. He looked exhausted. His gaze went to Megan, asleep on her quilt on the floor, and Hailey saw his shoulders relax. Then he spotted her, standing by the couch. “I haven’t gone through it yet,” she said, holding out the pillowcase. “I just got her clothes out after her bath.”
He nodded, locked the dead bolt, then took off his jacket. After leaning slightly against the door, he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. His arms were lightly dusted with dark hair. She could clearly see the road map of tendons and muscle on his forearms. Very masculine. He winced as he pushed off toward the kitchen, and she fought the urge to offer to help him. He wasn’t one of the children she tended, and besides, she remembered his angry reaction the first time. Still, it hurt, somehow, to watch him move across the room, leaning so heavily on his cane.
“What’s this?” he asked when he turned the kitchen light on.
“I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t sit still.”
He grunted a noncommittal response, then poured himself a glass of water. She approached him as he drank, fascinated by his Adam’s apple, at the size of his thirst. When he finished, he wiped his arm across his mouth, his gaze on hers as if he’d known she’d been watching him. “Did you tell her?” he asked, keeping his deep voice low.
She nodded. “She was very brave. But it hasn’t really hit her yet. It’s going to take a long while for her to adjust to this. To accept that her father isn’t coming back.”
Jack moved to the kitchen table and sat heavily in a chair. His cane clattered loudly to the linoleum floor, but he didn’t even give it a glance. “Not only is he not coming back,” he said, “he wasn’t really here.”
“What?” She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down, laying the pillowcase between them.
“Roy Chandler wasn’t his name.”
“Seriously?”
He answered her with a look that said he was dead serious.
“Who was he?”
“A charmer named Barry Strangis. From Oklahoma. Incarcerated twice for armed robbery, once in 1972 and again in 1980.”
“Oh, man.”
“Yeah,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and at first she thought Megan had gotten up, but when she turned, she saw she was still sound asleep. He had looked at his chair in the living room. Looked at it with need.
She stood up, went to his television table and got his bottle of pain pills. After she put the bottle on the kitchen table, she took his glass and filled it once more with water. She handed it to him as she sat down again.
He didn’t seem pleased. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together tightly. Finally he said, “What are you doing?”
“Getting your pills. Water.”
“I know that, but why?”
“Because it’s time for you to take a pill.”
“How do you know?”
“From the look on your face. You seemed…pained.”
“I always look like this.”
She smiled, then tried to hide it.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice even rougher than before.
“I’ve always admired a good curmudgeon,” she said. “George Bernard Shaw. Scrooge. They lend balance to the world.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Well, knock it off.”
“Then take your pill.”
He glared at her for another long moment, but then he opened the bottle, shook a pill onto his palm and popped it into his mouth. He drank the entire glass of water, and once more, he wiped his mouth with his arm.
The movement should have been gauche, but it wasn’t. He reminded her of Marlon Brando in Streetcar. Rough and cruel, but only because it hid a vulnerability so deep he didn’t know where to turn.
“So what’s in the case?” he asked.
She shifted her attention to the pillowcase, dumping the contents on the table. The first thing she saw was a picture frame. She moved to pick it up at the same time he did, and their fingers brushed. The contact surprised her, and she jerked her hand back. He grew very still for a moment, then lifted the frame so he could see the picture. “Hmm,” he said.
“What?”
He turned it around.
“That’s Megan’s mother,” Hailey said. “Patricia.”
Jack looked at it again. “She was pretty.”
“Megan looks a lot like her. She’ll be a beautiful woman.”
“Do you know when this Patricia died?”
Hailey