He nodded. “And I counsel when and where I can. But the kids respond best to their peers. I not only allow it, I encourage it.”
The sound of a cranky child cut short Tessa’s response. They both looked up as the aide who monitored the nap room came in carrying a fussy two-year-old.
“Sorry to disturb your lunch, Miss Rose, but Christa woke up crying. I can’t get her to tell me if something hurts.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. Come here, sweetheart.”
The toddler had other ideas. She hurled herself in Chase’s direction, trying to escape Jennifer’s hold. “Want you.”
Tessa shrugged as he lifted his brows in silent question. He was familiar to the children, and she was new. She didn’t expect them to come to her yet, and certainly wouldn’t force it.
He took Christa into his arms. She cuddled against him, sniffling dramatically, jamming her thumb in her mouth, her tears slowing.
“Magic touch,” Jennifer said to Tessa as she walked away. “The kids love him.”
Tessa watched him calm the softly hiccuping little girl and knew exactly why no child would fear him. He spoke to Christa in hushed tones, the gentle huskiness accompanied by an equally comforting touch of his hand, large and soothing, as he stroked her long, dark hair and tiny back.
He may not smile, but he brought contentment. He was a man people could confide in, knowing their secret was safe. His word was his bond, integrity his covenant. All the research she’d done on him indicated it. Now she could see for herself. Children were the ultimate barometer of a person’s character.
Chase Ryan was genuine.
He met Tessa’s gaze with a questioning one. She didn’t know what he’d seen in her expression—too much had passed through her head in a brief period of time. She smiled at him, the only answer she could give.
“She’s asleep,” he said. “I’ll put her down.”
“Thank you.”
He looked at Tessa a moment longer. Then, incredibly, he cupped the side of her head, his palm resting against her hair, his fingertips barely touching her scalp, his thumb brushing her cheek. Had she looked as needy as Christa?
“Let me know if Dodger gives you any trouble, Tessa.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding, then crossed her arms as he took his hand away. “So, that’s how you rule so effectively.”
“Meaning?”
“Oh, you tricky man, you. You lure with touch, then you give orders. You figure while I’m mesmerized, I’ll agree to anything. Nicely done, Mr. Ryan.”
“I’m not that calculated.”
“Then your instincts are exceptional.”
“Maybe we could talk about it over dinner sometime.”
She liked that he’d surprised himself with the invitation, for clearly he had. His expression closed up instantly—too late, of course, but a shutdown nonetheless. “I’d love to,” she said simply. “Name the day.”
She’d never thought a person’s frown endearing before. His tugged at her heart, which was already fluttering from his surprisingly tender touch and the intensity of his stormy gray gaze.
“I’ll get back to you,” he said.
Tessa smiled as he left the room with Christa. What a fascinating man. Strong-willed, devoted to his work, definitely a leader and yet vulnerable, too. She didn’t know which part of him attracted her more. Or maybe it was the contradictions that were so enticing.
Dinner with Chase? A personal relationship with him certainly hadn’t been in her plans when she first applied for the job, but she couldn’t deny its appeal now. Who would have thought it?
Late that night Chase locked the dead bolt behind him, then climbed the stairs to his second-floor apartment over the Center. Ten o’clock and all’s well—except his peace of mind.
Dinner. Where had that invitation come from?
Yes, he was attracted to Tessa. But he’d been attracted to women before and been able to control the direction of a relationship. With Tessa, he found himself saying and doing things he couldn’t predict and certainly hadn’t planned.
He flipped on the light switch as he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, illuminating his living room. Some of his friends would shout hallelujah. He’d often been accused of being too controlled—Sarge’s word. Les said he was hopeless. Sebastian called him clueless. But what were friends for if not to tell you the truth about yourself?
Controlled, hopeless, clueless. And Tessa’s description—formidable. Not that it fazed the soft, fragrant, cookie baker who made him yearn for things he’d scratched off his wish list years ago. His commitment to his purpose was complete—no child would experience what he’d experienced, not if he had anything to say about it. And dividing himself between his commitment of the past eighteen years and the temptation that Tessa represented now just wouldn’t work. Both would suffer if he fragmented his attention.
He didn’t think Tessa would settle for second place. Nor should she.
He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, picked up the phone and dialed.
“O’Keefe.”
“What’d you get on Stone Man?”
“Geez, Chase. Give me a break, will you? I’m a detective, not a miracle worker. I’ve been chasing bad guys all day and couldn’t get to it.”
He eased onto a sturdy bar stool. “This is important, Les. Tessa’s life could be at risk.”
“I’m right in the middle of the first date I’ve had in months. I’ll get to it ASAP, I promise.”
“Tomorrow.”
Les sighed, a pretty good indication that Chase was testing their eighteen-year friendship. “All right. All right. Tomorrow.”
“So, Les, are you wearing a dress and everything tonight?”
“Go to heck, Ryan.”
“Before you slam the phone down,” he said quickly, “check out a guy named Dodger, too, would you? He works at the food bank. I want to know his background.”
“Why?”
Because I didn’t like the way he looked at Tessa today. “He’s in and out several times a week. Something about him bothers me.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thanks, Les. I appreciate it.”
“But don’t call me, okay? I’ll call you when I have some information.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
The phone line went dead.
Grabbing a couple of plums and the remainder of Tessa’s oatmeal-and-raisin cookies, which she’d left with him when she’d said good night, Chase turned out the light and wandered into his bedroom. His walls were lined with cement-block and wood-plank bookshelves, filled with everything from textbooks to best-sellers. They were his indulgence, his one luxury and were organized systematically so that he could put his hands on any book he wanted easily. The few people who’d been in the room always stared at the minilibrary.
He stripped and climbed in bed with his snack and a book on inner-city youth. Before long, he set the book aside. He bit into a plum, the tangy juice and sweet flesh filling his mouth as he contemplated the ceiling—and Tessa.
Most of the women he knew were either single mothers