Last Chance Family Part 7

He strode to the door and opened it, prepared for an onslaught of church lady nosiness.

Oops, wrong busybody. The cute one with the amazing rack stood on his threshold looking like a wholesome take on a Vegas showgirl. Gone were the muddy jeans and smelly boots, traded in on a sundress that showed off her shoulders. And, wow, they had adorable freckles.

What had happened? Up until this moment, the only shoulders he'd seen on Dr. Charlene Polk had been cold ones.

"What?" he said, forcing himself to be abrupt. He knew a lot of babes with cute shoulders. He could resist.

"Um, well, uh, I brought a couple of things, you know, toys and books. For Rainbow."

He noticed the yellow shopping bag with the words "Flights of Fancy Bookstore" on its side. Okay, he'd figured it out. She had decided to employ subterfuge to check up on him. He wanted to tell her to take her books and toys and b.o.o.bs and go bother someone else.

But then he figured Rainbow probably had never been given a book in her short life. At least not a new one bought just for her. So, for the kid's sake, he relented.

"Come on in. She's watching TV."

He backed away from the door. Dr. Polk hesitated for a moment on the threshold, eyeing his wet shirt. "What happened to you?"

"Bath time," he muttered. "Can I get you anything? I've got c.o.kes and beer in the fridge."

"That sounds about right," she muttered as she crossed the room and sat down next to the little girl.

The demon cat came over to investigate the moment Charlene sat down.

"Watch out, she scratches," he said.

Charlene gave him one of those female looks, like she knew what she was doing and he should just b.u.t.t out. Which, he supposed, was fair since she was a vet. And besides, Tigger seemed to be bonding with her. Kind of the way she'd bonded with Elsie the other day.

Of course that had ended badly. But she'd been warned.

Mike headed back to the kitchen just as the microwave timer dinged.

He pulled the pizza out of the oven and fixed a tray for the kid, with the pizza and a gla.s.s of milk. He brought the tray to the threshold of the living room and got no farther.

Dr. Charlene Polk had switched off the television. Rainbow, Tigger, and Charlene were all snuggled up together, and the cute vet was reading from a bright yellow book with a goofy-looking blue cat on the cover. The story was all about a cat with a new pair of tennis shoes walking down the street singing a song. "I love my white shoes. I love my white shoes. I love my white shoes." Dr. Polk sang the stupid, repet.i.tive song and started to sway with her upper body. So naturally Mike got sidetracked watching the doctor's chest. He was so mesmerized that he almost missed the fact that Rainbow was moving to the song, too. Tigger was not.

In fact, Tigger seemed to be offended by the entire scenario. She left Charlene's lap and walked her majestic self back into the bedroom.

Mike, on the other hand, stood there enjoying the floor show as Charlene read all about Pete the Cat's adventures as he walked through berries and mud and water, changing the color of his shoes each time. When the story ended, Rainbow spoke for the first time in two weeks.

"Again."

Something clutched at his insides. He could hardly draw breath as Charlene read the book again. And again. And again.

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Dr. Polk worked with animals. She had a knack for reaching out to those who couldn't speak. He could almost see the way her touch healed Rainbow. Not just the words from the book, but the way she looked at the kid, the way she wrapped her arm around her.

Rainbow felt safe with Charlene.

Mike checked out Charlene's hands. No wedding or engagement rings. He hadn't seen any boyfriends hanging out at her place, not that he'd been looking. She gave off wholesome, single-girl vibes, but with a seriously hot body.

She'd be perfect for Timmy.

Charlene read Pete the Cat half a dozen times, enjoying the way Rainbow's head snuggled against her shoulder. And she loved the way Rainbow smelled-like freshly bathed little girl. As the child's head got heavier against her shoulder, warm, seductive feelings crept deep into her heart.

She should run away from this. It said more about the unresolved issues from her life than it did about Rainbow's problems, or Mike's skills as a child-care provider. From all she could see, Mike was doing the best he could to take care of a child who had lost her parents.

The apartment was cleaner by far than her own place. The living room looked freshly vacuumed, which was a huge improvement over the way Martha kept the place. You couldn't step into Martha's house without picking up cat hair. But not now, with Mike in residence. And Rainbow was clean, too, and dressed in appropriate PJs.

Just then, Mike entered the living room with a tray bearing a piece of pizza and a gla.s.s of milk. "It's time to eat," he said. "Give Dr. Polk a chance to rest her voice." He said it kindly and brought the tray into the living room, where he placed it on the coffee table.

It wasn't the most well-balanced meal. And he'd served it in front of the television. But letting a kid eat pizza on a tray didn't seem like a crime. Parents all over the country let their kids eat pizza without any vegetables. And hadn't he told her that Rainbow only wanted pizza, and the little girl had been traumatized? So really, pizza seemed like a silly thing to ha.s.sle him about.

Rainbow picked up the TV remote and turned the set on before she fell on her pizza like a starving waif. The Cartoon Network flickered to life with a garishly painted animated show featuring a character named Uncle Grandpa who was kind of gross and inappropriate for a child Rainbow's age. Charlene wanted to suggest that Mike turn on the Disney Channel instead, but she had already overstepped her boundaries.

She needed to make a truce with her neighbor. She needed to recognize the truth. She'd come here because Rainbow drew her like a blooming wisteria attracts honey bees. And not really because of any other reason.

She pushed up from the sofa. "I should be going." She awkwardly pointed over her shoulder toward the front door.

"You sure you don't want a beer or something?"

"No. No, thanks." She headed for the door.

Mike followed her. "Thanks for the book, and for reading to Rainbow. She hasn't said one word in almost two weeks. You managed to break her silence. I'm grateful. Really. You can come read to her anytime."

Charlene turned around, putting the door behind her. She needed to back off. Rainbow would move on with Mike, or stay and become Pastor Tim's child. Charlene didn't factor in either scenario at all.

So she drew herself up and looked Mike in the eye. "You can read to her anytime. Have you ever tried?"

Red crept up his neck and merged with the fiery stubble on his cheeks. She had to stomp on the sudden urge to touch that stubble, to feel the warmth of his skin. She couldn't deny the truth. She found him almost irresistible.

"Busted," he said, pulling her back from her suddenly raging libido. "You're right, Dr. Polk. I haven't read to her. I don't even have any kids' books here. So I appreciate your thoughtfulness. And please, do not hesitate to make suggestions. I don't pretend to know a d.a.m.n thing about kids. I'm a gambler, not a father figure. And I sure do wish folks would quit blaming me for who I am."

"I haven't done that, have I?" She said the words before she thought about them.

"No, actually you haven't. You've blamed me for being something that I'm not." He said this with the slightest tilt to his mouth.

He was right. She had thought the worst of him. "I guess that's fair. I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you could walk away from her." Except that she could imagine. Hadn't she walked away from a child once?

"I have no intention of walking away. I intend to find her the best possible family. And while we're clearing the air, you should know that I intend to put aside a portion of my winnings for her, so that she wants for nothing in the future. I used to send her mother money, but I figure Angie probably used it to buy drugs. With Rainbow, the money is going into a trust, and I'll make Timmy the trustee."

"Money can't buy love," she said.

"I actually know that, Dr. Polk. That's why I'm here. I can support her, but I can't give her what she needs. I need good-hearted people like you and Timmy to take care of loving her. I'm no d.a.m.n good at that sort of thing."

Charlene opened her mouth to argue, but what could she say?

She couldn't quibble with his goals. They were n.o.ble in their own way. And you couldn't argue someone into love. Love had to be nurtured. You either felt it or you didn't. And if Mike didn't love Rainbow, then he had no business raising her or caring for her.

Charlene ought to go. Now. But she seemed to be stuck there, looking up into his blue, blue eyes. Something needy and terribly sad flickered in the depths of that deep, blue gaze. And it occurred to her that Rainbow might not be the only person in this apartment who needed love.

"So," Mike finally said into that awkward moment, "I think it would be terrific if you came by to read to her. She really likes you. I think you make her feel safe."

And just like that Charlene knew she'd allowed herself to be sucked into a situation that would, eventually, shatter her heart.

CHAPTER.

8.

On Sunday afternoon Charlene rushed up the steps to the cla.s.sic portico of her parents' Greek revival home. She was a half-hour late to her daddy's birthday party, and she'd missed church entirely, all because one of George Nelson's milk cows had come down with mast.i.tis.

She'd had to rush out to the farm early this morning, make her diagnosis, prescribe the antibiotics, inspect his milking equipment, and quarantine two additional cows.

No one could argue about her excuses today, but her parents would still find a way to say something ugly and hurtful to her. They didn't understand her pa.s.sion for farm animals.

They wanted her to marry someone like John, the real estate lawyer who had actually proposed to her two years ago. But John wanted her to move to Atlanta, give up her practice, and be happy spending his money on decorating and redecorating his large monstrosity of a house.

She had tried to change John. She had failed. And when she refused his marriage proposal, Mother and Daddy had both had conniptions.

They didn't understand her. They never had.

"There you are, at last. We were starting to think you were planning to boycott," Mother said as Charlene made her way into the formal front parlor. Mother gave her an air-kiss. Heaven help her if she actually deigned to kiss Charlene on the cheek like a normal mother. Charlene smelled the wine on Mother's breath.

Daddy stood by the fireplace, bourbon in hand, talking to Uncle Rob. The brothers looked like a couple of bookends dressed in their dark gray business suits.

Aunt Millie, Uncle Rob's wife, played peek-a-boo down on the carpet with her grandson, Upton Lockheart, Cousin Rachel's seven-month-old. The dark-haired child drooled all over Mother's priceless Persian rug, but luckily Mother was riding her Riesling-high and didn't notice.

"I need to speak with you," Daddy said, turning away from Uncle Rob.

Uh-oh. Charlene knew that tone of voice. He crossed the carpet on his highly polished wing tips, effectively blocking her path to the bar, where Cousin Simon hung out with the other male cousins, Bubba and Drew. Molly and Rachel sat together on the couch cooing over Valerie, Simon's three-month-old daughter.

Charlene wished she could teleport herself over to the bar. Like Mother, she suddenly needed a little pick-me-up.

"Drew tells me that you've been all over town, trying to sign people up for this ridiculous auction," Daddy said. "I gather he's agreed, and I've been trying to get Rob and Millie to put their feet down on this issue. It's embarra.s.sing to have one of my nephews partic.i.p.ating in something like this. And I have to say, Charlene, that I'm disappointed in you for running around town trying to sign up unmarried men." His disappointment didn't surprise Charlene one bit. She had never, ever made him happy. Not once.

"Sorry, Daddy," she said in her best phony-contrite voice.

Unfortunately Daddy knew all her tricks. "Do not take that tone of voice with me, Charlene. I deserve respect."

She worked hard not to roll her eyes. "Yes, sir," she said, investing the honorific with as much irony as she could muster.

"You and Drew will not partic.i.p.ate in any auction that involves selling human beings, is that clear?"

"Gee, Daddy, you make it sound like we've brought back slavery to the new South. It's just a fund-raiser. And since I'm a vet and a member of AARC's board, I'm doing more than partic.i.p.ating. I'm organizing. As for Drew, he's already signed his papers and given me his promise, so I think that ship has sailed." She looked past her father to her cousin Drew, who grinned back at her. He raised his beer in her direction and gave her a wink and a beery salute.

He had really grown up and filled out the last couple of years. He bore the unmistakable brown eyes and dark hair of the Polk clan. Like Cousin Simon, he kept his hair a tad too long for convention. And he had chosen not to wear a suit.

Yeah, Drew looked like a Polk, but he was his mother's child, kind to a fault and slightly rebellious. Some lucky lady was going to buy him on June fourteenth, and he would probably woo her by singing sweet love songs to her. The boy had been busking his way through Europe for the last year and a half.

Daddy took a big gulp of his bourbon. The ice in his gla.s.s rattled. "The entire concept is tacky and obscene."

"No, it isn't. Don't be dramatic."

"Charlene, honey, don't disrespect your father," Mother said.

Charlene ignored her mother. She always took Daddy's side. Not once had Mother ever come to Charlene's defense, even when she'd needed it most. "Daddy, nonprofits hold bachelor auctions all the time. It's a fun way to raise money for the animal shelter. It's not all that different from what Christ Church does at the Watermelon Festival when they sell kisses. I manned the kissing booth any number of times over the years, and you never objected. Not once."

Charlene pivoted slightly and cast her gaze to Cousin Simon at the bar. "Hey Simon, could you pour me a gla.s.s of what Mother's drinking, please?"

"Coming right up," Simon said.

She turned back toward Daddy. "I'm sorry you're unhappy about the fund-raiser, but I'm committed to helping AARC raise money for the shelter. The Allenberg shelter is pitiful."

"I am well aware of that. But Dennis Hayden has a perfectly rational plan for dealing with the animal shelter that will achieve economies of scale."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Economies of scale? Is that what you call it?"

"The county executive's plan will mean fewer burdens on the taxpayers."

"It also means more animals euthanized. And I'm not a fan of euthanizing animals. But we all know you have a different point of view, don't you?" She tried to bite back her anger. But old grudges seemed to be surfacing. No doubt the appearance of Rainbow Taggart had opened the door to old wounds. Charlene needed to take a deep breath and regain her self-control.

"There are too many stray animals," Daddy said. "And it's not right to make taxpayers bear the burden of bad decisions made by pet owners. And you, of all people, should recognize that, in this county, the only animals that matter are the large ones. Dash Randall's horses and George Nelson's milk cows. You-"

"If you don't want me to work on signing up bachelors then make a contribution to AARC. I'm thinking a couple of thousand dollars should do it. That's equal to the donation we get every year from Dash Randall."

"I will make no such contribution. AARC is misguided. We need to close the shelter. It's the only economically sound decision."

"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, okay? Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go visit with Valerie."

"I do mind. You are not going to partic.i.p.ate in a man auction. I will not have you making a laughingstock of our family by buying some man for obscene purposes. You've already shown a decided lack of propriety in your private life."

Finally they had reached the nub of the problem. Daddy never failed to bring up Charlene's big mistake and subsequent love affairs. If they were arguing, it would always come down to Charlene's "lack of propriety," which was a big, fat euphemism for the fact that she'd gotten pregnant when she was nineteen.

And the boy she loved was not white.

When would Daddy forgive her for that sin? Shoot, when would she forgive herself? Not anytime soon, apparently.

She raised her chin and stared Daddy right in the eye. "We're auctioning off dinner with a single man. It's more wholesome than the kissing booth. So stay out of it, okay?"