Mixed Blessings. Cathy Hake Marie
head into the car. He saw chubby toddler arms around her neck. A wild surge of adrenaline flooded him. “Nooooo!” he roared as he shot toward her car before she could take his precious boy. “Luke!”
Everything clicked into eerie slow motion. The woman straightened and turned. Her arms encircled a little boy. A red plastic toy firefighter’s hat tumbled off the child, revealing wide, frightened eyes as he screamed in terror. Peter came to an abrupt halt, but his hands still closed around the boy’s ribs.
“Police!” someone boomed. “Freeze!”
Instinctively protecting the boy, the woman held him tighter. Her hand came up and cupped his head to her shoulder. Every speck of color drained from her face. The officer continued, “No one’s going to get hurt if you let the boy go.”
Peter shouted, “It’s not Luke!”
In spite of his assertion, four officers all converged on the car, their weapons still drawn. “Is there anyone in the back seat?” one officer called to another.
So close he could see the woman’s whole body shuddering, Peter felt some of his furor fade. Hopefully, she’d learned her lesson and would leave him alone now. For a brief second, her tongue loosened. “Let us go. I’ll never come back. Please—”
“Mr. Hallock.” An officer drew him off to the side to talk as his partner interviewed Ms. Cadant. Clearly, Marie wanted nothing to do with the officer. After stammering something, she desperately started to stuff her child into the car. The cop firmly drew her to the back end of her sedan and tried to calm her. Peter couldn’t hear much of what she said over the boy’s frightened wails.
The officer with him gained his attention. “Sir, she’s made threats and trespassed.”
“No. Wait.” He’d just heard her mention Melway General. Peter’s heart kicked into overdrive. Luke was born at Melway.
The tyke’s pitiful sobs tore at Peter. Ms. Cadant didn’t indulge in tears, but she looked ready to collapse. Whatever she said made the cop shoot a quick glance from the boy, over to Peter, then back again.
Her little boy. Hers? I have your son… The child she held sported red hair and black-brown eyes. He was the only person Peter had ever seen with that unique combination—other than when he glanced in the mirror. This boy looked like a twin to the pictures in Peter’s own baby book—and he seemed to be about the right age, too….
It can’t be. It can’t.
Peter agonized over what to do. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. Her impulsive appearance was bad enough, but his rash actions had undoubtedly made things far worse. Prompted by painful memories, he’d responded in such a way that he’d jeopardized this woman and her little boy. “We’ll…talk. Give me a minute with her.”
“No,” his security guard protested. “You can’t do that. Never give in to these tactics. It’s a big mistake.”
The police officer cast a disparaging look at the guard and muttered something under his breath about wanna-be cops and rent-a-thugs. “No one,” he grated, “is doing anything until she calms down.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Peter reiterated in a louder tone.
“No.” Marie cringed and stammered, “It w-was all a m-m-mistake. I’ll go—”
“Ma’am,” the officer interrupted, “you’re in no condition to drive.”
The little boy clung to her for dear life. His arms and legs twined tightly about her neck and waist. Something about the way she cradled him spoke eloquently of love and protection. A woman who cherished her child wouldn’t ever intentionally endanger him. She’d obviously anticipated no possible jeopardy since she’d brought along the boy.
The little guy was big for her to hold. He had to be heavy, but her arms stayed wound about him. She kissed his unruly curls, then rested her cheek on them.
“She needs to sit down.” Peter pointed past the gates toward a small garden. “There’s a bench over there.”
The two cops got together and exchanged information. The one who had been talking to Peter looked at the child, then back at him. A less astute person would have missed the subtle grimace, but Peter read body language as a matter of course. In dealing with staff, families and attorneys, he’d learned to pick up faint cues, and it stood him in good stead. Clearly, the cops felt something vital was going on between him and the Cadant woman.
Whatever the issue, Peter didn’t want an audience. He took control. “Ms. Cadant is rattled, but it’s apparent she doesn’t mean any harm. I appreciate your response, but I’m confident we can handle this matter, ourselves.” As he spoke, Peter closed the distance between them. He cupped Marie’s elbow and marveled she’d stayed upright. Uncertain her legs would hold much longer, he knew he’d better hustle her to the bench. “Here.” He tugged her lightly.
Instead of taking his cue, she tilted her face up to his. Peter inhaled sharply when he saw her expression. He’d expected to see fear, but the total devastation painting her features stunned him. Shock and tears glazed her huge eyes. “Come with me, Marie. There’s a little bench in the garden.”
“Let us go!”
“You wanted to talk to me.”
“Not anymore!”
“You cannot hold her against her will,” said the officer who had been interviewing her.
She’d pursued him almost fanatically, yet now when he granted her his attention, Marie Cadant looked as if she’d give all she owned to be anywhere else. Peter knew he couldn’t allow her to go until they resolved the matter. “I can’t let you leave. You heard the cop—you can’t drive right now. It’s too dangerous.” His fingers tightened until he managed to make her focus on him again.
Marie gulped in several deep breaths. In spite of the terror of the moment, Peter’s assertive tone sliced through some of her fear. She felt his body ease away a bit, felt his sigh gust across her face, and barely heard his soft praise. “Good. There you go. You’re going to be all right. Come sit down.”
When he shifted to the side, his hand rotated so he kept hold of her, but his arm slipped beneath hers to brace her. He executed the move easily, capably, as if he were accustomed to dealing with balking, emotional women. Her fright caused a strange split to take place. Marie felt oddly removed—almost as if she were a spectator who could see silly details. The numbness wore off the second his other hand came across and pressed against Ricky’s little back.
Her hold on Ricky tightened so intensely, she accidentally squeezed Mr. Hallock’s arm between her arm and ribs. He studied her for a long moment, then gently stroked up and down Ricky’s back. “I’d offer to carry him, but he needs you too much right now.”
She bobbed her head in jerky affirmation. When Peter Hallock tried leading her off to the right, she couldn’t seem to comply. Her feet stayed rooted to the ground. Every shred of maternal instinct screamed at her to shove Ricky back into the car and flee, yet she couldn’t.
Peter gave her arm a tiny squeeze. Tall and broad-shouldered as he was, he overshadowed Marie and intensified her sense of vulnerability. It took a moment for her to realize his eyes no longer snapped with temper—they were dark brown pools of concern. “Ms. Cadant,” he said quietly, “that was a bad scare, but it’s over. You and the boy are safe.”
She shook her head. Safe? Oh, no. Peter Hallock simply didn’t know the truth—and her truth jeopardized all they both held dear. With a stilted gait, Marie accompanied him down a herringbone brick path to a bench that couldn’t be seen from the road. It rested in the shelter of a long, tall hedge and faced a small, circular patch of bright, multicolored spring flowers.
“See? Nice and quiet.” Peter’s voice took on a coaxing tone. “We can talk here.”
A verdant lawn dotted with croquet wickets stretched almost fifty yards