Second Time's the Charm. Tara Quinn Taylor
the beige cargo pants he’d chosen from his drawer that morning and the skin on Jon’s arm was sticking to his son’s sweat-slicked back.
“Abraham,” he spoke again in the boy’s ear as soon as the pain in his lower region dissipated enough to allow conversation. He spoke more firmly this time. As firm as Jon got. “Daddy has to go and you have to stay. It’s not negotiable.”
Abraham kicked. And wailed.
Jon picked him back up, encased once again in a death grip.
“Let’s go in here.” A female voice sounded from just beside him.
An angel’s voice?
With a hand on his elbow, a jeans-clad woman led him through a door off the day care reception room—a door that had been closed every other time he’d been there.
Abraham quit kicking and screaming long enough to look around.
“Hey, little guy.” The woman’s smile was warm, her tone nurturing, as she offered a finger toward Abe’s hand.
The boy snatched his hand into his chest and whined—a sure sign that more histrionics were on their way.
“My name’s Lillie.” The beautiful, long-haired brunette who’d rescued them from the day care lineup apparently hadn’t received Abe’s imminent tantrum memo.
“Noooo!” Abraham said, the word breaking on a wail. Jon would be damned glad when his son’s vocabulary progressed beyond the three or four words he’d been using clearly to express himself over the past six months. Even a slight progression, a one-word addition—yes—would be nice.
“The itsy bitsy spider climbed up...”
The woman started to sing. Abraham’s cries were building back up to full force—and the strange woman was singing.
Standing in the small room with a cluttered desk and a couple of chairs, Jon had no idea what to do. Who the woman was. Or if he should have automatically followed her just because she’d told him to do so. At least in here Abe wasn’t upsetting the other kids.
The toddler’s fingers were digging into Jon’s neck as Abe engaged in full-out wailing.
The woman continued to sing. Her voice was good. He’d give her that. And rising in decibels equal to Abe’s. But...
“Down came the rain and...”
Abe stilled long enough to turn around and look at Looney Lillie.
“Out came the sun and...” Her volume lowered but she didn’t miss a beat.
The toddler stared at the strange woman. Jon did, too. Who the hell was she?
Jon had never seen her before. But she had the most compelling violet-blue eyes.
“Climbed up the spout again.”
Letting go of Jon’s neck Abraham pinched his little fingers together on both hands and, holding them out in front of him, twisted them together.
“That’s right,” Lillie said, matching her thumb and index fingers from opposite hands and switching them back and forth in a crawling motion. She started to sing again.
Abraham watched her, his little fingers moving. By the time the song was done he was sitting calmly on Jon’s hip—looking around as though waiting for the adults in the room to figure out what they were doing so he could get on with his day.
“Thank you.” Jon didn’t know what else to say.
Lillie smiled, rolling up the sleeves of her white oxford. “Abe and I met last week,” she said. “Didn’t we, buddy?”
Abe stared.
The slender woman, only a few inches shorter than Jon’s six-foot height, held out her hand.
“I’m Lillie Henderson.”
“Jon Swartz,” he said, meeting her gesture with his free hand. And...getting a stab to his gut. It had been too long since he’d touched a woman’s skin. In any capacity. “You work here?”
“Yes and no.” The woman’s smile was unwavering. And all-encompassing. He just didn’t have time to fall under her spell as his son had done. He had to get to work.
“I’m a freelance child life specialist,” she said, as though he knew what that meant. “I have a small office at the clinic in town, as they pay the largest part of my salary and take up the brunt of my time, but I work out here at the day care and with some other private clients in the field, as well.”
“In the field?” He didn’t have time to be ignorant, either.
“Doctors’ offices outside of the clinic, the funeral home, schools. I go anyplace a child might need support getting through trauma.”
He nodded. And noticed that the entire time she’d been talking, she’d been softly rubbing the top of Abe’s hand.
“You ready to come with me and play for a while?” she asked the boy, switching her focus from father to son without missing a beat.
Prepared for the next onslaught, Jon tensed. And felt his son lean toward the arms outstretched in front of him. Without so much as a peep, the little boy made the switch from Jon’s arms to Lillie’s.
Acting as though he and Abraham had intercessions from heaven every day, Jon nodded and slid his free hands into the pockets of his jeans. Did he just leave now?
The woman, Lillie, was running a finger along Abe’s lower lip. “Let’s see if we can find you some juice, shall we?” she asked, and as the toddler nodded, she turned and headed through a door on the opposite side of the office leading into the day care. Just before the door closed behind her, she glanced over her shoulder at Jon, winked and was gone.
With no time left to spare, Jon hurried out to the front desk, confirmed that Lillie Henderson was permitted to have physical custody of his son and left.
But not before making one very clear determination.
He had to see her again.
* * *
LILLIE PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Shelter Valley Clinic a little past three on Thursday afternoon. She was early. Bailey Wright’s blood work wasn’t scheduled until four, but she wanted to make certain she was there to greet the six-year-old when her mother brought her in.
Bailey’s doctor suspected the little girl might be anemic and the six-year-old was deathly afraid of needles. Lillie’s job was to explain the blood draw procedure to the little girl in nonthreatening, nonfrightening terms―the pinch and pressure she would feel―and then to support her through the procedure, distracting her from anything and everything that upset her.
If Bailey tensed, the procedure would hurt. Lillie was there to see that the child stayed relaxed.
Her cell phone rang and she answered immediately, as always. “Lillie Henderson, can I help you?”
“Ms. Henderson, Bonnie Nielson gave me your number.” Bonnie, the owner of Little Spirits Day Care, had her permission to pass out all of her contact information. “This is Jon Swartz. You helped my son, Abraham, this morning.”
The gorgeous guy who’d had his ass whupped by a two-year-old.
“Yes, Mr. Swartz.” She and Bonnie had talked about Jon and Abe over lunch. Bonnie thought Lillie could help the single dad. Lillie wanted to try. For Abe’s sake. “Thanks for calling.”
“I owe you a huge thank-you,” the man said. “Abe’s going through a rough time with separation anxiety right now, but his pediatrician says it’s all part of the terrible twos. He assures me we’ll get through it.”
“Of course you will.” Grabbing her bag, she locked her car and, entrance card in hand and ready to swipe, headed toward the service door at the back of the clinic.
“I