Agent Daddy. Alice Sharpe
everyone,” he said, glancing away from her blue eyes and down at Colin. The baby had abandoned the blocks and now lay sprawled against Faith’s breasts, fingers curled in her ruffled blouse, eyes drooping, perfectly content. What male wouldn’t be in such a position?
“I didn’t know,” she said gently. “I was under the impression everyone got out.”
“There was an older woman trapped under a seat—” He stopped talking again as his nostrils seemed to fill with the smell of gasoline, his head with the screams of the trapped woman. He shifted in his chair.
“I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable,” she said. “I didn’t realize…”
The truth was, he was used to being the one who knew things about other people, and he was finding he didn’t much like being on the other end of things. “It’s okay. People talk.”
“But not unkindly. You shouldn’t think that.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge,” he said. “Old news.”
His next thought made his blood run cold. Was it old news? It had happened less than five months ago when he came home to see his dying mother. There’d been a newspaper article, too, despite the Bureau’s attempt to keep it hush-hush.
What about Neil Roberts? All the escaped man had to do was hit a library computer and do a little digging.
Trip’s jaw tightened. He had to get back to the ranch, alert people, get a picture of Roberts and pass it around. But not now. For fifteen more minutes he was here to focus on Noelle, not Neil Roberts.
At first he was relieved when she brought the subject of the meeting back in focus. “Noelle is a great kid,” she said.
“Yeah—”
“A little shy, but you know that.”
“She’s been through a lot,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“I know.”
“But she’s resilient. She’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure she will. I know she will.”
“Losing her folks was hard on her,” he said gruffly.
“And on you, too, Mr. Tripper. Hard on all of you.”
Here it came, the “How To Help Noelle” speech. Hell, maybe she had an idea or two on how to fix him, too. Very carefully, he said, “I think Noelle is coping as well as can be expected. She needs stability and time—”
“Mr. Tripper? Please don’t get the idea I have anything negative to say about Noelle, or your parenting, either, for that matter.”
A big knot Trip hadn’t even been aware of seemed to unravel in his gut. “I guess I’m getting defensive,” he admitted slowly. “I’m new at this.”
“Noelle and Colin are lucky kids to have you. Not all uncles would be willing to change their lives and step in when needed.”
He nodded, feeling uneasy with accolades he knew he didn’t deserve. He’d done what needed to be done, sure, but he’d had to give himself a few stern lectures along the way. At thirty-seven years of age, it was no easy trick going from self-centered bachelor agent to single dad in the course of a day or two.
He glanced back at Faith in time to witness her smothering a yawn with her hand. She’d done it a couple of times already, and up close, bluish smudges showed under her eyes. When she caught him watching her, she shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Keeping late hours?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Excuse me?” he asked, intrigued.
She took a deep breath, seemingly on the edge of explaining, and then she shied away, glancing down at Colin again, running fingers lightly over his spiky hair.
Undercurrents. Issues. He’d bet the ranch she was in trouble, but what kind he couldn’t imagine. She didn’t seem the kind for trouble with the law—that left family, and she’d said she had no family here. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a boyfriend, however. So, what was worrying her at home? Something to do with the scars on her face and the limp?
“This isn’t fair,” he said.
“What isn’t?”
“You know all about me and I know nothing about you.”
“There’s not much to know,” she said.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Attached?”
“Mr. Tripper, really. The details of my life aren’t pertinent.”
“And yet, you aren’t getting enough sleep,” he said with a smile, to let her know he was on her side.
“It’s not like I’m teaching Driver’s Ed,” she said.
He laughed at that. “Okay, Ms. Bishop, I’ll mind my own business.”
Her smile held a note of wistfulness, almost as though she wished he’d push her harder. Mixed signals from this woman, that was for sure. Signals he wouldn’t mind getting to understand. Call it professional curiosity.
Sure.
She added, “Please, call me Faith.”
“Faith,” he repeated. It was a good name for her. “I’m Luke Tripper, but everyone calls me Trip. Now, tell me more about Noelle.”
She opened a folder with Noelle’s name on it and started handing him papers. He examined all the drawings and the handwriting samples of the child’s ABCs and listened to how bright Noelle was and how they wanted to test her and maybe put her in an accelerated program. During all this, he wondered what his sister would have done, what she would have wanted. This kind of thought played in his head on a daily basis, as he transitioned from glorified nanny to daddy. He was it. He was all these kids had. The only question was—would he be enough?
He came back into the moment when she dropped her voice. Colin had fallen asleep and she held him close, as though by second nature.
“My own mother died when I was about six, so I can identify with Noelle,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done without my dad and my big brother, Zac. Anyway, I know pretty well what Noelle is going through.” She met his eyes. “So, if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for her, I would love to help. In or out of school, whenever. This is the first time I’ve lived outside of Westerly, away from my family, you know, so I have plenty of free time….” Her voice petered out and she shook her head again. “Listen to me go on and on.”
“It’s a very kind offer,” he said—and meant it. “Right now, though—”
He stopped when his cell phone rang. He had it out of his pocket and had checked the ID number before he realized he should have just let it ring. Years of always being on call had formed habits he was finding hard to break. Smiling apologetically at Faith, he said, “It’s my house. I think I’d better take it. I’m sorry—”
“Go ahead,” she urged.
“Trip here,” he said, and listened as Mrs. Murphy, his housekeeper, identified herself.
“Everything okay? This isn’t a good time—”
“No, everything’s not okay, and that’s a fact. Here I am at the house alone and you off with the wee ones,” the older woman said and proceeded to elaborate, her Irish brogue growing more pronounced the more agitated she became. He felt his own blood pressure rise as she spoke. A minute or two later, he clicked off the phone with the assurance he would take care of things.
Faith was staring at him, and the serious set of her very attractive mouth announced his own tension hadn’t