A Dad For Charlie. Anna Stewart J.
Brodie would be his last call when it came to anything. “Come on, man. Stop worrying. You’ve earned this time off.” About a gazillion times over. “Leave this place behind for a few days.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’m due to pick Simon up around four, then we want to take him out to dinner to celebrate.”
“Yesterday’s celebration wasn’t enough?” It certainly had been for Fletch, who could still feel the vestiges of the hangover threading through his skull.
“Ah, well, Holly and I are filing the adoption papers this afternoon.” Luke’s eyes shifted. “How’s that for timing? Looks like I’m officially going to be a father.”
“Try not to look so terrified.” Fletch laughed in an attempt to ease the tension in his friend’s face. “It’s what you wanted, right? To be Simon’s dad?”
“It is, yeah. Just sometimes hard to keep those ghosts where they belong, you know?” Luke shook his head, stopping short when he caught sight of the band of gold on his finger and looked to fall into some kind of trance. “Never thought I’d ever be living in this town again, let alone married with a kid. And a job I love despite the politics.”
Fletch never thought he’d be envious of the town’s onetime bad boy. Until Paige had hit town he’d never really entertained the notion of settling down. Now, every time he saw her—or Charlie—he had to stop himself from daydreaming about just that. “You paid your dues.” Luke’s past wasn’t something that needed voicing. Surviving an abusive childhood, nearly killing Holly’s father in a car accident that technically wasn’t his fault, doing everything he could to break the circle of violence that had encompassed his life, there wasn’t anyone Fletch admired more than Luke Saxon. “Now take off and enjoy yourself. We won’t burn the place down. At least not without you.”
“I’ll drop Cash off here in the morning on our way out.”
“When you get back we need to talk about the youth center hours for when school’s back in session.” With Jake Campbell out of town for a bit and Luke heading out, aside from two or three scheduled classes, the center would be closed most days.
“Writing that down right now.” Luke scribbled on his desk calendar. “You up for lunch at the diner later?”
“Ah, no, actually.” Fletch glanced at his watch. “I’m going to get a jump start on patrol. Change up the timing so we aren’t predictable. Plus I told Mrs. Hastings I’d stop in and install some new security locks for her.”
Luke’s brows knitted. “I’d say let me know how things go with Gil on Friday, but you know what? Never mind. I’ll hear about it when I get home.”
“I’m sure you will.” Fletch would lay odds that within minutes of walking out of the mayor’s office, whatever they discussed would be flying around town faster than a monarch out of hibernation.
PAIGE CLICKED OPEN the latch of Mrs. Hastings’s garden gate and steered her bike to the side of the porch. Lifting the box of fresh-baked scones out of the handlebar basket, her contribution to the weekly tea she and the elderly woman shared, Paige turned toward the front door as it flew open.
“Fletch.” Paige couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice at the sight of the uniformed deputy. “What are you doing—” The question died on her lips as she registered the concern on his angular face. “What’s wrong?”
“Paige.” She couldn’t remember hearing her name said with such relief before. “Would you stay with her while I call for an ambulance? Her phone’s not working and I forgot my cell in the—”
“Told you once, I have no need for an ambulance, Fletcher Bradley.” The strained, familiar aged voice echoed from inside the house over the shrill whistle of the teakettle. “If I’d known you’d go all busybody on me, I’d have told you to forget those new locks and send you on your way.”
“I’m a deputy,” Fletch called over his shoulder. “Busybody is in the job description.”
“What’s going on?” Paige planted her hand on Fletch’s chest and pushed past him. She found eighty-four-year-old Celeste Hastings sitting in her antique rocking chair, a shaky hand pressed against her chest, eyes closed. She wore one of her usual floral high-neck dresses, her silver-threaded dark hair pulled back from her face in much the way Paige figured she’d worn it when she’d been the elementary and then high school principal.
“She said she feels dizzy,” Fletch said from behind her as Paige set her box down on the wooden coffee table that had been made by Mrs. Hastings’s late husband. “She was definitely wobbly.”
“She can speak for herself.” Mrs. Hastings dragged her eyes open wide enough for Paige to see the slight glaze. “I was getting our tea ready and felt a bit faint.” She aimed to pat the back of Paige’s hand but missed by inches. “The water’s hot.”
“So I hear.” Paige motioned for Fletch to turn off the stove before she focused on her neighbor. “Mrs. Hastings, have you been taking your medication?” Paige shifted to one knee and angled her fingers around so she could feel the old woman’s pulse. Fast and thready. Her skin was clammy, but not overly so.
“I keep forgetting,” Mrs. Hastings grumbled. “Darned pills are a nuisance. Too many of them. Makes me feel like one of those candy dispensers at the grocery store.”
“We talked about this, remember?” Paige scanned the room looking for the container of medication bottles Mrs. Hastings had insisted on maintaining herself. “Taking them on and off only makes you feel worse. Now, I’m going to get your kit and we’re going to test your blood. Then we’ll decide if you’re going to the hospital or not.”
When Mrs. Hastings nodded and closed her eyes again, Paige hurried into the kitchen and pulled open the cabinet over the sink. “Do you know if she passed out?” she asked Fletch.
“Not while I’ve been here. She seemed fine when she answered the door, then started to sway. I helped her to her chair.”
“Deputy Hero,” Paige said with a smile as she scanned the medication bottles. “A fall would have made matters worse. You probably got here just in time.” She found the daily pill organizers she’d purchased last week still in their packaging.
“Looks like you know what you’re doing,” Fletch said. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Diabetes,” Paige murmured. “And she has some blood pressure issues.” Neither of which were helped by missed dosages.
“I can hear every word you’re saying!” Mrs. Hastings called weakly.
“I’m sure you can. Where’s your testing kit, Mrs. Hastings?” Paige asked.
“By my bed,” was the response after a long sigh. “Darn thing makes my fingers hurt, and I can’t crochet with hurt fingers. I’ve got blankets to make for the holiday bazaar. No time for aches and pains.”
“I’ll get it.” Fletch disappeared out the second kitchen door and into the back bedroom.
“Nice young man,” Mrs. Hastings told Paige as she pulled up a chair beside the older woman. “Always been a good boy, that Fletcher Bradley. Took good care of his sister growing up. And his grandpa. He’ll make some young woman a nice husband.”
“I’m sure he will.” Paige hoped Mrs. Hastings kept her eyes closed long enough so as not to see the blush in Paige’s cheeks. The last thing she needed was for someone—especially this someone—playing matchmaker. “I thought we had a deal. I come for tea once a week and you take your medicine.”
“I’m an old woman. I forget things.”
“Old I’ll give you, but your memory is just fine.” Paige