The Word of a Child (14 page)

Mom was trying. Connor could tell. She'd smile softly at
Maddie, start to say something tart to Evan and then bite it back. Sometimes
she even managed a compliment. But he was sensitive enough to hear what she
didn't say.

"Do you miss playing soccer?" Connor asked
quietly.

Evan plucked a clump of grass and began shredding it.
"Not really."

Maddie, gifted athlete and sometime-bratty older sister, had
the tact not to say,
You
sucked anyway.

Connor glanced back toward the boys who had been Evan's
teammates, and just by chance saw a clump of little girls, maybe five, six
years old, leaving another, smaller field. The one in the lead, a cute kid with
a bouncy dark ponytail and skinny legs enveloped in too-big shin guards, was
walking backward and talking to friends. Something about her tugged at Connor's
memory. Big eyes he guessed were dark, a small heart-shaped face and an air of
gravity noticeable even from this distance.

He felt a peculiar thump in his chest, and he immediately
scanned the crowd, looking for someone else. Zofie Stavig's mother.

He found her, walking with another mother, each carrying a
lawn chair in one hand and a cooler slung between them. Even looking at the back
of her head, he was sure it was her.

"Excuse me," he said abruptly, shot to his feet
and was halfway down the terraced slope to the soccer fields before he could
think about what he was doing.

He caught up with the women and said, "Here, let me
carry that."

Their heads turned; Mariah's eyes widened.
"Detective!" she exclaimed.

Now the other woman's gaze was surprised and curious.

"Connor McLean," he said. "I'm with the Port
Dare PD. I can't get
Ms.
Stavig here to call me by my first name."

She blushed, looking both annoyed and relieved that he'd
gotten her off the hook from having to explain why she knew a cop.

"Lynn Kowalsky."

He and the other mother shook hands.

"I can carry that," he said again, patiently. When
neither woman moved, he grabbed the cooler from them. "Your day to provide
snacks?" he asked.

"Mine," Lynn Kowalsky said. "Mariah was nice
enough to help me struggle across the field. After all, I couldn't watch the
game without my coat, mittens, scarf and chair, too."

He lifted the cooler to his shoulder. "At least it's
sunny."

They walked slowly, a woman to each side of him. He kept
stealing looks at Mariah. She looked … different. Younger, lighter-spirited,
less weighted by the sadness he had sensed in her every time he saw her. She
was even prettier this way, whether because of mood or because of her casual
Sunday clothes: blue jeans, white athletic shoes and a crimson WSU sweatshirt.
Her hair was caught in a ponytail that bobbed at her nape as jauntily as her
cute daughter's did.

On the other hand, Mariah had yet to say a word past that
first exclamation.

Her friend glanced at her, apparently decided she wasn't
going to contribute and chose to play nice. "Do you have a child in
soccer, too?"

"Believe it or not," he said with what he hoped
was a charmingly rueful smile, given to both women in turn, "my niece and
nephew and brother and I brought a picnic to the park today."

Mariah was startled into saying incredulously, "A
picnic?"

"My brother and his wife—they've only been married a
year—went to Victoria for the weekend. My younger brother and I inherited the
kids. My niece plays select soccer, doesn't have a game today, but she likes to
hang out here and watch anyway. My nephew and I have been throwing the
football."

"You don't, um, have kids of your own?" Mariah's
cheeks were still pink, and she sounded shy.

"Nope." But lately he'd realized that he wanted
them. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was cooing over babies, but once in a
while he'd watch John with his kids, or see a father passing with a toddler on
his shoulders, and feel a physical pang of … envy. "I'm not married,"
he added helpfully.

"Oh. I didn't know…" She stopped in apparent
confusion.

"Is that Zofie up there?"

Her gaze followed his. "Yes. She's a first-grader
now."

He didn't let her think about the last time he'd seen Zofie.
"Did your girls win their game today?"

"Three to two," said the other mother with
satisfaction. "Zofie is a dynamite goalie."

"And Susan kicked the winning goal."

"Your daughter, I take it," Connor said.

She nodded to a freckled, sturdy redhead trailing Zofie.

"Before you know it," Connor said in a portentous
tone, "those girls will be playing select soccer, and every weekend you'll
get to drive to Yakima or Bellingham or Vancouver and rent a hotel room and
spend all day hanging out on the sidelines."

Mariah actually looked at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope. John has been heard to wish he'd yanked Maddie
from soccer while he still could."

She laughed. "I'm not sure I believe that."

Connor grinned. "Actually, he's proud of her. But he's
a cop, too, which means he can't take every weekend off to get her to all those
tournaments. Fortunately some of the parents with kids on the team take turns
chaperoning a whole gang."

"Good heavens," Lynn said. "I don't think my
Susan will ever play at that level, but Zofie…"

"Don't even say it," Mariah warned.

"This is my van right here." The woman unlocked
the rear door and he deposited the ice chest inside. "Many thanks,"
she said, then called, "Susan! Let's go. You'll be late to that birthday
party!"

Retreating, Connor muttered, "Maybe I don't want to be
a father."

"What?" Mariah was right behind him.

"Talking to myself." He grimaced. "Is that
how you spend every waking minute? Chauffeuring Zofie?"

"Pretty much." The momentary silence was a little
awkward. "Actually, yeah. Especially since I'm a single mother—" She
broke off.

He felt his face go stiff.

"I'm sorry," Mariah said quickly. "I didn't
mean that the way it sounded. I wasn't blaming…"

"I know you weren't."

Sure. "Really."

He forced a smile. "Don't worry. Is Zofie going to the
same birthday party?"

"No, thank goodness." As if automatically, she
looked around for her daughter, saw her and relaxed. "We have lunch plans.
Which probably means whatever fast-food place has the coolest toy with their
kids' meal. She pays attention to the commercials."

"Boy, do I know what you mean." He hesitated, told
himself he was crazy and asked anyway. "You two would be welcome to join
us. For our picnic, I mean. Evan's only a year older than Zofie."

She backed up a step, bumped against a log that edged the
parking lot and started to fall. Connor lunged forward and grabbed her by both
arms, setting her on her feet right in front of him. She was so close now, he
could see how thick her lashes were and how blue smudged the delicate skin
beneath her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well last night. Her soft mouth was
parted in surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at him. God, they were
gorgeous, he thought, the gold speckles in a brown-green iris so fascinating he
couldn't tear his gaze away.

Let her go,
he told
himself. His hands stayed locked on her arms.

She took a deep breath. "Thank you," she
whispered.

"You're okay?" he asked hoarsely.

Mariah nodded. The ponytail flipped against her neck. He
imagined touching his mouth to the silky, pale skin of her throat.

Reluctantly, one finger at a time, Connor loosened his grip
and finally lifted his hands from her arms. For just an instant, neither moved
nor looked away.

"I…" She swallowed, backed up and bumped against
the log again. This time, even as his hand shot out, she righted herself and
laughed nervously. "I seem to be a klutz today."

He rubbed his hands on his jean-clad thighs. It should be
too cold to break out in a sweat from even a vicious attack of lust.

"You're just jealous because the kids had an excuse to
throw themselves around in the mud."

This laugh was more natural. "Oh, yeah. Speaking of
which…" She looked past him.

Connor turned to see her daughter approaching. Closer up, he
saw that her face was mud-streaked, her shorts and shin-guards filthy. Her gaze
shied between her mother and the strange man talking to her.

"Zofie, this is … um…"

He could see Mariah frantically considering and discarding
ways of introducing him.

"…a friend of mine. He's a policeman. Detective McLean."

"Hi," the girl said shyly. Under the dirt, she was
exceptionally pretty, with those huge dark eyes and cheekbones that would make
her a beauty when she grew up. "A police lady came and talked to my class
about safety."

"I'll bet that was Officer Leary. Was she blonde? And
so tiny she looks like that big heavy belt and all the equipment hanging on it
is going make her tip right over?"

A giggle escaped Mariah's daughter and she nodded
vigorously.

He lowered his voice. "She's tougher than she looks,
you know. She's a brown belt at karate and can take down a bad guy faster than
I can."

"The
boys
in the class all said she couldn't be a
real
police
officer, and that's why she's the one who goes to schools.
They
think
only boys can shoot people and stuff."

His eyes met Mariah's over the girl's head. "Well, you
know what?" he told her. "We hardly ever shoot people, anyway.
Mostly, we write traffic tickets." He bent down and pretended to whisper.
"Does your mom ever speed when she's driving?"

Another giggle was his reward. "Not Mommy!"

"Oh, good." He straightened and grinned at her
mother. "I don't know if I want to be friends with someone who
speeds."

"But
you
get to," the six-year-old reminded him.

"Yeah, that's the most fun part of being a cop."

Mariah cleared her throat. "I hate to interrupt, but
you, kiddo, are filthy and I'm getting hungry. Say goodbye to Detective
McLean."

"You're sure you don't want a sandwich and cold
s'mores?" he said. "We have plenty."

She looked at him as if he was crazy.
"Cold
s'mores?"

"Crunchy."

Mariah shook her head, but she was laughing again. "I
think we'd better stick to McDonald's."

Zofie, bless her heart, looked hopefully at her mother.
"S'mores sound good."

"He's having a family picnic, though. With his nephew
and niece."

"How old are they?" Zofie asked.

"Evan is seven and Maddie is ten. I'll bet she could
show you some goalie tricks."

Mariah's eyes flashed and her voice cooled. "That's
nice of you to offer, but we can't today. Thank you, anyway. Goodbye,
Detective."

Crap. He'd pushed too hard.

He smiled lopsidedly. "Bye, Mariah. Nice to meet you,
Zofie. Your mom's right. You do need a shower."

"After
McDonald's."

"Before," her mother said firmly, as they walked
away.

Connor watched them go, but turned before Mariah could look
back. She probably already thought he was—what? Hitting on her? Was he?

Brooding, he walked back up the hill to his family, who had
finished sandwiches and were squishing cold marshmallows and crunchy chocolate
bars between graham crackers.