Safe in His Arms (3 page)

Lindsay wondered if he realized how strange his voice sounded, as if he was testifying in court instead of just filling her in on what happened the night of the accident. As a police officer, he had to know how to read body language to determine whether suspects might be lying. She might not have his level of training, but even she had to question the pointed way he was avoiding meeting her gaze. What wasn't he telling her?

“But it didn't turn out as you'd hoped, did it?” she asked him, when he didn't say more.

“No, it didn't.” He didn't look up as he said it. “After assisting the first victim to safety near the underpass, I started back for the second victim.”

“You were too late.” She'd known this all along, so why did it create so much of an ache inside her now?

“I was too late.”

His softly spoken words carried the finality of a judge handing down a death sentence. Wasn't that what he'd given her sister when he'd chosen not to pull her from the car first? No. Of course not. She wasn't being fair, but she couldn't help it. Whether she'd had serious injuries or not, he hadn't even given Delia a
chance
to survive. No matter how rational his reasons, he had chosen between Lindsay's life and her sister's. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the wrong choice.

“The car burst into flames,” Joe continued. “I sprinted back to it, but I couldn't get past the heat.”

Lindsay nodded to let him know she'd heard him,
even though his words made her feel as raw as she had right after the accident, when she wore her wounds on the outside as well as the inside.

Joe sat in a stiff pose, as if bracing himself for more questions. She wanted to ask him some, too. Like why he hadn't realized that the car would burst into flames and why he hadn't at least given Delia a chance by pulling her out first. But the points were moot, the consequences devastating. Still, Joe had put himself in danger, at least attempting to save them both, and he deserved her gratitude, even if she didn't understand his decisions.

“Thank you—” she paused as each word caused a fresh pinprick to her heart, but she finally forced out “—for saving me.” She brushed thumbs along her lash lines, catching tears before they could fall.

“You're welcome.” Color stained his cheeks, and he watched the child next to him, instead of looking at Lindsay. “I was just doing my job.”

“Well, thanks for doing your job,” she said. “Come to think of it, with the extent of
my
injuries, how were you able to walk me to safety?”

“I didn't help you walk.” He drew his brows together and watched her, seeming surprised she hadn't figured out that answer herself. “I carried you.”

Lindsay stared at him, her jaw slack. Maybe she couldn't remember the accident, but she should have realized she never could have walked away from that car, even with help. But she was having trouble digesting that the handsome police officer had carried her.

“I really shouldn't have moved you,” he said with a shrug. “It could have made your injuries worse. I thought your leg might be broken, but I didn't know about the pelvis break.”

“My parents told me that I was in critical condition that first day or so.”

He nodded and glanced down again at the child, who had shifted and was using his leg as a pillow.

“So,” he began, when he looked up again, “how are you adapting to instant motherhood?”

Lindsay blinked. As much as she didn't want to talk about her injuries anymore, she hadn't expected him to ask about that. “Oh. We're okay. It's a transition…for both of us, but we're learning together.”

She wished she could stop there. Should have. But she heard herself droning on anyway. “We're going to be great. I just know it. I fixed up the second bedroom in my condo for her, and…”

At his smile, she finally let her words trail away.

“It's got to be tough.”

“I never expected to struggle this much.”

“Parents struggle, even those who have their kids from birth.”

“Emma doesn't even live with me full-time yet.”

He lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”

“After the accident, Mom and Dad took care of Emma while I was in the hospital and then at the rehab center,” she said. “Now that I've started back to work part-time—I work at a doctor's office—I've been keeping Emma with me about half the time.”

“Things might get better after the transition.”

“I don't know.” She glanced down at her wringing hands and lay them in her lap. “My parents are worried that I'm not up to the job of being Emma's guardian.”

She didn't expect a guy she'd just met to come to her defense, but his silence made her wonder if he agreed with her parents.

“Sounds like you're up against a lot.”

Lindsay told herself that those were just more well-meaning words, like so many she'd heard the last six months, but Joe's comment was so well-timed that it almost helped. Suddenly, she was reminded of another time that he'd helped, probably more than he realized.

“Thank you for giving me the poem at the hospital.” His strange expression made her pause. “You are ‘Joe' from ‘to Joe' written at the top, aren't you?”

A guilty smile pulled at his lips. Instead of answering, he turned to watch two boys climbing a curly slide. Maybe it was good that she hadn't mentioned how her nurses had told her about the young police officer who spent several hours with her at the hospital.

Finally, Joe turned back to her. “It was an impulse. The poem, I mean. My friend, Cindy, gave it to me a long time ago. I don't know why I gave it to you.” He shrugged. “I thought it might help.”

“You were right. It did.”

That Joe seemed surprised only puzzled Lindsay. If he hadn't really believed it would help, then why had he given it to her?

“You know how it says, ‘Don't be afraid. You are a child of God. You are precious—'”

“I know what it says.”

His short remark surprised her even more, so she watched him for several seconds and then tried again.

“I mean the poem really reminded me to trust in God. I was devastated after the accident. After everything. During those first, dark weeks, I really needed to be reminded to rely on Him.”

She shook her head, breathing out a slow sigh. “Without my faith, I wouldn't have survived. You know, like in the beginning of Psalm 46, ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.'”

For a long time, Joe stared at her as if she'd just announced that the Earth was an asteroid or something. What was wrong with him? Was she not supposed to bring up the poem? Hadn't he expected her to figure out that he'd been the one to give it to her? Why was he so uncomfortable about it? She'd thought about telling him that she'd been carrying the poem in her purse for months, but she thought it would bother him even more.

Then he shook his head. “I don't get it.”

“Get what?”

“How, after everything you've been through, can you possibly still believe?”

H
ow could I not?

Lindsay's words rang in Joe's ears as he carried her blanket to the car. He could think of a dozen reasons why anyone who'd been through all she'd been through wouldn't believe in God, and
she
couldn't think of any? One would be the preschooler Lindsay was pulling toward the parking lot as she struggled along with her cane.

Yet, with all that had happened, Lindsay Collins still believed. She even quoted scriptures, when the words had lost impact on him a long time ago. He couldn't understand her resilient faith. If a loving God existed, wouldn't Emma still have a mother? Wouldn't Joe still have his? Wouldn't his little-boy prayers have had an impact, instead of slamming against the ceiling while his mother wasted away in slow, deadly steps? And he wouldn't let himself get started on natural tragedies, like Hurricane Katrina, or manmade ones, like 9-11. Those wouldn't have happened, either, would they?

“I don't want to go to your house, Aunt Lindsay,” Emma whined as they struggled along. “I want to go to
my
house.”

“Sweetheart, that's not—” Lindsay stopped herself with a frustrated sigh.

Joe didn't have to wonder if her next word would have been “possible.” Lindsay had already told him that Delia Banks's house had been sold as part of the estate. Emma would have a tough time understanding that she could never go home again.

“I want to go to my house,” Emma hollered this time.

“Come on, Emma. We're leaving now.”

Joe wanted to tell Lindsay she was handling the situation all wrong, but he doubted she would appreciate his opinion. Not for the first time this afternoon, he wondered if Brian and Donna Collins were right in questioning their daughter's ability to raise a child.

Maybe he should give her a few tips—no. He put a quick stop on the path his thoughts were taking. He'd already fulfilled his promise to tell her about the accident—well, most of it. He couldn't bring himself to tell her the rest. What possible good purpose would it have served? She already had some serious survivor's guilt. The last thing she needed was to learn that her pleas for help for her sister first had fallen on deaf ears. It was more likely that he just didn't want to confess that those deaf ears had been his.

“I don't want to go,” Emma started again.

“You're just tired.”

The little girl shook her head hard, her ponytails hitting her aunt's hip with each swing. “I'm not tired. I want to stay. Want to play with Trooper Joe.”

He couldn't help but to smile at that, so he turned his head so they wouldn't see. Wasn't it just like a kid to forget what she was causing a ruckus about in the first place and to just keep arguing for the point of arguing?

She tried to pull Emma along again, but the child had gone limp. Lindsay couldn't pull her without falling.

“That's enough, Emma.” Her jaw flexed as she gritted her teeth. “We have to get home, and Trooper Rossetti doesn't have time to play with us all afternoon.”

“No!”

Emma jerked free from her aunt's hold, making Lindsay struggle to keep her balance. The little girl only made it a few steps toward the playground before Joe caught her around the waist and lifted her from the ground. He wasn't doing a good job of not getting further involved.

“Where are you going, Little Miss?”

“I want to play,” she wailed.

Holding her away from him to avoid kicking legs, Joe started up the path toward the parking lot again. He had to give the child credit for her effort, but she'd picked an opponent accustomed to wrestling squirrelly suspects into handcuffs. It wasn't much of a contest.

“I'm sorry we can't play right now, but whipping around like a tornado isn't going to make anyone want to play with you.”

After Emma settled in his arms as he'd hoped she would, he smiled at her. “Now, that's better.”

Joe sensed before he saw Lindsay watching him. At his lifted brow, she mouthed the words “thank you,” and then she struggled forward again. He hadn't done anything all that amazing, so it shouldn't have pleased him so much that he'd impressed her.

But as Lindsay stopped next to her car, Joe saw the reminder that it provided and felt the slap he deserved. The nondescript midsize with the child seat in the back was nothing like her sporty two-door that had fried in the accident. What was he thinking, trying to impress
Lindsay Collins at all? Did he need any further reminders that he should cut his losses and put Lindsay and her niece in his rearview mirror without delay?

Lindsay opened the right-rear door and Joe handed the child to her.

“I want to play with Joe.” Emma struggled against the constraints of Lindsay's arms.

The child's wiggling caused her aunt to lose her balance, the cane skidding from its position of support. On instinct, Joe reached out for them from behind, catching Lindsay and steadying her from beneath the elbows. He was almost convinced he felt her shiver under his touch. His fingers tingled so much from the contact that he almost opened his hands again and let the woman and child drop to the asphalt. What was wrong with him? That jolt inside him had to be the same adrenaline he felt at an accident scene. Any other type of reaction to Lindsay Collins would be unacceptable, and he wasn't about to cross
that
line.

As quickly as he could without being obvious in shoving her away, he set Lindsay back on her feet and released her. Ignoring the prickles in his fingers that refused to subside, he stepped up to Emma and tugged on one of her ponytails.

“Didn't we already talk about this tornado business?” He gave her a stern look. “We can make plans to play together again soon, but only if you stop this nonsense and let Aunt Lindsay buckle you in your seat.”

Joe was as surprised as Lindsay appeared to be by his offer, but he guessed he shouldn't have been. He'd already been too personally involved in this case, and he'd chosen to dig in deeper the moment he'd suggested the trip to the park when he could have answered Lindsay's questions right in the Brighton Post parking lot.

But he'd had to make sure Lindsay and her niece would be okay, and now that he'd witnessed Lindsay's struggles, he couldn't resist stepping in to help. He was caught now in a trap of his own making. He should drive away as fast as the high-performance tires on his patrol car could carry him, but he knew he wouldn't, any more than he would leave a stranded motorist on the side of the interstate.

“Promise?”

Joe startled as Emma's question drew him back from his thoughts. Sitting docilely now in her aunt's arms, Emma looked back at him with a skeptical expression.

“That we can play together? Of course, I promise.”

But Lindsay shook her head. “I don't think—”

“Come on. It will be fun.”

Lindsay's jaw tightened as she buckled Emma in her seat and closed the car door. Finally, she turned back to him.

He held his hands up the way he usually expected suspects to do. “Before you say anything, let me make a suggestion. I really do have a lot of experience in taking care of kids, so maybe when we meet again I could give you some tips.”

“You mean tips about how to
bribe
kids into behaving?”

Because her lips had formed a straight line, he couldn't help grinning at her. She had spunk. “Worked, didn't it? And it wasn't that big of a bribe anyway.”

“You shouldn't have promised her.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won't be able to keep that promise.” She cleared her throat. “Look, I appreciate you taking
the time to fill in the blanks for me about the accident, but now I have to put that night behind me so Emma and I can get on with our lives.”

“You could make that life a little easier if you just let me—”

“Thank you. But no.”

He used the lazy grin that usually swayed women to his side. “Okay, then. But remember, the offer still stands.”

“Noted.” She swallowed visibly, but showed no signs of caving. “Thanks again.”

Lindsay hobbled around the car and climbed in as if she couldn't get away from him fast enough. She didn't look his way as she backed out of her parking place and started down the long drive to the park exit.

He knew he should just let her drive off into the southeast Michigan sunset, but he wouldn't. Whether she admitted it or not, Lindsay needed his help in figuring out how to handle Emma. He might not be able to do anything about the rest of her problems, might not be able to give Lindsay back her sister, or Emma her mother, but this was one area he could help if Lindsay would only let him.

Just like he didn't know her well enough to understand how her faith could have survived such a loss, she didn't know him, either. She had no idea how determined he could be, whether it was to get into the police academy or to keep a promise. And he was more determined than he'd been about anything in a long time to keep his promise to Emma and in turn help out the child's aunt. If he helped Lindsay adapt to her new life, then maybe, just maybe, he could escape from the weight of his guilt and get on with his own life.

 

“I'm so hungry.” Emma put so much emphasis on “so” that it sounded more like she'd been starving for years rather than minutes.

“Be patient, sweetie. I'm not finished cooking yet.” Lindsay had barely started, but it wouldn't help to tell Emma that. Lindsay had just changed from her work clothes into shorts and a T-shirt, and now she was banging around in the kitchen, hoping to finish before Emma had a meltdown.

“But I'm hungry
now.
”

Lindsay glanced down to see that her hand that grasped the saucepan handle was trembling. She squeezed her eyes so tightly closed that her temples ached. Getting out of work late had caused her to be tardy in picking up Emma from the day-care center. Delia had never been late in the three years she'd taken Emma to that center. The director had made a point of telling Lindsay so. Worse than that, the woman had offered her words with a pitying smile.

This wasn't working. What made her think she could handle parenting? She didn't know what she was doing. She'd asked a three-year-old to be patient. Lindsay hadn't learned that skill, and she was well on her way to thirty.

“Lord, please give me patience.” She whispered the prayer as she shoved the broiler pan in the oven.

Emma was sagging against the doorjamb, as if she were weak from starvation.

“Why don't you run into the living room and play with Monkey Man?”

“I don't want to play.”

“Then maybe you could lay on the couch for a few minutes. Dinner will be ready real soon.”

Emma looked doubtful, but slumped out of the room for what would only be a short reprieve.
Trooper Rossetti would have helped you out.
Lindsay shook off the thought. She might have been whining a few minutes before, but she didn't need help, least of all from Joe Rossetti.

Lindsay had resented every time images of the police officer crept into her thoughts at work today, so she'd spent most of the afternoon resenting. Why couldn't she get that man out of her mind? She had every reason to delete him from her mental hard drive, and yet he'd returned like an internet virus that refused to be wiped clean.

It couldn't be that she found the police officer unusually handsome and was replaying images of him for her own entertainment. Or that she'd enjoyed it so much when he steadied her at the park when she stumbled that she was daydreaming about repeating the clumsy move so he could come to her assistance again. No. Of course not.

The only reason she could be having any thoughts at all about Trooper Rossetti was that his answers yesterday had only caused her to have more questions. Like for instance, why he had spent so much time with her in the hospital after the accident. He hadn't said a word about it. And if Joe didn't believe in God, then why had he given her the poem that reminded her to have faith? If he'd given it to her on “impulse,” as he'd said, then he must have once believed. Had there been some tragedy in his life that caused him to lose his faith?

“Stop it!”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, to see if Emma had returned to watch her again. But she was alone. She puffed up her cheeks and let the breath out slowly,
hoping to expel her strange thoughts in the process. She had enough tragedy in her life, and too much on her plate right now, to be taking on someone else's problems.

Since no sounds were coming from the living room, except for the saccharine sound of Emma's favorite kids'-music CD, Lindsay was relieved that the child had found something with which to occupy herself for a few minutes. Now Lindsay would be able to finish making dinner in peace.

She lifted the pan lid and used a fork to test the doneness of the asparagus. She only needed to start on the salad and wait for the oven buzzer to go off for the salmon, and she would have a meal on the table. Maybe Emma would even like what she'd made for dinner this time.

But just as she chopped through a head of red cabbage, the doorbell rang.

“What now?”

She dropped the cabbage and knife on the cutting board and hurried down the hall to the living room.

“Remember, Emma, don't answer the—” The word “door” died on her lips as she glanced around the living room. Emma wasn't on the couch or near her pile of toys. Even her portable CD player lay abandoned.

“Emma?” Lindsay called, as she started up the stairs, her pulse scrambling. She expected the child to come racing down the hall. It and her bedroom were empty.

“Emma Claire, where are you?” She started down the steps again.

“Hey, Lindsay. Out here.”

Her heart was pounding, but she stopped as she recognized the familiar voice coming from outside. What was Joe doing here? She hurried across the living room
and opened the door. Joe stood on her porch with Emma resting on his hip. Lindsay could only stare at them, her mouth falling slack.