The Sheriff's 6-year-old Secret

“Miss Fleming?”

“Yes, Charity?” Gwen directed her full attention to the child.

“Am I allowed to come to school tomorrow? I promise not to hit Billy again.” Then the girl shook her head, her face taking on a clear and unmistakable expression of long suffering. “No matter how much he might need it.”

The opinion was delivered without a trace of guile; however, Nathan went pale at his daughter’s unexpected aside. The best Gwen could do was bite back the laughter that nearly got the best of her.

“Of course you can come back to school,” she said. She bent down so that she was face-to-face with Charity. “And if Billy does or says something to upset you, you come see me, okay? Just like we talked about today.”

Charity nodded. “I will.”

Gwen straightened and, smiling, reached out her hand to Nathan. She hoped she could silently convey to the man that his daughter’s comment wasn’t anything out of the norm. She heard those kinds of outlandish judgments on a daily basis from her six-year-old students. However, now just wasn’t a good time to tell him, not with Charity within earshot.

“It was good to meet you, Nathan.”

“Same here,” he said.

His apologetic look seemed to soften, and she got the distinct impression that he’d somehow understood the silent message she’d attempted to send. His dark eyes softened. “Thanks for everything.”

Her smile broadened. “You’re very welcome.”

He and Charity turned to go, and the oddest sensation washed through Gwen’s body. As she watched father and daughter walk out of the classroom, she couldn’t get over the feeling that her life would never quite be the same.

Chapter Two

Her hand felt so small and vulnerable in his as the two of them walked across the school parking lot toward his car. Even after weeks of having this child in his life, he still felt overwhelmed at times by this circumstance he found himself in.

This new stage in his life—being a parent—certainly was taking some getting used to. Every single aspect of it. He was oblivious to the beautiful blue sky as memories bombarded him. Early on, he and Charity had had a long conversation regarding what she should call him, and it had been such a poignant moment Nathan knew he’d never forget it for as long as he lived.

“So what do I call you?” she’d asked matter-of-factly less then twenty-four hours after their first meeting.

Nathan had been taken aback by the blunt question. “Well, what would you like to call me?”

“I’ve had a Daddy-Chuck and a Daddy-Steve. I’ve had a Daddy-Toby and a Daddy-Tony.” Her face had scrunched up. “I used to get ’em mixed up and Mommy would get mad at me. But it was hard to remember, ya know?”

“I understand.” But he hadn’t really. What had Ellen been thinking, bringing so many men into Charity’s life? But then, he hadn’t really been with the woman long enough to get to know who Ellen was or what she wanted out of life. He had no idea what kind of childhood she’d had or what kind of baggage she’d carried from her past, so he really had no business judging her lifestyle.

“I don’t wanna call you Daddy-anything.”

“You don’t?” Nathan’s throat constricted at the sudden forlorn look that clouded his daughter’s eyes.

Finally she whispered, “Daddies don’t stay.”

“Oh, honey,” he’d crooned, soft and assuring, “I’m not going anywhere. I mean that. You’re going to be with me forever.”

Her little head had tilted to one side and she’d nonchalantly replied, “We’ll see.”

His eyes had burned with emotion. He’d been able to tell that she desperately wanted his promise to go unbroken, but her trust was obviously something she didn’t give away easily. Not after all she’d evidently been through in her young life. Only time would prove to her that Nathan meant what he said.

“You could call me just plain Nathan,” he suggested.

Her brow puckered. “Just Plain Nathan sounds kinda funny.”

“No.” He’d chuckled. “I mean, Nathan. You could call me Nathan.”

She made no comment at first, but he could tell her thoughts were churning. Then her chin had thrust out boldly, her eyes avoiding his, as she blurted, “But every kid needs a dad, don’tcha think? I could call you Dad, couldn’t I?”

His heart had swelled painfully. “Sure you could. That would be just fine.”

Yes, that had been one exchange that had given him great insight. Charity, even at such a young age, was striving to achieve some sort of normalcy for herself amidst the chaos of the world around her.

Now he helped her into the back seat, shut the door and then slid behind the wheel. He listened a moment as she struggled to latch her seat belt, quelling the urge to offer her help. He’d discovered she was an independent little thing, and if he offered to come to her aid too quickly, she’d become exasperated with him.

Casting a glance at her in the rearview mirror, he smiled. She was the image of her mother, with her head of tight, dark curls and her skin like porcelain. So small and innocent. However, today’s events had to be talked about, no matter how much he’d like to bypass the moment.

After he heard the latch click securely, he asked, “You want to tell me what happened today?”

Her gaze met his in the mirror. “I know I’m in trouble for hitting Billy Whitefeather. But he said Charity was a stupid name. He said I wasn’t Indian. And that I didn’t belong in this school.”

Nathan’s nod was nearly imperceptible. He had suspected Charity wouldn’t have lashed out without being provoked.

“So,” she continued in a rush, “I told him Whitefeather was the stupidest name in the whole, wide universe. And that my dad was sheriff. And that I could go to this school if I wanted to.”

So he’d been correct when he’d told Charity’s teacher that his daughter could give as good as she got. A smile threatened the firm line of his mouth, but he wrestled it into submission. Now wasn’t the time to laugh at his daughter’s antics. He needed to nip this behavior in the bud.

“He made a fist and I knew he was gonna hit me,” she explained. “I was scared, but I slugged him first. And ya know something?” Unadulterated wonder made her eyes go round. “He cried like a big, fat baby.”

Nathan knew it was wrong, but he’d be lying if he didn’t plainly identify the emotion flashing though him as nothing less than pride. Even though he was brand-new at this dad business, he guessed that no parent wanted their child to be a pushover. He was happy to discover that Charity could stand up for herself. But it was certain that they’d have to work on the means she used to do so.

“It’s not nice to hit people,” he told her.

“But Billy said—”

“I heard you the first time. But you need to know, Charity, you can’t go around hitting everyone who says something you don’t like.”

“But—”

“Honey—” his tone was firm “—there are no buts. Hitting is wrong.”

The look on her face told him she was crushed. All Nathan wanted to do was give her a big hug and assure her that everything was going to be okay. But he forced himself to remain silent. She needed to contemplate her behavior. To realize the magnitude of her actions.

Our job is to shove them right back. Gwen’s advice regarding setting firm boundaries floated through his mind.

Nathan’s fingers were trembling as he placed the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. He sighed. Being the disciplinarian was a necessary part of parenting, Charity’s teacher had just informed him, but it wasn’t a part of his new job as dad that he was going to enjoy very much.

The morning sun glowed through the windowpanes, rays of light glinting directly on the large jar of pennies that sat on the battered credenza. The jar was significant to Nathan. While working with the NYPD, he’d placed a penny in the jar every single day that he’d finished a shift and returned to the station house alive.

Lucky pennies. His jar of luck. It reminded him to be grateful for every day he was here on earth.