In Care of Sam Beaudry

“Did she tell you anything about me?” he asked warily, and she glanced at him, equally cautious. “Her friend? Hilda’s son, Sam?”

“I don’t think so.”

How far should he take this? “Do you have any relatives besides Hilda? Another grandma, maybe, or an auntie?”

“My other grandmother died. I never saw her.” She eyed him briefly. “Are you like a cop or something?”

“I’m a sheriff. It’s kind of like a cop, but I have to look after a whole county, and I have to get elected. I was a cop when I was in the marines. MP, they call it. Military police.” Too far. Wrong direction. He could tell by her scowl.

“We don’t really like cops.”

“Oh.” That hurt. “Who’s we?”

“Well…” She glanced at her mother. Reminded she was on her own, she shrugged. “I mean, we like them when they help us. But I wouldn’t call them up or anything. They can take anybody away. They might take bad people away, but they could take good people away, too. They might even take me away.”

Damn. Where had that come from?

“Only if they thought somebody might be hurting you,” he suggested.

“Even if they take a bad person away, he can come back,” she confided, leaning closer to him in a way that made him feel better, like maybe he’d gained a little trust. “And when he comes back, he’s twice as bad.”

“Does the bad person have a name?”

“Maybe.” She drew back. “Maybe not. It could be any bad person.”

“I know how to handle bad people.”

“Do you have a gun?” she whispered.

“I do. I killed a snake with it the other day.” He gave a one-sided smile. “I have a jail, too. And handcuffs. A fast car with a big gold star painted on it. Bad people don’t mess with me. Pretty soon we’ll be gettin’ the word out among the snakes.”

“So, if I needed a cop, you’d be around? Because they’re never around when you need one.”

“You know Jim Whiteside?”

“Jimmy?”

Sam nodded. “Ask him. I’m always around. And Jim’s always keeping an eye on me. I’m beginning to think he’s on the county payroll, making sure I do my job. You ever need me, Jim knows right where to find me.”

She wrinkled her little round nose. “He thinks he’s a big smarty.”

“He’s a good kid, once you get to know him. It’s good to have friends. You probably have a lot of friends in California.” He tipped his head, inviting more confidence, hoping for names. “Maybe your mom has some friends there.”

“We just moved again. We didn’t know anybody in our new building.” She stared at her mother, hoping. “Is she gonna wake up tomorrow?”

Sam knew if he couldn’t say yes he was no help. He said nothing. He felt small and useless.

“Can’t the doctor make her wake up?” Her voice was tiny and thin.

Ask me for something else, kid. An ice cream cone, a ride anywhere you want to go, a puppy, a Band-Aid. Anything but answers.

A tear plopped on her thumb.

He told himself to stay behind the back of the chair, use it as a shield, keep his distance. But before he knew it, he was standing, lifting the child into his arms and letting her hot tears drench the side of his neck.

No way could he ever cry. But he felt as though Star was doing it for him.

Chapter Four

It didn’t matter to Maggie whether Sam had once loved Merilee Brown. It didn’t matter to her whether he was the girl’s father—unless he’d skipped out on them, which seemed unlikely, knowing Sam. But watching the three of them through the ICU glass gave rise to some soul-searching.

First, she shouldn’t have been watching anything but monitors. Second, she was feeling an uncomfortable twinge in a bone she could have sworn she didn’t have in her body—what self-respecting woman could be jealous of someone who was comatose—and, third, it did matter whether Sam was still in love with Merilee Brown. Because, first of all, the woman was probably dying. Second…

There was no second. Maggie was a nurse. Merilee was a patient. Put the two together, end of search. Merilee’s life was all that mattered at the moment.

Maggie dragged her attention back to the heart monitor. The life monitor. Life was dear, and Death was jealous.

“What’s the—”

Hilda’s voice gave Maggie a jolt.

“Sorry.” Hilda joined her at the nurse’s station, her gaze tagging after Maggie’s lead. Through the window several feet away they watched Sam take a seat in the bedside chair with Star in his lap. He said something to her as he reached for the tissue box, and she nodded.

“Oh,” Hilda whispered, and then, barely audibly, “Oh, Sam.”

Maggie swallowed convulsively against a rising tide of tiny stingers.

Hilda touched Maggie’s shoulder and leaned closer, as though she had a secret. “Lila said to tell you Jimmy wants to go home with her. I’m taking Star home with me as soon as she’ll let me. That leaves you and Sam.”

“For?”

“Coffee, maybe?”

“Hilda.” Maggie warned her friend with a look. “He’s not going to tell me anything he hasn’t told you.”

“Good.” Hilda patted Maggie’s shoulder. “Maybe you don’t tell each other anything. Maybe you just look at each other and breathe easy over a cup of coffee.”

What could it hurt?

“I’ll ask.”

She’d have to swallow some pride—first throat prickles, then pride—but given the circumstances, given the sweet moment between the big man and the little girl and the fact that Maggie had claimed a piece of it, maybe she could trade away a little pride. Give him one more chance. Forget that she’d invited Sam over for supper a couple of weeks ago, and he’d cancelled. Emergency, he’d said. Hell, Maggie’s middle name was Emergency. The next move should have been his.

Not that she was making a move, but if she had any thought that there were moves to be made, the events of the day should have convinced her otherwise. Words like issues, history and baggage came to mind. Stuff she didn’t need. She had no trouble handling herself pro-fessionally, and she was determined to start living the rest of her life with wits about her at all times. She’d almost decided she might be ready for an uncomplicated relationship with an uncomplicated man, and she’d been thinking about Sam Beaudry. A lot.

And now this.

So she asked, and he said sure—well, he’d nodded, anyway—and here they sat across from each other in Doherty’s Café staring into their ceramic mugs as though the shape of a coffee oil slick might foretell the future. Maggie was determined to let the first word be Sam’s. He could give her that much. She didn’t care what the word was. Maybe he needed a friend or a confidante. Maybe he wanted her professional opinion.