Bone Driven (Foundling #2)
Hailey Edwards
For Aunt Barbara, who showed me
life is better with a book in my hand (and romance on the pages).
She taught me how to love a child with my whole heart and what it means to be family. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without her guidance and support. I love you, Bob!
CHAPTER ONE
The first notes in my favorite country song plucked the air as sweat rolled from my hairline into my eyes. I wiped my damp face on the long sleeve of my shirt then squinted at the sixteen-penny nail I had pinched between two fingers. Picturing Geoffrey Timmons’ smug face as I swung the hammer in a punishing downstroke was cathartic after spending half the week down at the station playing star witness in the internal affairs investigation guaranteed to dethrone the current chief of police. But he was one small nail in a box of hundreds, and I had more dire concerns on my mind. Fresh worries pressed into my thoughts with every strike until the wood splintered beneath each brutal impact.
Demons were real. Bang. I was one of them. Bang. I was amongst the worst of them. Bang.
And those very real demons had trashed the farmhouse I shared with my dad, who was in no shape to be out in this heat working on repairs while we waited for approval on our insurance claim. That left me, my phone, and a Bluetooth speaker to get the job done.
A bleating car horn alerted me to the fact I had company coming, and I cursed under my breath.
Vultures were circling again thanks to the recording of Timmons’ threats leaking to the press – not helped by Jane Doe checking herself out of Madison Memorial against medical advice in order to avoid more abuse from the media, at least according to the statement Kapoor made on the hospital steps. Add to that my refusal to make a statement on either incident, and I was once again a hot topic around town. Frustration guided my aim through four more swings before car doors slammed and crunching footsteps approached.
“What did that sheet of plywood ever do to you, Bou-Bou?”
A grin split my cheeks as I turned and spotted Rixton heading my way with a squirming pink bundle in his arms. “How’s my favorite person on the planet?”
Annette Marjoram Rixton was the cutest baby I had ever seen, and that wasn’t just because she was scheduled to officially become my goddaughter in three more weeks, on her one-month birthday.
“I’m good.” He winked at me. “Thanks for asking.”
I gave him a flat stare, my best cop face, but since he had taught me the look, he only laughed. “Does your wife know you’ve absconded with her child?”
“Nettie is our child,” he corrected me. “I can’t abscond with my own child.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Sadly, abductions happened all the time, and a parent or another relative was most often the perpetrator. “How long do you have before Sherry calls this in and an Amber Alert gets issued?”
“Sherry trusts me, unlike some people I won’t name.” He coughed into his fist. “Luce Boudreau.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Tell your godmother to set phasers on stun.” Rixton booped his daughter’s nose. “We aren’t out being nefarious. We went on a diaper run so Mommy could nap, didn’t we?”
“That was very sweet of you,” I had to admit.
“I learned from the best. Look what Sherry got me.” Whipping out his phone, he angled it toward me. The screen showed her curled on the couch under a short, thin blanket she probably borrowed from her daughter. “She bought a video camera that clips on the crib so I can check in on Nettie while I’m at work. Turns out it’s also handy as a mommy cam. I’ll get an alert when she starts moving around, and that’s my cue to skedaddle.”
Surveillance truly was the gift that kept on giving. Poor Sherry. She really ought to know better by now.
“Come on in.” I set down my tools and waved him toward the front door. “Get that baby doll out of this heat.”
“Baby doll, huh?” He chuckled. “Nettie must be the drink and wet variety.”
Nettie was little bitty and oh-so-breakable, exactly like the porcelain dolls Granny Boudreau had collected over her life. We had boxes full of them in the attic, which my goddaughter was welcome to when she got older.
I held the newly installed screen door open for Rixton with the toe of my ratty sneaker.
“Auntie Bou-Bou has the best manners,” he crooned to Nettie. “See how she held the door for a gentleman?”
Since Rixton was holding the baby I was about to vow to protect as my own, I cut him some slack instead of smashing his face in for calling me Bou-Bou. The more I reacted, the deeper the nickname would root into his personal lexicon, and soon there wouldn’t be enough upper body strength in the world to yank it from his vocabulary. Starting today, my new policy would be ignoring him. He hated that. Rixton would rather be shot in the foot than have his antics dismissed. Personally? I could use the target practice.
Plastic sheeting taped over all the doorways and windows gave the kitchen the appearance of a crime scene still under investigation, but it was the only cool room in the house. I held back the thick curtain while Rixton stepped inside my chilly sanctuary.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I palmed a bottle of icy water from the cooler acting as my temporary fridge and gulped half of it down before coming up for air. “I’ve got water, water, and water.”
Everything else had spoiled thanks to the aforementioned demons who had turned the farmhouse into a block of Swiss cheese. The second floor was fully restored, but downstairs was so holey, it wasn’t worth turning the central air on yet. Only the kitchen and guest bathroom gave me respite from the blistering heat thanks to the portable window unit whirring on cement blocks stacked in the gap where the back door used to be.
“Hmm.” He appeared to give the non-existent selection genuine consideration. “How about… water?”
Huffing out a laugh, I passed him a cold bottle, careful to avoid a single drop of condensation splashing Nettie’s perfect face.
“She’s not actually made of porcelain, Luce. You won’t break her.” He gentled his tone as he set his drink on the counter. “Don’t you think it’s time you held your goddaughter?”
“No.” I jumped back on reflex, waving my arms to ward him off, and tripped over the cooler. I landed in a seated position on the lid with my back pressed against the wall. “I’m good with looking. Really. I don’t have to hold her.”
Holding Nettie meant enduring more prolonged contact with another person than I had allowed in… ever.
“You haven’t changed your mind about participating in the christening, have you?” His brows knitted together. “There’s no one Sherry and I trust more than you, but you’ll still be Nettie’s auntie with or without the ceremony.”
I clamped my fingers on the lid and held on for dear life. “I haven’t changed my mind but —”
Understanding dawned in his expression, and he glanced at my shirt sleeves as though he could see the rose gold metal of the rukav banding my arms under the fabric. I watched him realize that while I might love his daughter, I would never be the auntie who let her curl in my lap while I read her bedtime stories on nights she slept over or cuddled her after a bad dream. I was touch-averse. Always had been. Physical manifestations of emotion required effort on my part. They weren’t natural, fluid responses to stimuli for me; they were calculated reactions for all that they were genuine expressions of what I felt for those I loved.
For one fraction of a second, I read his doubt that I was up to the task, and a pang arrowed through my chest straight for my pounding heart.