“You can’t be serious.”

Mick concentrated on Kelly’s determined expression. She didn’t appear to be pulling his leg.

“Let’s go to my place and talk,” he suggested.

Kelly nodded. She hadn’t spoken since telling him…. Perhaps she’d gone into shock.

The drive to his house took less than five minutes.

“I understand that you must feel terrible about my brother,” he told her.

And he did. His journalistic training was too ingrained for him not to see both sides of the story. Despite his grief, he knew that Kelly had tried to defuse his brother’s fear, speaking to him calmly and gently. But his brother had been too worked up. He’d cocked the trigger of his handgun and that was it. Kelly had aimed, fired…

“Don’t think it’s guilt behind my suggestion,” Kelly said now. “Mick, I genuinely care about those children. I would do anything to help them. Anything.”

Something in him wanted to give her whatever she asked for. And, face it, she was offering him a solution to his own dilemma. “How will you feel in a year, or two, or ten? Kelly, I’m not interested in a temporary fix here.”

“I understand that. I do.”

In the small, bookshelf-lined room, her words echoed like a marriage vow….

Dear Reader,

“Shooting to kill is an officer’s nightmare.” This is the headline that caught my eye a few years ago when I was reading the Calgary Herald at my breakfast table. Years of Westerns, cop shows and mystery novels had ingrained in me the simple maxim that good guys shoot bad guys. But I had never before contemplated the complex dilemma an officer faces when making the choice to pull the trigger and end another life.

That morning the seed for A Convenient Proposal was planted. I knew I wanted to write a story about a cop who responds strictly by the book in a dangerous situation, then reacts like a sensitive human being in the months that follow. The cop is Kelly Shannon, the youngest of the three Shannon sisters.

If you read the first book of this trilogy, A Second-Chance Proposal, you may have wondered what Kelly was doing during her lengthy, unexplained absences from the Larch Lodge Bed and Breakfast near the end of the story. She wasn’t at work—she’d been suspended, remember?—and she certainly wasn’t out having fun.

Now I invite you to find out. To dive into Kelly’s story and meet the children and the man who will change her life forever.

Sincerely,

C.J. Carmichael

P.S. I’d love to hear from you. Please send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754-246 Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta, Canada T3H 3C8. Or send e-mail to: cjcarmichael@shaw.ca. For more information visit: www.cjcarmichael.com.

A Convenient Proposal
C.J. Carmichael

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This trilogy is dedicated to my editors, Beverley Sotolov and Paula Eykelhof, with my thanks and affection.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to those who assisted me in my research, in particular Corporal Patrick Webb of the RCMP in Calgary, Constable Barry Beales of the RCMP Canmore Detachment and Lynn Martel, a reporter with the Canmore Leader.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PROLOGUE

SHE COULDN’T STOP SHAKING as she stared at the gun—her own Smith & Wesson—in a carefully labeled plastic bag. The weapon was Crown evidence; she wouldn’t see it again for months.

On second thought, make that ever.

“You’d better sit down, Kelly.”

“What?” RCMP officer Kelly Shannon looked from the .38 to the familiar face of her commanding officer, Staff Sergeant Springer.

That brief thought of her future, of there being moments, days, years that would follow, made her so damn weary. All she wanted was to curl up on the rain-dampened ground and be left alone. But Springer had stuck by her side since he’d arrived at the Thunder Bar M forty minutes ago.

“Let me take you to your car. You need to get off your feet.”

If Kelly hadn’t already understood the gravity of the situation, the staff sergeant’s consideration and gentle tone would have tipped her off.

“I’m fine.” She tried to protest, but large, well-muscled Springer put a hand to her elbow and courteously led the way to her patrol car. She noted her driver’s-side door was still open, from that instant when she’d leaped out—galvanized by the sight of Danny Mizzoni holding a gun to her sister’s head.

Springer settled her in the passenger side of the car, then checked his watch. “Backup from Calgary should be here shortly.”

Kelly leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes briefly. Sitting wasn’t such a bad idea. Her trembling was getting worse. Springer must have noticed, too, because he found a blanket and settled it over her lap.

“Thanks.” She knew this calm wouldn’t last long. Once the officers from Ident and the Major Crimes Unit arrived, there would be hours’—if not days’—worth of work to be done. She’d seen it before.

Homicides were rare in the rustic mountain community of Canmore, Alberta, but two-and-a-half years ago a young girl, Jilly Beckett, had been shot dead on this very property. Kelly had worked on that case.

But she wouldn’t be working on this one.

“Someone from MAP will be here shortly, too.” Springer patted her shoulder.

The representative from the Member Assistance Program would guide her through the next few hours. She would be suspended from duty, of course. There would be an investigation. Springer had already notified her of her rights. At some point she would need to hire a lawyer.

Anxiety set off another spasm of trembling. Kelly filled her lungs with air, then groped for the badge she’d always worn so proudly. Being a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police meant carrying on a tradition of honor. A tradition of which she was no longer worthy.

“I suppose you’ll want this,” she said, fumbling with the catch.

Springer put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “That isn’t necessary, Kelly. Keep it. You’re still one of us.”

The wail of approaching sirens crescendoed with the rumbling of tires on gravel as the squad cars from Calgary arrived. Kelly watched them stream onto Thunder Bar M land. They lined up behind the ambulance, where the paramedics were standing by the open back doors and watching calmly, knowing it would still be some time before the coroner gave them permission to move the body.

Car doors and voices slammed into the afternoon quiet. Springer’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She would soon be taken to the station, while these men and women worked at recording the details of the crime scene, collecting and cataloguing every shred of potential evidence.

How Dylan must hate this, she thought—having his land overrun with police and emergency workers. She wondered about her sister Cathleen, and hoped she was recovering from the shock of having Danny Mizzoni’s gun held to her head. Dylan and Cathleen were out by the creek now. Sharon, Danny’s wife—widow—and two kids, were in the kitchen with Danny’s brother.

Thinking of those innocent bystanders, Kelly couldn’t hold back a groan. Their pain, their anger, she could only imagine. Oh, what have I done?

The body was still prone on the top step of the veranda. Her shot had struck Danny square in the chest. Death had been almost instantaneous.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.” Springer had crouched beside her. He was talking like a coach preparing her for the last game of the season. “You followed procedure every step of the way. Don’t worry, Kelly. You’re young…you’ll get over this. Everything’s going to work out fine.”

The arrival of the team from Calgary had transformed the quiet crime scene into a bustling center of activity. Kelly watched the photographer check the lighting before taking some stills of the body. Someone else leaned over to examine the bullet wound in the victim’s chest.

So much blood.

Kelly looked away. A woman approached her from one of the parked police cars. Mid-thirties, short dark hair, tentative smile. Probably with Member Assistance. Springer obviously thought so, too. He let go of Kelly’s shoulder and stood.

“Staff Sergeant Springer,” he said, stepping forward to meet the new arrival.

“Corporal Webster,” said the woman.

Kelly glanced back at the body. One of the Ident men was making a chalk outline of the victim’s position on the rotting wood porch. From the corner of her eye, Kelly noticed movement from the back of the house.

The victim’s brother, Mick Mizzoni, also the editor of the Canmore Leader, was coming to check things out. He’d been en route to Calgary when Dylan had called him on Sharon’s instructions. As a result, he’d made it here even before the squad cars from Canmore. Now the broodily handsome man circled the busy police officers, his body visibly tense, his expression grim.

Abruptly he switched directions to face her. Kelly didn’t allow herself to shift her gaze or even blink. She felt his condemnation, the current of loathing traveling from man to woman the way electrical energy had passed from clouds to earth in the storm earlier.

As the moment between them stretched, she fought back the instinct to tell him she was sorry. No matter what words she chose, they would come out sounding trite.

Besides, apologies for homicides were rarely accepted.

CHAPTER ONE

Two months later

“I WENT TO SEE the kids again today.” Kelly Shannon slouched into the tartan cushions of Scott Martin’s sofa.

“Kelly…was that wise?” At the other end of the couch, Scott propped his feet on the maple table, where he kept a dish of white peppermints and coasters for the coffee, water or tea he offered at the beginning of each session.

Kelly always took water. Now she swirled it in her glass, but the ice cube lodged at the bottom wouldn’t move. It was too big, or else the glass was too small.

“I know what you said about moving on. But I just can’t do it.” One of the worst consequences of being suspended was all the free time. She’d signed up for some volunteer assignments with a local charity, but had found it difficult to concentrate on all but the simplest of tasks.

“Kelly, spying on those kids is only making matters worse—”

“I know.” They circled the same issues at each weekly session. If she didn’t like Scott as much as she did, the sessions would be unbearable.

But Scott was okay. Over the past two months they’d achieved a certain comfort level in their weekly chats. Word had it he was happily married and totally besotted by his twin four-year-old daughters. You’d never know by his office, though. He didn’t have any framed pictures of his family on display. When she’d asked him about it once, his answer had surprised her.

“Lots of the clients I see are working through problems at home, with their marriage or their kids. They don’t need me throwing my domestic bliss in their face.”

It was that kind of sensitivity that made her respect Scott Martin—even though, in her heart, she knew these compulsory sessions weren’t doing the slightest bit of good. But her sisters had insisted, and Kelly figured it wasn’t worth arguing over.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever want to go back to work, anyway,” she said. Definitely not in any capacity where she’d have to carry a gun.

“You say that now, Kelly, but it’s only been two months.”

Two months, where each day was worse than the one before it….

“Do you know what they were wearing, Scott? Pajamas! In November. And it was snowing.” Kelly leaned forward, cupping her hands over her knees. She could picture them so clearly, playing in the soft powder of a fresh snowfall, their little faces as solemn as if they were sitting in the front pew at church.

Every now and then the eldest, Billy, who was just five, had glanced in the direction of her car. Did he know who she was, what she’d done?

“And I don’t think their mother is feeding them properly. Even though I leave groceries by the door every week.” She’d never seen Sharon throw them away, but there were never any cooking odors coming from the small bungalow on First Avenue, either.

“Have you phoned Child Welfare?”

Annoyance propelled her to her feet. “Don’t piss me off, Scott.” She prowled the office, as she did every week, checking his bookcase for new volumes, examining the clean sweep of his polished maple desk, peering out the double-paned glass window at the Calgary traffic on Memorial Drive. Beyond the twin ribbons of concrete stood a row of mature, albeit heavily pruned, cottonwoods, planted to commemorate the veterans of the First World War. Beyond those, the Bow River. Follow that river upstream about an hour—and there would be Canmore. The mountain town she’d lived in all her life.

After training, she’d been stationed in northern Saskatchewan for about six years, but she’d petitioned hard to be returned to the place of her birth. Her middle sister, Cathleen, still lived there, although their elder sister Maureen had a legal practice here in Calgary.

“You’ve been put in a difficult situation, Kelly. Society generally accepts that while killing is wrong, it may be necessary in some situations to preserve order and protect the lives of the innocent. Intellectually, most of us accept that.”

Kelly stared out the window and nodded.

“This places a terrible onus of responsibility on the police officer entrusted to make these life-and-death decisions.”

Kelly said nothing. She and Scott had tromped over the moral and ethical issues so many times, the field was flattened. She supposed he thought that if he repeated himself often enough, she’d find absolution. The very idea was ridiculous.

“Kelly, you will learn to cope with this. I promise.”

Scott’s voice betrayed the pain he felt for her. That was something else she liked about him. The man cared.

Unfortunately, in her case, it couldn’t help.

Because she’d killed a man. And even if society decided she’d been acting within the rules by doing so, there was no way to avoid her moral culpability. The only remaining question was, how could she atone for taking another human life? If it was even possible.

KELLY HAD EVERY INTENTION of returning to her basement apartment after her late-afternoon session with Scott, but once she was back within Canmore’s town limits, the right-hand turn onto Bow Valley Trail compelled her. Soon she cruised past the tiny bungalow that Sharon Mizzoni rented. She parked her truck on the opposite side of the street, down the block a few houses. Turning her key onto auxiliary power so she wouldn’t waste gas, she continued to listen to a talk show on the CBC.

An hour passed. Maybe two. Outside it was dark and light now glowed from the small front window of the house, blending with the blue glare of the television set. The drapes weren’t drawn, and Kelly could see directly into the living room. Sharon sat in front of the set, a beer bottle in her hand. Three-year-old Amanda jumped on the sofa. There was no sign of Billy.

Kelly didn’t think the kids had been fed any dinner. It was almost eight. They should be having baths and brushing their teeth, getting ready for bed. Why wasn’t Sharon helping them?

With the heat off, the truck was cool. Frosty wind from the Rocky Mountains was forecast to bring more snow to Canmore this evening. Kelly zipped the down vest she wore over her fleece jacket, then slipped on leather gloves. She’d stay until the cold forced her on, or until the lights went out.

But the lights generally went out late at Sharon Mizzoni’s house. The death of her husband, Danny, had hit her hard and she’d turned to alcohol for solace. At times, Kelly almost envied her. She, too, longed for chemically induced oblivion. Drugs, alcohol, even an overdose of sleeping pills. Kelly had considered all of them in the darkest hours of these past months.

But two things stood in her way. Her sisters. And Sharon’s kids.

Kelly had always been in awe of her older sisters—Cathleen with her confident beauty and effortless appeal to members of the opposite sex, Maureen with her brains and her take-charge attitude. The two of them would never hold with her choosing the chicken’s way out—ending her own life. Probably, they’d haul her up from the grave and tell her Christmas dinner was going to be at her place for the next twenty years.

In the Mizzoni house, Billy had just come into view from the window. Kelly observed him pick up his little sister and carry her off down the hall. Probably taking the three-year-old to bed. Kelly had seen the same routine on previous nights, and, as always, her heart ached for the kids.

She wanted nothing more than to go into that house and mother those children. But she knew if she got out of her car, she’d end up in trouble. Sharon had noticed her hanging around before, and warned her to stay far, far away.

But that was impossible.

Kelly rubbed at the condensation forming on the inside of her truck’s window. On the radio Shania Twain was feeling like a woman. Stuck here in her four-by-four, Kelly felt hardly human.

If she hadn’t shot Danny Mizzoni, those kids would still have a father, and Sharon wouldn’t be drinking. Like a roller coaster forced to travel the same circuit again and again, she lived through those short seconds that had forever changed so many lives. Danny bringing out his gun, pointing it at her sister Cathleen…

Her shouted warning. “Police. Drop the gun, Danny!”

Danny’s stupid, knee-jerk reaction—cocking his weapon, bringing it up to Cathleen’s head….

Kelly had been trained to preserve life. She’d also been trained to make difficult choices. When Cathleen fell away from Mizzoni’s grasp, leaving him exposed, Kelly didn’t have to think. Her training took over. She aimed for the center of his body, as was RCMP policy.

BAM! The shot left her gun before she fully comprehended what she was doing. Instantly dead, Danny had loosened his hold on his gun. His blood had splattered on the rotting porch boards.

God, God, God… Kelly reached to turn up the volume on the radio. At that moment, a knock at her side window sent her heart slamming against her chest. She turned to see a man’s torso, his bare hand still rapping on the glass by her head.

Her panic subsided. Quite certain who this was, she unrolled her window with trembling fingers.

The man stooped, and she saw his face. His handsome, almost beautiful face, framed with thick dark hair. “On surveillance, Officer?”

The bitter question came from the children’s uncle, Mick Mizzoni. Before the shooting she and he had had an amicable relationship. He’d often come to her for police information when he was working on a story for the Canmore Leader. They’d crossed paths now and then in social settings, too—at the wedding of a mutual friend; a couple of times at the Canmore Folk Festival.

She’d half entertained a hope he might ask her out. But behind Mick’s casual banter had always been an almost imperceptible coolness. She’d assumed she simply wasn’t his type.

And that was before she’d killed his brother.

“Mick.” Kelly couldn’t meet his quiet, intense gaze for long. She glanced back at the house, not able to find the words to remind him she was on temporary leave from the RCMP. Undoubtedly he knew, and was only baiting her, anyway.

Mick Mizzoni had to hate her, and Kelly didn’t blame him. Mostly she hated herself, too.

“The children should be in bed,” she said.

Mick frowned, the expression not diminishing his attractiveness one iota. He wore a denim jacket over a rough wool sweater. Warm, substantial clothing that emphasized his masculinity.

“How the hell do you know?”

“I can see them through the window. Billy just carried Amanda to the bedroom. Sharon’s been drinking—” she glanced at the digital clock on her dash “—for at least two hours.”

Mick yanked open the door that separated them. “How long have you been sitting here?”

When she got out of the truck, she noticed that Mick backed off several steps. As if he couldn’t stand to be too close.

“Does it matter? What’s important is the kids. I don’t think they’ve even had supper. Most nights Sharon doesn’t move from the television.”

He cursed. “I know she’s drinking again. God, I’d hoped she’d finally put that life behind her…”

But her husband’s death had been too much for her to handle. “What can we do to help them?”

“We?” Mick’s voice had been relatively calm. Now she saw him struggle to regain that equilibrium.

“Kelly, I’m trying my damnedest not to blame you for what happened. I know Danny had a gun on your sister. I know you were trying to do your job. But given the consequences of that, maybe you ought to stay the hell away from Danny’s family.”

“I’m sorry.” She understood what he was saying, totally accepted that they all had to hate her for what she’d done. But it was because of her responsibility for Danny’s death that she couldn’t walk away from his kids. If she tried to explain, would Mick understand?

“Get in your truck, Kelly, and drive back to the right side of town.”

“But—”

He opened the truck door wider. She ignored him. The lights from Sharon’s window were irresistible. She advanced along the snow-packed road, until she stood in front of the small bungalow.

A moment later, Mick joined her. Together they watched Sharon tip the bottle of beer up to her mouth and suck back the last drop.

“The kids are my responsibility. I’m their uncle. Please leave, Kelly.”

“I can’t.” She swallowed the need to weep. Her tears would lead this man to not only hate her, but despise her, as well. Besides, what right did she have to give in to her pain, when he had to be suffering just as much?

Mick shifted his weight impatiently. “You aren’t helping anything by putting in time here. In fact, you could be making the situation worse. If Sharon notices you, she could freak out—”

“I know.” Sharon had seen her leaving behind a bag of groceries once, and she’d come out the back door screaming and yelling. But she’d taken the food inside, and so Kelly hadn’t stopped. She’d just tried to be quieter the next time.

“For good reason.”

“I realize that, Mick. But she’s not capable of being a mother to those kids right now.”

“I’m doing my best to help.”

She knew that, too. She’d seen him coming and going, often carrying a bag from a takeout restaurant. This was the first time, though, that he’d approached her before going inside.

“Whatever you’re able to do, it’s not enough. They were playing in the snow with only their pajamas on this morning. And Billy’s looking awfully pale. I think he’s lost weight—”

Mick slammed a hand against the trunk of a nearby tree. A dusting of snow was released into the air, and Kelly watched the flakes settle against the dark blue of his jacket.

“She loves those kids,” he said.

“I’m sure she must.”

“And they love her. You have no idea how devoted Billy is to his mother. You can’t think we should try to get them taken away from her?”

Had he noticed he’d used the word we? Kelly doubted it. “Mick, because of me they lost their father. I don’t want them to lose their mother, too.”

Mick considered that statement for a moment, before nodding. “Good. ’Cause no way is Child Welfare getting involved in this case. If Danny’s family needs help, then I’m the one to give it to them.”

“No question those kids need you, Mick. You’re their uncle. But what I wonder is…” She hesitated. Who was she to point fingers?

“Yeah?”

Deciding the welfare of the children called for honesty, she continued. “Well, with the hours you put in at the paper, and the way Sharon’s been drinking…something really bad could happen to them, Mick. They need more.”

They need me. Kelly didn’t voice the last part, but the conviction that she had to help this family remained.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER MICK HAD GONE INSIDE to check on Billy and Amanda, Kelly returned to her truck. Instead of heading to her basement apartment on the other side of town, she cruised back to the highway, almost instinctively drawn to the Larch Lodge Bed and Breakfast, which Cathleen had renovated several years ago.

Cathleen and Dylan wouldn’t be there. They’d flown to Vegas for a delayed honeymoon, leaving Poppy O’Leary to run the place for the week. Seventy-year-old Poppy had been staying there for about six months now, working on her family tree and a treasury of favorite recipes. During the weeks after the shooting, when Kelly had been a guest at the B and B, too, she and Poppy had become quite close.

Kelly eased off the accelerator and coasted the final yards of the laneway. Now in full view of the house, she could see Poppy’s mop of artificial-red curls as she worked at the kitchen sink in front of the window. Probably she was organizing tomorrow’s breakfast for the guests. Three unknown vehicles were parked, along with Poppy’s red Tracker, at the side of the house. Kelly left her truck at the end of the line, then headed for the side veranda.

“Poppy?” Kelly stuck her head inside the door. Cathleen’s dog looked at her lazily, managing only a slight wag of his tail. Curled up beside him was a beautiful white cat, the latest addition to Cathleen’s menagerie. Dylan had adopted Crystal shortly after his mother’s death, and Crystal had promptly adopted Kip as her closest buddy. A relationship Kip tolerated but obviously did not enjoy.

“Kelly! I was hoping you’d show up. Come on in and sit. I’ve got a new muffin recipe for you to sample.”

Poppy’s solution to every problem was food. Which was ironic given that the common Shannon family reaction to stress was an aversion to eating. Kelly knew she’d dropped pounds since the shooting, and Cathleen was just now regaining the weight she’d lost during the two years she and Dylan had been estranged. Then there was Maureen, who’d looked not only too slender at her last visit, but too pale, as well. Of course, only six months had passed since her husband’s death.

“You must think we Shannons are a sorry bunch.” Kelly tore the paper liner off the still-warm muffin. She could see sunflower seeds and raisins peeking out from the golden-brown crust. The aroma of honeyed spices was enticing.

“Every family has its hard times.” Poppy took a glass measure and poured in milk. She popped the milk into the microwave to heat, then mixed a paste of cocoa and sugar in Kelly’s favorite ceramic mug.

Bless her heart, she was making the hot chocolate that Kelly loved.

“I was looking at the cottonwoods on Memorial Drive today, and thinking.” She could see the dark trunks in her mind’s eye, the bare winter branches reaching, almost desperately, to the sky.

“When you were in Calgary?”

Poppy knew about her weekly sessions with the RCMP counselor.

“Yes. I really feel for those war vets coming home and having to deal with the atrocities they’d seen and participated in overseas.”

“Times were different then. The men knew they’d done their duty for their country. On their return, they were treated like heroes.”

“Do you really think it was that simple, Poppy?”

The microwave beeped, and Poppy took out the steaming milk. “No,” she admitted, “I guess not.”

“Compared with what they went through, my experience is pure Little League.”

Poppy set the mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “It doesn’t feel Little League, though, does it?”

Kelly pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. With both hands she cupped the warm mug. In the end, despite the appetizing aroma, she’d been unable to stomach the muffin. This she could handle. She took a sip, and the creamy, warm liquid glided down her throat.

“You take everything so much to heart.” Poppy’s old eyes contained warmth and compassion—benefactions Kelly knew she didn’t deserve, but craved so desperately.

Poppy laid a hand on her arm. “You’re such a softy, aren’t you, love. And your sisters have no idea. They see you as strong and stalwart.”

“I am strong. I’m the youngest, but I’ve always looked out for Cath and Maureen. They tease me about being a mother hen….”

“Those two! They’re so impulsive and confident. They don’t know how it feels to be otherwise. I’m sure they’ve never even guessed how badly your father’s desertion hurt you.”

“Oh!” It was unbelievable how Poppy always honed in on the important things. Kelly had spoken of those feelings to no one. Not even to her mother when she’d been alive. Now Kelly regarded this amazing woman with a touch of awe.

“How can you understand us so well, when you’ve only known us such a short time?”

Poppy’s hand tightened on Kelly’s forearm. “My dear Kelly, it isn’t hard. You were a sensitive child, living in a house full of self-assured, outgoing women. It’s not that they didn’t love you to death. From all I’ve heard about your mother, I know she did, and your sisters still do. They just aren’t equipped to understand….”

Tears again were too close. Kelly sipped more liquid, then found herself wanting to tell Poppy more. “I was just a baby when Dad left. I didn’t even know him. How could I miss him?”

Poppy leaned back in her chair. She was quiet, but Kelly didn’t mind the silence. Her head was too full of her own thoughts.

She knew the story of her father’s restlessness, recounted endlessly by her elder sisters when they were kids. After each baby was born, he’d left their mother for a while, always to return about a year later.

Except the last time.

“What was wrong with me, Poppy? How come he didn’t come back for me, like he did for the others?”

“Oh, love. He missed so much, your dad.”

But what he’d missed had been by his choice. That was what was so hard for Kelly to accept. As a kid she’d made up stories to take that choice away. He’d been in an accident and suffered from amnesia…. He’d been arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed and didn’t want them to know he’d been sent to jail….

Of course, as an adult, and a cop, she could no longer delude herself. She knew the statistics on how many men walked away from their families, never to be heard from again. These things just had to be accepted.

“Poppy, I had a happy childhood. And even though we didn’t have a father and money was kind of tight, we were much better off than so many children I see in my line of work.”

Which brought her thoughts back to Billy and Amanda. And to their uncle, whose sad face had been haunting under the glow of the streetlight. His intentions were good, but what could he really do to help the situation?

What could any of them do? Kelly swallowed the last of her cocoa. She wished she could curl up here all night, warm and cozy in Poppy’s kitchen.

“Would you like to stay over, love?” Poppy asked, reading her mind yet again. “The rooms are full, but there’s the pullout couch in the study.”

“Thanks, Poppy, but I’d better get home.” When she woke in the night, as she always did, it was better not to have to worry about waking anyone else. Besides, once Poppy left the room, the magic of this place was gone.

“I guess it’s time I was leaving.”

“You didn’t eat your muffin. Shall I wrap a few for your breakfast?”

Kelly didn’t have the heart to say no.

SHARON WAS TOTALLY WASTED. At least a half-dozen empty bottles of beer were strewn on the floor. Mick could hear her snoring on the sofa as he stepped out of the children’s room. He was thankful they’d finally fallen asleep. Amanda had dropped off quickly, but poor Billy had been full of his usual questions.

Where was his dad, and how long would he be dead? The kid just couldn’t seem to grasp the concept of forever. Which was maybe a blessing.

Mick stepped over some scattered building blocks on his way to the bathroom. The sink was a mess. He cleaned it, then grabbed the laundry basket Sharon kept next to the tub. Full again.

This house didn’t come with a washer or drier, and Sharon wasn’t often capable of making it to the Laundromat, so he’d started doing the family’s laundry at home. If he left now, he’d get a load done before bed, but he hated to go with Sharon passed out like that.

What if there was a problem with one of the kids during the night? Sharon might not hear them.

He returned to the kitchen, where a box of sugarcoated cereal and two dirty glasses gave him a good idea of what the kids had eaten for dinner. He picked up one of the plastic tumblers and sniffed.

Cola.

Opening the fridge, he saw a carton of milk, unopened. The liter of cola, however, was almost all gone.

Well, he couldn’t blame the kids. If he were five, he supposed he’d make the same menu choices.

But what was Sharon eating? As far as he could tell, these days her diet was purely liquid.

Halfway through cleaning up the kitchen, Mick collapsed onto one of the chairs.

What the hell was he going to do?

From the living room came a protracted groan. Good, Sharon was waking. He put on a pot of coffee and popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.

“Oh, God…what time is it?” Sharon’s voice held a touch of panic.

He went to check on her. “Almost ten. How do you feel?”

Sharon could be a pretty girl when she made an effort, but booze and a general disregard for cleanliness did not bring out her best attributes. Mick felt like throwing her in the shower. Instead, he held out a hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

“Did the kids have dinner?” Sharon asked, sinking into a kitchen chair.

“Dry cereal and cola.”

“Good.”

Mick caught the ghostly flash of her sardonic smile.

“This isn’t working out, you know,” he said. He put a mug of black coffee in front of her. “Drink this. Then eat some toast.”

She pushed the plate away. “I can’t. Just the smell makes me nauseous.”

“Too bad. Your body needs food.” He slid the plate back to her, watching as with shaking hands she lifted the mug to her mouth.

“You must be getting sick of baby-sitting us, Mick.”

“I’ll do what I’ve got to do. But you have to start feeding those kids right, and getting them to bed at a decent hour.” He thought about Kelly Shannon’s comment about their pajamas. “And put them in their snowsuits when they go outside to play.”

“I know, I know.” Sharon closed her eyes and rubbed at her forehead.

“I’m serious. They’re going to get sick.”

“I’m trying, Mickey. I’m doing the best I can.”

He believed her. The best she could do was worthless, though, as long as she was drinking. “You need to get back on the program, Sharon. The way you did before Amanda was born.”

When he’d found out his brother and his wife were expecting their second child, he’d all but dragged them to that first meeting, worried about what Sharon’s drinking could do to her unborn child. It was still a miracle to him that Billy had turned out so normal.

His suggestion had Sharon crying now. “I can’t go, Mickey. I can’t stop drinking with Danny gone. It’s too soon. I’m not ready.”

“Sure it’s hard, but you’ve got to be strong. You’ve got to think of your kids.”

The tears came faster; Sharon’s sobs hiccuped, then intensified.

“I can’t do this. I’m so alone….”

He reached over to stroke her head. “I’m here, Sharon. I’ll help you.”

“I don’t see how you can.”

“I’ll take you to the meetings, help you with the kids.”

Sharon shook her head. “And what about the new one?”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant, Mickey. The new baby will be here in seven months.”

MICK DIDN’T DRINK. There was too much alcoholism in his family. His mother and his brother. Probably his father, too, although unlike his half brother, Danny, he’d never figured out exactly who that was.

So Mick did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep. Sat in his darkened living room and stared out the large picture window. A nearby streetlamp cast a dull yellow light on the road and the houses beyond, but it didn’t really matter, because Mick wasn’t paying any attention to the view. The problems of his brother’s family were too heavy in his mind.

What the hell was he going to do about Amanda and Billy? Kelly was right; the situation was poised for disaster. With his years of journalism, it was all too easy to imagine his family in the headlines again.

Two Children Killed In House Fire. Mother too drunk to call 911….

Children Hospitalized For Malnutrition. Mother currently under police investigation….

If only Danny hadn’t died. The family had finally been doing okay. Sharon hadn’t fallen off the wagon once since Amanda’s birth. Danny’s job with Max Strongman had lasted over a year—his longest period of steady employment ever.

Then Mick thought of the stash of illegal drugs the police had found in one of the barns when they’d searched the Thunder Bar M after Danny’s death, and knew he was fooling himself. Danny hadn’t been as rehabilitated as he’d hoped.

The red light on his answering machine caught his eye, but he just turned away. If it was work, they’d try his cell. As for his friends, well, he no longer had time for the mountain biking and cross-country skiing that had formerly occupied his non-working hours. He’d given up all his leisure activities to look after Danny’s kids.

And Kelly was right again. It wasn’t enough. Especially now that there was a third child on the way. To think of how much drinking Sharon had been doing these past two months made Mick sick. She’d promised she would shower in the morning and get ready for him to take her to the doctor. Later in the week, he’d try to convince her to go back to AA.

But that was all he could do for her. And in his heart he knew it wasn’t enough.

So what were his options?

Mick stretched out his legs and leaned his head back. The most obvious solution was one he could hardly bring himself to think about, let alone seriously consider.

He could marry Sharon and take responsibility for his brother’s family.

Every cell in his body, though, protested that route. That he didn’t love Sharon, had never even liked her, wasn’t the main problem. He didn’t see how he could partner up with a woman he couldn’t respect. His mother had been a drunk. He couldn’t, just couldn’t, marry another one. Especially one who put the bottle ahead of her children.

But if he didn’t marry Sharon, where did that leave him?

As Kelly had said—God, every point the woman had made had been bang on—he didn’t have the time to look after them himself. He supposed he could seek custody, then hire a nanny.

But those kids needed permanence—a family, a home. He loved them as if they were his own. Wanted them to have everything he and his brother had never had.

A mom and a dad. Regular bedtimes and mealtimes. Clean clothes, and a cake and a few gifts on their birthdays….

The more he thought about it, the more Mick came to realize that his first instincts had been right. Marriage was the solution. Just not to Sharon.

CHAPTER THREE

“HEY, KIDS! Here’s a new cereal you’ll really like. It’s got marshmallows and chocolate and…”

Billy Mizzoni’s stomach growled. He turned away from the cheerful TV commercial and looked at his sister on the couch beside him. “Hungry, Mandy?”

His sister nodded. She had her thumb in her mouth and was holding the flannel blanket that was supposed to be for her doll.

It was weird. His sister hadn’t sucked her thumb when she was a baby, but now she did. She’d also stopped talking, and had started peeing her pants at night.

He didn’t mind the stopped-talking part, but the accidents at night were getting to him, since they shared the same bed.

“Come on.” Billy led the way to the kitchen. It was all tidy again, like it usually was after Uncle Mick came to visit. He opened the bottom cupboard and surveyed boxes of cereal and crackers. Most he didn’t recognize. That made him suspicious. They might have vegetables or something in them. He reached for the golden box that had once been his favorite, the type they’d just seen advertised on TV.

Amanda made a face when he poured some into a bowl for her. Maybe she was getting sick of it, just like he was. But he didn’t know what else to give her.

In the old days, before his daddy went to heaven, his mom usually made them toast and gave them juice in the mornings. But she was still sleeping now. He kind of hoped she’d keep sleeping a long time. She’d been sick a lot since Daddy died.

Billy went to the fridge but couldn’t find the leftover pop from last night. A carton of milk had been pushed into its place, and it even had the spout opened.

Oh, well. He picked it up and poured some into each of their bowls. Mandy looked surprised. They usually ate their cereal dry.

“There isn’t any pop,” he explained.

She shrugged and picked up her spoon.

Billy gobbled down his cereal in a flash. Boy, he was really hungry. But the cereal didn’t taste as yummy as usual. He’d almost prefer toast and peanut butter, the way Mommy used to make it.

He supposed she’d make it again, once Daddy got back from this “forever” place that Uncle Mick kept talking about. Hopefully soon. Billy missed him, although he didn’t miss the lickings that were supposed to make him “grow up right.”

“Want to play outside?” he asked his sister.

Again, Mandy just nodded. No matter what he asked her, she always agreed.

“We could make a fort. It snowed again last night.” He thought that might get her excited, but she just moved her head up and down and waited calmly for him to lead the way.

At the side door, Billy saw boots and mittens propped right in his path. Next to them lay the snowsuits Uncle Mick had bought them a few weeks ago. They were complicated things with legs attached to the coat part. It was easier to put on lighter jackets and runners. It wasn’t that cold outside.

Unlatching the screen, he had to shield his eyes from the sun. Gosh, the snow was deep. They’d be able to make a great fort. He grabbed Mandy’s little hand and half dragged her to the front yard. Once there, he glanced automatically to the street. Would that lady be sitting in her car watching them again?

Sure enough, there she was. Just about every day since his dad had died, he’d seen her. Watching him and Mandy, as if she was an angel or something, sent by his dad. He’d seen a movie like that, once on TV.

He wondered if she had any magical powers. But so far he hadn’t seen signs of any.

ALMOST TWO WEEKS LATER, Mick had made important strides in finding himself a wife. He shut down his computer for the night and was grabbing his coat from the rack by the window, when the door to his office swung open. Expecting that Abby had decided to meet him here, rather than at the restaurant, he turned with a smile.

Which quickly disappeared when the mayor of Canmore, Max Strongman, entered the room. Tall and still handsome in his fifties, the mayor appeared to feel he had every right to be showing up well past office hours.

“Taking off, were you?” Max made it sound as though it were slothful for Mick to be leaving the office at seven in the evening. With all the assurance of someone used to calling the shots, he settled into the chair opposite Mick’s desk.

Reluctantly, Mick returned to his own seat. “I’ve got a date in ten minutes so I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He glanced at his watch and thought of the reservation he’d made at Sinclair’s, and Abby’s proclivity to be on time.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t a social call. I’m worried about those grandchildren of mine. Word is, their mother’s been doing a lot of drinking. Making a bit of a scene at the local bars.”

That Max Strongman had been Danny’s father was something Mick had only discovered after his brother’s death. Somehow he’d never drawn the connection to Billy and Amanda, but of course Strongman was right. He was their grandfather.

“I’m worried, too,” Mick confessed.

“Then, why don’t you do something about it? I can’t have my own grandkids turned into street urchins. Can you imagine how that would look to all my bleeding-heart voters?”

Mick had never liked Max Strongman, but in that instant, he hated him. The man didn’t care about Billy’s and Amanda’s welfare. He was concerned about his public image.

A public image that Mick, in his weekly editorial, did his best to challenge whenever the facts would allow—which wasn’t often, because Max was wily and smart and not prone to making mistakes.

For a time, Mick had wondered if he wasn’t wrong about the mayor. But then Rose Strongman had been murdered, and his suspicions were renewed.

He had a soft spot for Strongman’s deceased wife. Years ago, when she’d still been married to her first husband, she’d been at the elementary school as a volunteer helper and had noticed Mick languishing out in the school yard.

He could still remember how cool her palm had felt when she placed it to his forehead, and how sweet she’d smelled when she’d bent low to take his hand.

“You’re sick, aren’t you? What’s your name, son?”

He’d told her, and immediately seen by her reaction that she’d connected him to his mother. He was used to people pulling away when they realized who he really was.

But Rose McLean—as she was then—had asked the principal for permission to take him home. She put him in her own son’s bed, served him broth and gave him medicine. Never in his life had he received so much attention.

Then she’d phoned his mother and asked for permission to keep him overnight. She’d said he was good company for her own son, Dylan, although in truth the older boy had barely deigned to notice him. The next day, unfortunately, his fever had broken, and after lunch she’d driven him back to school. He’d had a bath and was wearing a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. His mother never asked him about the clothes, and he’d never forgotten Rose Strongman’s wonderful act of charity.

So watching the changes in her character during her long marriage to Strongman had torn at his gut. Several times over the years he’d gone to her, offering to help if she’d let him. Every time she’d pretended that she was ill, that Max was a caring husband, that he shouldn’t worry.

And then suddenly it was too late. She was dead, murdered in her own living room. After weeks of investigation—focused primarily on her son, Dylan—the evidence had begun to point to Max Strongman’s son, James. Before the police could question him, James disappeared following a one-way flight to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Not only was Mick convinced that Max was behind his son’s disappearance, he also suspected he may have had a hand in the crime itself.

Of course, he dared not print a word of his suspicions in the paper without evidence. Evidence that probably didn’t exist.

Now Mick glared at the man in front of him, and wished he had the nerve to tell him to go to hell. But Max’s biological ties to the children made him nervous. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do?”

Strongman seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Mick’s hostility. He smiled, satisfied and confident, as he leaned back in his chair. “I expect you to take custody of those kids and see to it they’re raised right.”

“What about their mother?”

“She’s trash. Forget about her.”

Mick doubted it would be that easy for Billy and Amanda. “The situation’s a bit more complicated, don’t you think?”

“Tell you what.” Strongman leaned over his legs, shortening the distance between their faces. “Either you take control of those kids or I will.”

Mick went silent in his shock. Was Strongman serious? Would he apply to the courts for custody of his grandchildren? One thing Mick knew for sure—he couldn’t stand to see Billy and Amanda raised by this man.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“Good.” Strongman got to his feet and dusted off his pants as if he’d been sitting in something soiled. “I expect you to live up to that, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE DESSERT, ABBY?”

Mick glanced at his watch as he took a sip of water. Nine-thirty. He hoped the kids were in bed and that Sharon was sticking to her promise not to drink. He’d taken her to an AA meeting yesterday, after her doctor’s appointment, but she’d attended reluctantly and that wasn’t a good sign.

“I’m not sure.” His date surveyed the choices on the menu. “Are you in a hurry?” Her gaze shifted to his watch, and he realized she’d noticed him checking the time.

“No. Absolutely not. I was thinking I might like the mixed berry crisp.”

Abby smiled. “Sounds good.”

Mick held in a sigh and signaled the waiter. “Two crisps, please. And a coffee for me.”

“And you, miss?” the waiter asked. “More wine, perhaps?”

“Oh, no. I’ll have coffee, too. Only make mine decaf.”

Mentally, Mick ticked off a point in her favor. This was their fifth date and so far he hadn’t seen her drink more than one glass of wine in an evening.

Really, on all counts she was perfect. He credited his screening process for that. He’d asked her out because she was a kindergarten teacher. That had to mean she liked small kids, he’d figured. And sure enough, every time she discussed her work, her face took on a warm glow. He’d noticed she also had a soft spot for animals. They couldn’t pass a dog on the street without her stopping.

As far as Mick was concerned, he was ready to propose right this minute. The visit from Max Strongman had increased the pressure on his need to marry—and quickly. If it came to a custody showdown between him and Strongman, surely the fact that he had a wife and could offer a two-parent home would stand in his favor.

But although he sensed Abby liked him a lot, he did think she’d consider that moving a bit too quickly.

“Are you worried about something, Mick?”

Her hand felt warm and gentle on his arm, reminding him of the one minor problem with this courtship. He wasn’t really attracted to her, had never felt the urge to go beyond their tender but brief good-night kisses.

That would change with time, he was sure. Abby was cute and blond, with generous curves in all the right places.

“A little, I guess.” He smiled and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry I’m not being very good company.”

He watched as rosy color filled her cheeks. “That’s okay. I just hope I haven’t been boring you with my stories.”

“Not at all,” he said, meaning it. More than anything, he enjoyed her vignettes about the children in her class. It was so obvious how much she cared for all of them.

“It’s just that some of my past boyfriends haven’t been that interested. But I guess you must like kids.”

“I do.” Two in particular.

Abby must have read his mind. “How old are your niece and nephew?”

“Amanda’s the baby. She’s only three. Billy just turned five.”

“Does he go to kindergarten?”

Mick frowned. “Not that I know of.”

Abby shook her head. “He should have registered this fall. I suppose his father’s death…”

Mick wondered if that was why Sharon hadn’t enrolled him. But Danny had died mid-September, several weeks into the school year.

“I’ll look into it, Abby. Is it too late for him to start this year?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good.” As coffee and dessert were delivered, Mick took stock of the evening. It might be too early to ask Abby to be his wife, but maybe the time was right for her to meet the kids.

“How would you feel about going out for pizza on Friday?” he asked.

“Really?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah. I thought I might bring Billy and Amanda along. Give Sharon a bit of a break.”

“Well, that’s a nice idea, but, Mick, I’m not really sure if we should continue to see each other.”

Whoa! Mick froze. Had he been reading the signals wrong, then? He’d been so sure she was interested in him. “Don’t like pizza?” he said, trying to sound lighthearted.

Abby’s smile appeared sad. “Don’t get me wrong, Mick. I’ve enjoyed going out with you. But the feeling isn’t mutual, is it?”

“I like you, Abby. Very much, in fact.”

“You don’t kiss me as if you like me,” she said frankly. “And you don’t… Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“I realize I’m kind of reserved. People are always telling me that.”

Her eyes brightened a little.

“Give us a bit more time, Abby. To get comfortable with each other.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Absolutely.” He squeezed her hand and hoped that every warm feeling he had for her was reflected in his eyes.

The color in her face grew deeper. “Mick, if you had any idea…” Her voice trailed away, then she sighed. “Why don’t you call me Thursday. We should both spend a few days thinking about where we’re heading.”

Straight to a justice of the peace. Of course, he couldn’t say that. “Okay, Abby. If that’s the way you want it.”

She just sighed again, and he wondered what the hell had happened. They’d been off to such a promising start.

Maybe someone had filled her in on the Mizzoni family history, and that was where her doubts were springing from. Abby hadn’t lived in Canmore all her life as he had. She’d moved here after graduation from the University of Calgary.

Perhaps she’d told one of her colleagues who she was dating, and they’d relayed the story about his mother, her drinking and her “boyfriends,” then the trouble he and Danny had both courted in their youth. He’d straightened out in his teens, thanks to a wonderful man who’d volunteered for the Boy Scouts. Harvey Tomchuk had helped Mick see possibilities for a way of life Mick had always felt was out of reach.

An accountant in his day job, Harvey had soon discovered Mick’s love of writing and convinced him to pursue a career in journalism. Now Mick was editor of the Canmore Leader, he owned a nice home, and he was, by most accounts, a respectable citizen.

But maybe Abby had heard some of the old stories and been turned off.

She didn’t look turned off, though. Especially now as she caressed his wrist with her thumb. A gesture that was undoubtedly meant to be slightly erotic, but that he, instead, found slightly annoying.

“Mick?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What would you like to do now?”

Her voice invited him to think of activities in the bedroom. No way could he confess that what he really wanted was to drop her at home, then go to the house off Bow Valley Trail and check on the kids. He’d already come perilously close to blowing his chances with Abby.

“It’s snowing outside. How about we take a walk, down to the river,” he suggested.

“Oh, that sounds so romantic!”

Reprieve.

Mick signed the check for their meal with relief. Evidently, he’d finally said the right thing. Maybe this was going to work after all.

IT WAS ELEVEN by the time Mick made it to the little bungalow. Lights were still on, and he could hear loud music. What concerned him more was the string of vehicles parked on the street—including one newly familiar four-by-four truck.

Kelly Shannon spotted him before he reached the door to pound on her window again. She drew her long body out of the car—God, but she was thin. Her face appeared white and gaunt in the overhead glare from a streetlight.

For a long moment they stared at each other. His anger, justifiable though it was, sort of fizzled as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes and the grim, unhappy set of her mouth.

“What the hell is going on in there?” He turned toward the house. Through the front window, he could see almost a dozen people milling about in the small living room. The pounding of the bass from an overworked sound system marred the peaceful beauty of the winter night.

“The neighbors complained,” Kelly said, “and the police were here about ten minutes ago. The party is finally breaking up.”

As she spoke, the volume of the music dropped. A group of six appeared at the side door.

“’Night!” Sharon, barely able to stand, hung on to the iron railing on the landing as she saw her visitors out.

“Hey, baby.”

“Keep in touch.”

“My house next time.”

A couple more guests spilled from the door. Few appeared as sloshed as Sharon did, which was fortunate, since they were getting into cars now. Mick watched, fighting rage.

How could she do this? It was as if she didn’t care about the baby growing inside her. Or the two still-almost-babies who lived in that house with her.

He sensed Kelly slipping back into the shadow of a tree trunk. That was good. If Sharon saw her, she’d throw a fit. In her condition, the prospect was scary.

As the last car drove away, Sharon began to withdraw into the house. Mick took a few steps forward, catching her attention. Sharon held a hand to her forehead and scrunched up her eyes.

“Mick? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are the kids?”

“In bed. Sleeping.”

With all that racket? He doubted it. “Let me see them.”

Sharon shook her head. “Come back tomorrow. The party’s over.”

“I’m not interested in any bloody party. It’s the kids I care about. Did you feed them any dinner, Sharon? Are they wearing clean pajamas?”

“Of course.” Sharon spoke slowly, enunciating with the precision of someone who couldn’t be sure just what would come out of her mouth.

“Let me see.” He started for the door again, but she backed up, shaking her head.

“Tomorrow. My head hurts.”

Of course your head hurts, you moron. He felt like shaking her. How much had she drunk tonight? He loped up the sidewalk, but by the time he reached the landing, Sharon had shut the door against him. The sound of the dead bolt closing was conspicuous in the now-quiet night.

Mick cursed and slammed his hand on the railing.

From behind him, he heard a rustling. Before he had time to turn, Kelly was speaking. “We’ve got to do something, Mick.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” Her tone was placating. “But you haven’t been over much lately.”

Of course he hadn’t. Because he was too damn busy courting the woman he wanted to take care of Amanda and Billy. The mother figure that Sharon appeared neither willing to be nor capable of being.

“I’m not blaming you, Mick.”

“I would say not. If anyone was to be blamed…”

“I know—I know.”

Kelly’s quick acceptance of her culpability sapped the satisfaction out of lashing at her.

“If only Sharon could get a grip on herself. I took her to see a doctor and to an AA meeting.” But she’d only gone because he’d made a fuss. He realized that she wouldn’t make any progress in controlling her drinking unless it was something she wanted to do.

“To the doctor?”

“Sharon’s pregnant.”

Kelly gave a small gasp.

“Exactly.” He dug his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Just the complication Sharon needs right now, especially with—Kelly?”

The tall brunette put her hand to her mouth. Then she rushed to a hedge across the street. At the unmistakable sound of retching, Mick realized that Sharon’s unborn baby added yet another layer to the former cop’s guilt. He supposed he ought to have been more tactful.

He waited a minute, shuffling snow around with his feet. In his pocket, he had a paper napkin left over from lunch at the Bagel Bites Café. When Kelly was standing again, he went to her and offered it.

“Thanks.” She turned away from him as she cleaned herself up.

“Don’t take it so hard,” he said, quelling an impulse to put a hand to her shoulder. “I’ve got a plan. I’m hoping to get married soon. Then I’m going to offer to take Sharon’s children for a while, to give her a chance to settle down.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s eyes were huge in her pale face. “Who are you marrying?”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet. But I’m hoping it’ll be Abby Stevens.”

“The kindergarten teacher?”

“Yeah. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Oh,” she said again.

Somehow they both started walking along the road. The snow had stopped, but enough had fallen to turn the narrow street into a sparkling wonderland. Their boots crunched in the fresh drifts, and clouds of ice crystals formed with each exhaled breath.

“I know Abby,” Kelly said at last. “She invites me to her class every fall to speak to the kids about Halloween safety.” After a pause, she added, “She’s cute.”

“Yeah.” He was beginning to think Abby was too cute, and that that was the problem. After their walk, he’d taken Abby home. At the door, he suspected, she had hoped for more than one short kiss good-night. But again, he’d felt no urge to carry things further.

“She’ll be great with the kids,” he said.

Kelly stopped walking, so he did, too. “You’re in love with her, right?”

He bristled. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

She took hold of his arm and forced him to face her. Those eyes of hers were so probing. And no wonder. She was a cop, after all.

“You’re just marrying her because of the kids.”

“Not real—” The denial jammed in his throat. That was the truth, so why not admit it? “Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Raising kids. What does it matter if they aren’t ours?”

“Of course it doesn’t matter, Mick. But marriage is about more than kids.”

“Not in my book. Too many of the stories I cover for the paper are about tragedies that happen because parents don’t put their children’s interests first.” Messy divorces, youngsters raised in poverty, family violence. God, he’d seen so many messed-up families. Not the least, his own brother’s.

“Does Abby know how you feel about marriage? About her? She’s always struck me as the romantic type.”

Mick freed the air trapped in his lungs. He didn’t like the direction of Kelly’s conversation. He had to marry Abby. If he didn’t, he’d lose precious weeks of courting time; he didn’t want to start from scratch with another woman.

“Why don’t you hire a nanny instead of getting married?”

He’d thought about that option a lot. It had much to recommend it, but most of the benefits were to him, not the kids. “After all Billy and Mandy have been through, a nanny just isn’t good enough.”

“I see.”

“Don’t give me that look. If Abby agrees to marry me, I intend to be a good husband.”

“I’m sure that you do.”

Abruptly, Mick started back toward his vehicle. Kelly stuck right beside him, her long stride easily matching his purposeful pace. At the door to his truck he paused to fish out his keys. The next thing he knew, Kelly had her hand over the lock.

“What are you doing?”

“Mick, I don’t think you should marry Abby.”

He swore for the second time that night. “And what about Billy and Amanda?” he asked. “I suppose you have a better idea how I can look after them?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, her voice oddly calm.

“You can marry me.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.” Mick concentrated on Kelly’s determined expression. She didn’t appear to be pulling his leg. Her suggestion that they marry was genuine.

A gust of wind flattened his hair and brought tears to his eyes. It was so cold out here, Kelly’s lips had gone blue.

“Let’s go to my place and talk,” he suggested.

Kelly nodded. She hadn’t spoken since telling him he should marry her. Perhaps she’d gone into shock. He opened his passenger door again and motioned her inside.

The drive to his house took less than five minutes—insufficient time for warm air to start blowing from the vehicle’s heating system or even for the electric seat warmers to have much effect. He figured Kelly was even more frozen than he was by the time he had her sitting near the stoked-up fireplace in his living room. He left her holding her hands to the heat, while he put on coffee.

Coming back into the room, Mick took fresh stock of the woman. Tall and lean, she’d always given him the impression of athletic strength. Her brown hair was thick and shoulder length—he realized he was used to seeing it up in the bun she always wore when she was in uniform.

Up until the past two months, most of their encounters had occurred when they were both at work. When he needed information about RCMP activities, he’d always preferred asking Kelly. She had a quick, logical mind and a reserved nature that he felt comfortable with. He appreciated her sense of humor, too, which was subtle and slightly self-deprecating. Truthfully, he’d enjoyed her company so much, he’d been tempted to ask her out.

But given his past history in this town, he’d thought it safer to continue to date women outside the sphere of Canmore.

“Coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Are you getting warmer?”

“The feeling’s back in my fingers,” she said, still facing the fire. Her profile captivated him. He moved closer, to a chair just a few feet from where she was standing. From here, he could feel the heat from the fireplace, as well as continue to observe her.

“I understand that you must feel terrible about my brother.” And he did. His journalistic training was too ingrained for him not to see both sides of the story. Despite his anger and grief at Danny’s death, he knew that Kelly had only acted in accordance with RCMP procedure.

She’d shown up at the Thunder Bar M ranch in pursuit of her sister Cathleen and Dylan McLean. The intrepid couple, believing Danny had been involved in the murder of Dylan’s mother, Rose, were determined to speak with him.

Ironically, it was Kelly’s arrival on the scene that had panicked Danny—probably because of the stash of drugs he had hidden on the premises. Mick had read all the reports. He knew his brother had pulled a gun from his jacket and aimed it right at Cathleen.

He also knew that, by all accounts, Kelly had tried to defuse Danny’s fear, speaking to him calmly and gently. But Danny had been too worked up. He’d cocked the trigger of his handgun, and that was it. Kelly had aimed, fired—

And Danny was dead.

Later, they’d discovered he’d played no part in Rose Strongman’s death. And while the quantity of drugs he’d been storing would have seen him doing serious jail time, his life had been a high price to pay.

Still, Mick couldn’t blame Kelly for his brother’s foolish mistakes.

“Don’t think it’s guilt that’s behind my suggestion,” Kelly said now.

“What else could it be?” Mick wondered if she knew how much she’d changed since the shooting. Become thinner, quieter, more serious.

“Well, that’s part of it,” she admitted. “But it’s way more complicated.”

“I guess I can appreciate that.”

“Mick, I genuinely care about those children. I would do anything to help them. Anything.” She sat on the ottoman by his chair, leaning over her knees, entreating.

Something in him wanted to give her whatever she asked for. And, face it, she was offering him a solution to his own dilemma. But this was too important to decide impetuously.

“How will you feel in a year, or two, or ten? Kelly, I’m not interested in a temporary fix here.”

“I understand that. I do.”

In the small, bookshelf-lined room her words echoed like a marriage vow.

“Mick, you have to understand. I can’t imagine what I’m going to do with my life if you say no. You know I’m suspended from police work. Once the attorney general’s investigation into Danny’s death is completed, I’ll still have to wait out our own internal inquiry and the provincial fatality inquiry.”

Mick was familiar with the process. Because of objectivity issues, he hadn’t been covering the story in the Leader, but his number-one reporter was doing a thorough job. “How long will it take?”

“At best six months, assuming the attorney general doesn’t lay criminal charges.” Kelly ran her hands back over her head, pulling her hair tight from her face. “The thing is, even after all this is over, I can’t imagine returning to police work.”

Her eyes flooded and she bowed her head. Mick didn’t know what to say. Kelly’s pride in being a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police had always been evident. He could imagine his feelings if he had to abandon his journalism career.

“Maybe in time you’ll feel differently.”

She turned away from him. “You don’t know how often I’ve heard those words—in time. Never from someone who’s gone through what I have, who’s done what I did. I killed a man. How could I go back to a job that required me to carry a gun?”

He didn’t know. He also sensed this was hardly the time to suggest an administrative position of some kind. Kelly pleaded a strong case. But unwittingly she’d raised a major obstacle to her plan.

“Okay, Kelly. Say you leave the force forever when this is finally finished. How will Billy and Amanda feel about being raised by the woman who shot their father?”

Never mind his position. Marrying the police officer who’d killed his brother. God, he was crazy even to consider the idea.

“They’re so young, Mick. Would they even understand what happened?”

How long is forever? “Not really,” he admitted.

“Besides, we can’t afford to worry about those problems right now. I’m concerned their physical safety is at risk.”

And so was he. Sharon had probably passed out by now. He should’ve insisted on seeing the children, bundling them over to his house for the night. Friday he would. He’d take the afternoon off work, and tell Sharon she needed a break and he was looking after the kids for the weekend.

“Let me meet them, see how they react to being around me. Give me a chance, Mick.”

She wanted this so badly. And he couldn’t take care of the children on his own. Could it be that this was the solution?

“Let’s do it Friday,” he said, thinking of the phone call he’d have to make to Abby. You were right, he’d tell her. I haven’t been fair to you.

So was he being fair to Kelly? He didn’t know. But at least he was being honest—they both were—about the reasons for contemplating a union.

“Do you like pizza?” he asked.

“I love pizza. And Friday is perfect.”

“MICK MIZZONI is so gorgeous…”

The group of them were gathered in the study of the bed and breakfast. Dylan sat at the desk, recording deposits, while Cathleen, Poppy and Kelly ate popcorn around the glowing fireplace.

“He looks just like a brooding Lord Byron, wouldn’t you say, honey?” Cathleen slouched in a large leather chair, her booted feet propped on the low table in front of her.

Kelly leaned against the fireplace wall, regretting that she’d raised the subject.

“Lord who?” Dylan sounded irritable. Cathleen had forgotten to record some check stubs and he was having a devil of a time reconciling the account book with the bank statement.

“Lord Absolutely Delicious, that’s who.” Cathleen wasn’t concerned by her new husband’s foul mood. “Never mind him,” she said to Kelly. “I was in the same grade as Mick, so I should know. All us girls were crazy about the guy, but he never asked any one of us out. We wondered if…well, you know, if…” She shrugged and glanced at Poppy.

The elderly woman didn’t even blink. “If he was gay, you mean?”

“Yes. That’s it, exactly. I’ve heard he spends lots of time in Calgary. Maybe he’s living a double life. Respected journalist by day in Canmore, but wild drag queen by night in—”

“Knock it off, Cath!” Kelly said. Dylan had stuck his head up from the books long enough to laugh, but she was not amused. “Mick dates women, and yes, most of them have been from Calgary. So what?”

“I did hear that lately Mick has been dating Abby Stevens, the kindergarten teacher,” Cathleen admitted.

Not for much longer. Kelly hoped Abby wouldn’t be too disappointed when that new romance fell flat after only a couple of weeks. She felt a little bad for diverting Mick’s interest, but in the long run she was certain it would be to Abby’s benefit. Abby deserved to be married to someone who loved her, not just her child-raising skills.

And what about you, Kelly? Don’t you want to marry for love one day? The irritating voice that had nagged her since her conversation with Mick last night just wouldn’t shut up.

Yes, Kelly acknowledged to herself. Love and marriage were what she had once wanted for herself, too. But shooting Danny Mizzoni had changed everything. Especially now that she knew Sharon was pregnant.

One more life irrevocably affected by the events of that day. That baby would never have the opportunity to know his natural father.

How could Kelly expect the kind of normal happiness that her actions had denied to others?

“Why did you bring up Mick, anyway?” Cathleen wondered.

“Well, it’s just that we’re going out for pizza tomorrow night….”

“A date?”

Kelly saw the startled glance that Cathleen and Poppy exchanged. After the first ripple of surprise, Cathleen appeared pleased, while Poppy only seemed puzzled.

No. It wasn’t a date. More like a job interview. But she couldn’t tell her family that. “Sort of.”

“Oh, Kelly, that’s great. Just the thing to stop you from moping. Only…” Now Cathleen and Dylan checked in visually with each other. “He doesn’t blame you for his brother’s death, does he?”

“Cath, your ability to reduce situations to their simplest denominator always astounds me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. That was kind of rude.”

“But still an issue you’ll need to face if you plan to see much of the man.” Dylan turned off the desk lamp and came to Kelly’s side. “All any of us want is to see you happy. Especially me. What you’ve been going through…it’s all my fault. I know she’d fight me tooth and nail about this, but I shouldn’t have taken Cathleen out to the ranch with me that day.”

Neither of them should have gone to the ranch. But Kelly had given up arguing that point. She didn’t blame Dylan or Cathleen for what had happened. No one could have predicted Danny’s bizarre reaction.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, shaking her head as her new brother-in-law offered her a refill of her drink. “But you don’t need to fuss over me. I’m just going out for pizza with Mick.” Along with his nephew and niece.

She didn’t mention that last part, though. If she was going to marry Mick, she had to get her family used to the idea gradually.

Not that they wouldn’t see right through her. But she was going to do her best to pretend this was a real courtship and a real marriage. She’d thought long and hard about what Mick had said the other night. He didn’t want a temporary solution, and she agreed. Billy and Amanda deserved better. When it came to family, they deserved the real thing.

Or at least a reasonable facsimile.

SELLING SHARON on letting him have the kids for the weekend hadn’t been tough. She’d even permitted him to give her another lecture as part of the bargain.

“Fetal alcohol syndrome isn’t the bogeyman, Sharon. This is real, serious trouble we’re talking about. That baby—” he’d glanced at her still slender stomach “—could be handicapped for life with learning disabilities and behavioral problems.”

“I already promised I wouldn’t do any more drinking.” She’d been in her housecoat, her hair a mess. Sharon was only in her mid-twenties, about five years younger than him. But she looked about ten years older. Life had been hard on her, but she’d been hard on herself, too.

“Go visit your sister in Banff,” he suggested. “A change of scene might do you good.” If she stayed here in this house, dwelling on her loneliness, he didn’t see how she’d avoid the bottle.

Sharon looked around, as if only just becoming aware of what a disaster her home was. “I should really clean up this mess.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he promised. Perhaps his cleaning lady would do the extra job—if he paid double. “You need to have some fun. Here, let me give you money to buy gas and to take Carrie out for a nice dinner.”

He handed over a hundred-dollar bill, praying he wasn’t financing another terrible drinking binge.

“A nice dinner…” Sharon sounded as confused as if he’d spoken in a foreign language.

“Sure. Get all dressed up and go to the Banff Springs Hotel for the evening. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Mick bundled the kids in their snowsuits, boots and mittens. “Say goodbye to your mom, kids. We’re having a sleepover at my place.”

He had a hamper of dirty clothes to take with him, plus Amanda’s favorite stuffed animal, some kind of turtle, and her blankie. When he’d asked Billy if he wanted to bring anything special along, Billy just shook his head.

That had been several hours ago. Since then, he’d taken the kids for a play in the park, then brought them home to settle in before Kelly arrived at six for pizza. He got out the box of toys he kept handy for their visits, then zipped down to the basement to put in a load of laundry.

He’d left them alone for two minutes, maximum three. When he got back, they were still standing in exactly the same spot. Billy gazed longingly at the television in the corner.

“Can we watch cartoons?”

“Maybe later.” Although he’d purchased a few Disney movies, he suspected they both put in too many hours in front of the television at home. “Want to make a puzzle? Or build something with these blocks?”

“Sure.” Billy plopped onto the floor, his brown eyes serious.

“Which one?”

Billy shrugged.

“Okay, then. Let’s do the puzzle. Want to help, Mandy?”

She, too, sat as obediently as a well-trained lapdog. Remembering what a chatterbox she’d been just months earlier, at her third birthday party, Mick felt like weeping.

The three of them put the puzzle together in silence. Mick couldn’t think of anything to talk about with these small, hurting children. He wondered if they were missing their mother, but he was afraid to ask in case the answer was yes. He didn’t want to return them to Sharon. If she’d taken his advice and gone to Banff, that wouldn’t be an option, anyway.

By six o’clock he felt desperate. Billy and Amanda were like two well-behaved robots. He wished he could figure out what they really wanted, what they were thinking. But they seemed content to do whatever he suggested. When they finished the puzzle or the game, they just looked at him, waiting for his next suggestion.

The doorbell chiming at five minutes after six was a desperately welcome interruption. He opened the door to Kelly, who wore jeans, and a pale yellow sweatshirt under her jacket. Her hair was tied back from her face, and she carried several shopping bags.

He hung up her coat, then motioned to the living room. The kids were still sitting on the floor around a simple board game they’d been playing.

“Billy, Amanda? This is my friend Kelly. Remember, I said she’d be joining us for pizza?”

Mick could tell Kelly was nervous. She was smiling, but she’d dropped the bags and was gripping her hands behind her back.

“Hi, Billy. Hi, Amanda. Are you playing Trouble? I used to play that game with my niece.”

Billy nodded, then stood. Like a shadow, Amanda followed him, taking a few steps closer to Kelly.

“I know you,” Billy said suddenly.

Mick felt his heart leap against his rib cage. Sharon hadn’t been clear on how much of that scene at the Thunder Bar M the kids had seen. So no one knew if Billy or his sister had witnessed Kelly shooting their father.

“Do you, Billy?” he asked, striving to sound nonchalant. He should have been smarter than to expose them to this, to take the chance of upsetting them. As if they hadn’t been through enough—

“You’re the lady in the car,” Billy said. “Who sits and watches.”

Kelly had been visibly expecting a verbal blow. This seemed to surprise her. “That’s right.”

“Did my daddy send you? To look out for us?”

“Oh, Billy…” Kelly angled her face toward the door, putting a hand up to veil her expression.

Mick felt bad for her. But at the moment, his nephew was his prime concern. He dropped to one knee and put his hand on the small boy’s back.

“That’s an interesting thought, Billy. Who knows.” He glanced up at Kelly, who was rubbing away a tear with the sleeve of her yellow sweatshirt. “Maybe he did.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE TOPIC WAS DROPPED when the pizza delivery-man arrived. Perfect timing, thought Mick, for taking the pressure off the kids and Kelly.

“Where do you want to eat?” Kelly asked, as he pulled a twenty and a five from his wallet.

“In the kitchen. There’s no dining room in this house. I’ve confiscated it for my office.”

“How about I set out plates and cutlery.”

They couldn’t really need forks and knives for pizza, but Mick told her to go ahead. The kids stayed with him, their eyes on the fragrant cardboard box. Neither said a word, but they sure looked hungry. Maybe he should have offered them an afternoon snack.

“Okay, then,” Mick said once the door was closed. “Let’s go dig in.”

“Should we wash our hands first?” Kelly stood in the hall off the kitchen.

“Yeah. Right.” He veered toward the bathroom, and the children followed. A quick soap-up and rinse, and they were finally ready to settle around the kitchen table.

Mick pulled back the cardboard lid on the extra-large pizza. “We’ve got half pepperoni and cheese, half vegetarian. What kind would you like, Mandy?”

The little three-year-old said nothing—only sniffed. She had a cold or something; her nose had been running all day. Mick used a tissue to wipe her face, then shifted his gaze to Billy.

“She’ll have pepperoni and cheese,” Billy said. “Me, too.” He turned to Kelly. “Mandy doesn’t talk since our daddy went to forever.”

“Oh.” Kelly contemplated the little girl for a moment, then checked back with her brother. “So, how are we supposed to know what she wants?”

“Just ask me. I always know. I’m her big brother.”

“She’s lucky to have you, isn’t she.” Kelly picked up a plate, handed it to Mick for pizza, then placed it in front of Amanda. “Is this what you want Amanda?”

The little girl didn’t so much as nod. But she did give a tiny smile before biting off the very tip of her slice. Beside her, Billy wiggled with impatience.

“Yours is coming, Billy,” Mick said. He noticed Kelly had set out glasses of milk and a bowl of those tiny, scrubbed carrots he’d bought when he’d stocked up for the kids’ visit. He watched as she offered the bowl.

“Want a carrot?”

Once Billy took one, Amanda did, too.

“I don’t really like vegetables,” Billy said, sniffing suspiciously.

“You might like carrots,” Kelly replied. “They make a great snapping noise when you bite into them. Listen.”

She bit. The carrot snapped. Amanda giggled.

“It’s a little tricky to make that loud of a sound,” Kelly said. “Give it a try and see if you can do it.”

Mick was interested to find that both kids rose to the challenge.

“How ’bout you, Uncle Mick?” Billy asked. He was already on his third carrot.

“Oh, I’m sure I can make the loudest snap of all.” Mick ground his teeth against the carrot in a sawing motion that was barely audible. Pretending to be disgusted, he took another carrot from the bowl and tried again with the same result. “This is harder than I thought—”

Crunch! The sound came from Amanda. She held up the remains of her carrot in triumph, as though to say, “Like this, Uncle Mick!”

If only the words would actually come out of her mouth. Mick had been wondering if his niece should see some kind of counselor. This not talking had been going on too long. Maybe he’d ask Kelly her opinion later. She seemed a natural with kids, but then, she’d mentioned she had a niece of her own.

That would be Maureen’s daughter, he realized. Of the three Shannon sisters, she was the one he knew the least. Not that he knew any of them all that well.

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