Kit envied the ease with which she’d lifted the burden from the boy’s shoulders.
“Can I see Max?” Billy asked.
“Sure.” Holly waved toward the next room. “Last time I looked, he was curled up like Rocky from The Magnificats in the corner of the couch. Take Bella with you.”
The children scrambled out of the room, Bella on their heels.
“Did Mona ask you to tell Billy it wasn’t his fault?” Kit asked.
Her more-pink-than-green fringe lifted with the breath she expelled. “Not yet.”
“Thank you.” Simple kindness was Kit’s lodestar. The unexpectedness of it hit with a sucker-punch every time. He’d arrived wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with Holly, but clear he’d set ground rules for how she acted around the kids. On the drive over, he’d even run through half a dozen points starting with Keep away. She’d blown his assumptions out of the water for the second time today.
“You weren’t there,” Holly said coolly. “You didn’t close the site Monday night.”
“I was consulting on a job,” he replied. She was about to accuse him of negligence.
“That’s why you hired a gardening teacher.” She took another sip of tea, pulled a face, then crossed to dump the remainder in the sink. “Yuck! Remind me to get some coffee. Mona explained the setup before the project started. You need to keep your own business running.”
“It’s my responsibility to ensure the gardening side of things are safe.” That was Kit’s bottom line. Although Mona had pushed him to drop in on Tim’s foster parents after his business meeting. He had no definitive answers, but the niggle remained. Something was troubling Tim, and climbing the tree seemed to be part of the boy’s new pattern of passive aggression.
“Accident! Don’t make me explain it a second time. You’re a big boy. Work it out for yourself. What idiot told Billy Mona fell over the mattock?”
“I can’t be sure.” Although he’d given Rachel a basic outline.
She sat down and snagged a biscuit. “Tell me about the kids.”
“Didn’t Mona?”
“I know they’re all children where one parent, usually the father, attacked or killed the mother.” She sounded as unmoved as a court official reading out a charge sheet.
Did she have the faintest idea what violent death involved? Before he’d escaped his bad-boy reputation, he’d seen a knife slicing into the soft flesh of a gang member. Seen it sliding along a bone, easy as filleting a fish. Watched blood spurting like a geezer and listened to screams die to a whimper. An obscene death. Bile scorched the back of his throat at her bohemian complacency.
“They are,” he said. “Sometimes they were present, other times not.” Kit remembered afternoons when he’d dragged his feet on the way home from school, afraid of what he’d find, and other days where he’d sped home, driven by an urgency he couldn’t explain to do something—anything. Some kids never got the chance to be free spirits. “Billy and Sophie were in the house. They had a secret place, in case their father broke the restraining order. In case help didn’t arrive in time. Their mother told them to hide when her ex-husband arrived.”
She nodded. “Billy gets his bravery from her. Strong protective instincts.”
Kit hadn’t anticipated perception from the vagabond. “Billy blocked Sophie’s ears as best he could. Waited until he was sure his father was gone. Then went downstairs. It wasn’t pretty. Billy let the cops in.”
“She died without revealing they were in the house.” Holly’s fists clenched, her voice stretched tight with suppressed rage. “They know that, and have to live with it every day of their lives. Does Sophie talk much?”
“She’s pretty withdrawn,” he admitted.
Holly had noticed, and her anger eased Kit’s. She kept shooting holes in his assumptions about her. Not an airhead. Not completely irresponsible. Not insensitive. And her low-pitched voice had a rhythm that soothed—the kids and him.
“Billy’s angry most of the time,” he acknowledged.
“Poor baby. He’s carrying a big burden.”
“I think he’d die for her.” Kit would have given his life for his mother. If he’d had a sister, he hoped he’d have acted like Billy.
“He did the ordinary equivalent today.” She put her uneaten biscuit back on the plate.
“What do you mean?”
“I think Sophie made the mud bath, might even have lured Bella into it. But Billy took the rap.”
“Then he still feels responsible for anything that goes wrong around him.” Kit had thought they were making progress in the last two months, although Barbara Bee was their psych expert.
“His mother dead. Mona hurt. He was unable to help either of them. Everything probably got mixed up over the last few days. But he’s one of the good guys, Mr. Silverton, so keep up the fine work on the project.” Her simple summation was another gut punch.
“What about you?”
“I promised Mona I’d stay until she comes out of hospital.”
“What do you plan to do?”
She shrugged. “A bit of this, a bit of that.”
“You’ll visit Mona.” He cursed himself for the peremptory tone and pictured her closing the door in his face last night. She’d wrong-footed him again. “Sorry, that was out of line.”
She cocked her head to one side, considering him and his ham-fisted apology. The sweetness of her scent tantalised. “It’s on the list.” Another buzzer sounded. “That’s the half-way point on the dryer. I’ll keep them in here until their clothes are dry. Then send them back outside if you’ll call the Rottweiler off.”
“Rachel takes her responsibilities seriously. To keep them safe and provide them with gardening skills,” he replied. Although his gardening teacher seemed to be developing a problem with Billy.
“Mm. What are her quals?”
“She’s a horticulture teacher and has done a few semesters in juvenile detention centres,” he said. Her father was an army general, a potential negative, but her references had been rock-solid and, with Mona always onsite, over-discipline hadn’t been an issue. Until today.
“This isn’t a detention centre.” Holly threw the words over her shoulder as she disappeared into the next room.
Mona’s kitchen window was the perfect vantage point for a would-be spy. Holly had hunkered down after her skirmish with Rachel on Tuesday. Keeping out of Kit’s way as well, truth be told. He’d treated Billy and Sophie with the respect she expected from Mona’s partner. But his underlying humaneness gave her an itchy feeling. Endless patience in a sexy body packaged in worn boots, drill trousers, and a pale-blue shirt. Ironic, really, to discover the first man who’d attracted her in forever wasn’t interested.
More than that. Mr. Silverton was borderline antagonistic. Probably for the best given he was clearly a deep-roots kind of guy when she needed to be footloose.
“Time’s up,” she muttered. “Two days is long enough for anyone to sulk.”
The morning tea bell rang, and she jumped. The pure sound was eerily similar to her old school bell. The first peal always had her on her feet and back in her classroom. She’d been obsessively punctual. Being good—her defence against being banished for a second time.