Tell Me a Story Read online

"Sat on you?" She was beginning to feel like a parrot, repeating everything Becky said.

  "Uh-huh. And then, he said it wasn't fair that he had lots of beds and I didn't have any so I could use one of his beds."

  "Wait a minute. He sat on you and then offered you a place to sleep? Where did you meet him?"

  "In the alley."

  "What alley?" This was starting to sound like a vaudeville routine.

  "The one back of this building."

  "What were you doing there and what was Flynn doing there?"

  "Well, I was sleeping and Mr. Flynn was real drunk. I'm not sure what he was doing there, but after he sat on my foot we came up here. That's when he told me a dragon lived next door, only I don't think you're a dragon. I think you're pretty nice."

  "Thank you." Ann applied a small butterfly bandage to the wound, tugging the edges of the cut together. "There. I think you're just about fixed up. We need to wash the blood out of your hair and you'll be just as good as new."

  Becky sat up, cautiously fingering the bandage on her head. "It doesn't feel very big." There was an element of disappointment in the words, and Ann hid a grin as she repacked her medical bag. Was there a child anywhere who didn't relish the idea of a big bandage

  to show off once they were sure the injury itself was taken care of?

  "It really wasn't a very big cut, just a nasty one. Don't tug on the bandage and don't get it wet. In a few days we'll take it off and you'll hardly be able to tell that you were ever hurt."

  She lifted her head and was surprised to find that Becky was holding out her hand, her small face very solemn. "Thank you, Miss..." Her face scrunched up in thought and then she shook her head. "I can't remember your name."

  "Ann. Ann Perry." Since it seemed to be expected of her, Ann took Becky's hand and shook it, biting the inside of her lip to hold back a smile at the quaintly adult gesture. "You're very welcome. I'm glad I was here."

  "I've got the water ready. Should I put it in a bowl?"

  Flynn stood at the top of the steps, his expression anxious. He looked like a tousled satyr. Three-quarters naked, his hair mussed, his face unshaven. Becky knelt to look over the back of the sofa at him and then she turned to look at Ann, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Ann couldn't help but grin.

  "You can put it in the sink."

  Flynn frowned. "The sink? That's not very sterile, is it?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Doesn't matter? Shouldn't things that contact an open wound be sterile?"

  "It's not going to contact an open wound. We're all done."

  "All done? Then what's the boiling water for?"

  "You were hovering. I had to give you something to do."

  "You mean I boiled that water for nothing?"

  "You could make tea."

  Becky giggled at Flynn's indignant expression. He glared at Ann a moment longer, well aware that she was enjoying this. Ann gave him her most bland smile, the one she reserved for pushy salesclerks. She was relieved when his eyes shifted to Becky.

  "Well, urchin, you certainly look a lot less gruesome than you did a few minutes ago."

  "Ann says that in a few days I'll be good as new."

  "Why don't we rinse that blood out of your hair and get you a change of clothes and then it will be hard to tell that you've endured a terrible ordeal."

  He stepped down into the living room and then grabbed for the towel as it threatened to fall. He flushed, but Ann's face turned scarlet. She was a doctor, she'd seen plenty of naked men, but she had the feeling she wasn't going to be able to put Flynn McCallister in the same category as her patients. She stood up, hoping he wouldn't notice the color in her face.

  "Why don't I take care of Becky and you can get some clothes on?"

  Flynn hesitated a moment and then looked at Becky. The little girl didn't seem to have any objections to Ann's suggestion. He smiled, and Ann felt her pulse pick up at the sheer beauty of the expression. When he smiled like that, he looked almost angelic. But she doubted that angels had muscles like that.

  "Good idea. This towel isn't really the best thing for entertaining. Becky can show you her room. Her clothes are in there and there's a bathroom right next door."

  He disappeared into the hallway. Ann and Becky followed more slowly. The room he'd given Becky was, like the rest of the apartment, beautifully decorated. Everything was of the highest quality. The McCallisters were hardly hurting for money so that wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the empty feel of the room. Not just empty because no one lived there, but empty like something that had once held life and was now drained. Ann felt a shiver run up her spine.

  "It's pretty, isn't it?" She looked down at Becky and forced a smile. The word that came to mind was dead, but she could hardly say that to a child.

  "Very pretty. Now, where are your clothes? We'll get you cleaned up."

  Becky lifted a worn shopping bag onto the bed and carefully took out a stuffed giraffe and set him on the bed. Next came a well-thumbed book and a scuffed jewelry case. The final layer was clothing, folded as neatly as childish hands could manage.

  Ann's heart twisted when she realized what she was seeing. This was clearly everything Becky owned in the world. She sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the giraffe, keeping her head bent over the toy so that Becky wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

  "That's Frankie."

  "He's very nice."

  "I've had him since I was a baby."

  "Did your mother give him to you?"

  Becky hesitated a minute and then shook her head. "I think Daddy gave him to me."

  Ann fingered the distinctive button in the toy's ear and filed away that bit of information.

  "Daddy gave me this book, too."

  Ann set the stuffed toy down and picked up the book. It was A Child's Garden of Verses, a beautiful leather-bound edition, old and much worn, showing the love of more than one generation.

  "Was this your daddy's when he was a little boy?"

  "I don't know. Mama doesn't much like to talk about him." She took the book from Ann and set it next to the giraffe, clearly saying that the subject was closed. Ann accepted her lead, knowing that you didn't win a child's confidence by pushing.

  "Is this all your clothes?"

  "Most of 'em. When Mama comes home we're going to go shopping. She says I'm growing like a weed."

  Ann nodded and picked up a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt. There wasn't a whole lot of choice. Other than the garments in her hand, there was one other pair of jeans with the knees worn out and a short-sleeved pullover that looked too small.

  "Well, let's get you changed and your hair washed."

  Becky chattered confidently while Ann rinsed her hair, careful to keep the wound dry. There was a hair dryer in the bathroom cabinet, and it took only a few minutes to dry the little girl's hair. Ann borrowed a bobby pin from her own hair and pinned Becky's fine bangs back away from her face.

  Looking in the bathroom mirror, she was aware that her neat chignon was beginning to look more than a little scruffy. She pushed at a few straggling strands, but there wasn't really much she could do. Not that it mattered what she looked like. Becky didn't care and Flynn McCallister's opinion was less than important. Ann and Becky were in the living room, standing by the balcony doors when Flynn entered from the hall. He'd taken time to finish his interrupted shower, but he hadn't bothered to shave. Wearing a pair of jeans that were just snug enough to be interesting and a blue chambray shirt that he was still buttoning, he looked distressingly attractive.

  It was pure dislike that made her feel slightly breathless. It had nothing to do with an urge to lay her palm against his chest and see if the hair felt as crisp as it looked. It had nothing to do with the way his shirt clung to his damp skin, outlining every muscle. It was nothing but dislike.

  "Becky, why don't you go out and take a look at the plants on the balcony. I want to talk to Flynn."

  Flynn stopped a few f
eet away and looked at her, one dark brow arching in question. Becky looked from one to the other and her pale brows puckered.

  "Are you going to fight?"

  "No."

  "Maybe."

  Ann flashed Flynn a quelling look that didn't appear to faze him in the least. "We're not going to fight, Becky. We're just going to talk."

  Becky looked at Flynn, clearly more willing to trust his judgment than Ann's. "Go on out, urchin. There's some hand tools in the box next to the door. Why don't you dig in one of the empty planters. I promise we're not going to come to blows,"

  The late summer sun was low in the sky, but it would be another hour or more before the light was gone. The upper floor of the building was smaller than the floors below, allowing for a large roof garden for each apartment. Ann hired professional gardeners to care for her garden. It was lovely, not a leaf out of place, and she seldom paid any attention to it. Flynn's garden was considerably less neat. Plants sprawled wherever their fancy took them. Some of the planters were empty, while others held such a wealth of vegetation, it was hard to distinguish one plant from another. It was the perfect place for a child to play. She watched Becky disappear into the jungle of growth, trowel in hand.

  The smile that softened her mouth disappeared when she turned to look at Flynn. "I think we need to have a talk, Mr. McCallister."

  That irritating brow arched. "Call me Flynn. It's much easier to get out when you're yelling at someone."

  "I have no intention—"

  "Sure you do. I recognize the look. My mother tried calling me Mr. McCallister when she was angry. She thought it might have more impact but then my father would think she was yelling at him and he'd get mad at her and... well, you can see how much simpler it is if you just call me Flynn. Would you like some coffee? Don't tell Becky, but her coffee is a potential weapon."

  He moved toward the kitchen, leaving Ann no choice but to follow. She wasn't quite sure he'd done it, but somehow he'd managed to take control of the situation from her.

  In the kitchen, he began making coffee and Ann made an effort to bring the conversation back to where it belonged.

  "I don't want any coffee, thank you. I want to talk about Becky."

  "It's your loss. I make an excellent cup of coffee."

  "I don't care about coffee. I want to talk about that little girl." When he glanced at her this time, his mouth had quirked to match the eyebrow, making Ann aware that her voice had risen. She wasn't shouting but she was perilously close. She took a deep breath, drawing on her considerable self-control and forced her voice to a calm level.

  "I think there are some questions that need to be answered."

  "Ask away." Since the invitation was punctuated by his turning on the coffee grinder, Ann had doubts about his sincerity. She waited until the machine had stopped running and then continued as if the interruption hadn't occurred.

  "I'd like to know just what Becky is doing here."

  He poured the coffee into the filter and turned to look at her as if he questioned her sanity. "She's playing on the balcony.''

  Ann ground her teeth together. The man was being deliberately obtuse and infuriating. She knew he was doing it deliberately, but it didn't seem to curb the rapid climb of her blood pressure.

  "Mr. McCallister, I'm willing to stand here all night and play word games with you but it's not going to do either of us any good. I'm concerned about that child and I am going to get the answers I want."

  Flynn poured water into the coffee maker and then leaned one leg against the counter and studied her. Ann felt a flush come up in her cheeks. She didn't have to look at herself to know what he was seeing. Her hair was coming down around her ears, her suit jacket was gone, her blouse was undone at the throat, her skirt was probably wrinkled and, to top it off, she wasn't wearing shoes. She made a less than imposing figure and she knew it.

  Whether it was the determined set of her chin or something else that only he saw, Flynn seemed to make up his mind to cooperate, at least up to a point.

  "I haven't said thank-you for what you did for Becky. I'm not sure who was more frightened, her or me. I really appreciate the way you came over here and patched her up."

  "You're welcome. It is my job."

  "Not when you're off duty. I'm truly grateful."

  "It really wasn't that big a deal." Damn the man! Just when she thought she had control of the situation, he did something to throw tier off balance again. Did he have to sound so sincere?

  "It was a big deal to Becky and me." The coffee maker pinged, and he turned and got two cups down out of the cupboard. He filled them with coffee and handed one to Ann. "If you don't want it, I'll drink it. Let's go into the living room and get comfortable. We can keep an eye on the balcony from there."

  Once again, she found herself trailing after him, not quite sure how he'd managed to turn the situation around. Somehow, the edge of her anger had been blunted. She settled onto an off-white overstuffed chair and then realized it was a tactical error. The chair didn't just invite you to sit back and relax, it insisted that you do so. The huge puffy cushions practically swallowed her. There was no way she could use any-effective body language in this chair. On the other hand, she couldn't change seats without looking like an idiot. She shot Flynn an annoyed look, wondering if he'd done this deliberately, but he'd settled into an identical chair and managed to look completely in command of himself, the furniture and the situation. Ann felt like a little girl sitting in her father's chair. She could barely move to set her coffee cup down on an end table—the coffee she hadn't wanted, she remembered irritably.

  "What did you want to talk about?"

  "Becky."

  "What about her?" His eyes were cool and watchful.

  "I want to know what she's doing here. And don't tell me that she's playing on the balcony. She said that you found her in the alley last night and offered her a bed. Is that true?"

  "Pretty much."

  "How could you!"

  "You think it would have been better to leave her in the alley?"

  "That's not what I mean!"

  "Then what did you mean?"

  "Mr. McCallister—"

  "Flynn. It's much easier to spit out."

  Ann ground her teeth together. "Flynn. Didn't it occur to you that her mother would be worried about her? You should have contacted her immediately. I've always known that you were irresponsible but I wouldn't have believed that even you would do something like this. That poor woman must be out of her mind with worry.''

  "You've always known that I was irresponsible? You must have amazing powers of observation, Ms. Perry. Considering that your only contact with me over the past two years has been a few barbs exchanged in the hallway. On what do you base this sweeping judgment?"

  Ann opened her mouth but he cut her off with a sharp gesture. "I don't really want to hear it. Your opinion of me is neither here nor there. Becky's mother disappeared two weeks ago. The landlady was about to turn Becky over to Social Services. Becky is terrified of them so she ran away. She's been living on the streets for the past few days. No matter how irresponsible I am, I think I'm a better bet than the streets."

  "That's not the issue."

  "Just what is the issue, Ms. Perry? Do you think I'm going to corrupt her?"

  He was backing her into a corner and she didn't like the feeling. Somehow, he'd managed to put her in the wrong. She felt trapped—physically and verbally.

  "She says you were intoxicated last night."

  "Smashed to the gills."

  "You can't possibly think that's a good influence for a child."

  "I don't think it's going to put a permanent warp on her psyche to see a man drunk."

  "The fact that you drink to excess doesn't make you a particularly good guardian for a child, even temporarily."

  "I do not drink to excess on a regular basis."

  Ann flushed angrily at the prissy tone he used to repeat her words. "I suppose last night was a special
occasion."

  "In a manner of speaking. It was my brother's birthday."

  "And that's supposed to make it all right? The two of you go out and—"

  "Not the two of us. I was alone. Mark died three years ago."

  Ann wondered if it were possible to coax the huge chair into swallowing her completely. "I'm sorry."

  There was a moment of silence and then Flynn ran his fingers through his hair. The crooked smile he gave her was half apology and wholly charming.

  "I'm the one who should be sorry. I know you're concerned about Becky and I shouldn't be giving you such a hard time."

  "She can't just continue to stay here. You've got to let someone know where she is. Maybe the Social Services people should be called." The suggestion was made without force.

  "No. Becky's terrified of them. Probably with good reason. There are some pretty flaky sounding circumstances surrounding her mother. They just might take Becky away from her."

  "Then, what are you going to do?"

  He rubbed his forehead and Ann noticed his pallor for the first time.

  "Either I'm getting too old to drink like that or hangovers are getting worse. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about Becky. I thought I'd take her out to my parents' home tomorrow. They may have some ideas. You're welcome to come along just to make sure that I don't sell her to the white slavers." He grinned to show her that there was no rancor behind the words.

  Of course she wasn't going to get involved any further. It was none of her business what happened to either of them. She'd done all that could be expected of her. Naturally, she would turn down his invitation. She was going to get out of her chair and say a polite good-night—she'd even wish him luck—and then she was going to go back to her own apartment and her simple, uncomplicated life. The only male she wanted to deal with right now was Oscar, who didn't have any of the dangerous seductive qualities of Flynn Mc-Callister.

  "If you wouldn't mind, I'd feel better seeing this a little farther. I don't know why. I hardly know Becky."

  "There's something about her that sort of gets under your skin."

  Ann nodded, suppressing the thought that Becky might not be the only one.