a cop. On R & R for a few months.â
âYouâll go back, then?â
âTo work? Sure. Chicago?â He took a sip of coffee, closed his eyes either to savor the taste or to brace himself for the jolt. âThe juryâs still out.â
She took the thermos from him and poured her own cup. âAs in a real jury or metaphorically speaking?â
Kade smirked. âBoth, actually. You want cream or sugar with that?â
âYogurt.â
His hand, halfway to his lips with another shot of caffeine, froze. âIn your coffee? Thatâs sick.â
âI know.â She gleefully stirred in a spoon, mostly to watch his reaction. Finally, heâd let his face show his true feelings.
He watched in horrified fascination as if she was about to eat a live snake. âYou didnât do that yesterday.â
âYou didnât have yogurt.â She took a satisfied sip.
Kade made a gagging noise.
Sophie giggled, almost spewing the mouthful. âStop.â
His nostrils flared with humor. âYouâre doing that to mess with my head.â
She didnât remember when sheâd started spooning yogurt into coffee, probably in college on a silly dare. Discovering she liked the odd, grainy combination hadbeen the real surprise, although she normally reserved her yogurt coffee for quiet, alone times. Others didnât react well, as Kade so perfectly and delightfully demonstrated.
âMostly. Is Ida June already up and out or are we disturbing her sleep?â
âWe wonât disturb her. Saturday is sleep day. She pokes earplugs in her ears, slides one of those weird masks over her eyes and threatens to disembowel anyone who opens her bedroom door before noon.â
Sophie shook her head, amused. Ida June Click was, as her father said, a pistol. âHave you two always been close?â
âNo.â The teasing light flickered out. Oddly, abruptly, he pushed out of the chair, went to the sink where he braced his hands to look out the window. Sophie had a feeling he didnât really see Ida Juneâs backyard. And she wondered what can of worms sheâd inadvertently opened inside the terse cop. Whatever had brought Kade to his great-auntâs home and to Redemption had followed him here unresolved.
Unsure where to tread, Sophie quietly sipped her coffee and waited him out. She studied him, lean waist and wedge-shaped torso taut, the leashed strength in his bent arms quivering with some deep emotion.
âIâm going to fight them over Davey,â he said softly.
Puzzling, interesting man. âI am, too.â
He whirled then as if heâd expected argument and gave one short nod. âGood. Weâre on the same page. Heâs not going back. One of us will take him.â
âUntil his family is found.â
The heavy dose of doubt shadowed his secret eyes again. âNearly eighty percent of runaways and throwaways are never reported missing by their families. Did you knowthat?â He tossed the numbers out as in challenge, teeth tight, eyes narrowed. âEighty percent.â
Throwaways? Never reported? Did such horrors really happen? âI canât believe Davey is either. Heâs young and cute and this is Oklahoma!â
She saw the eye roll he held in check and practically heard his thoughts. She was naive, a Pollyanna, sheltered.
âHeâs also handicapped. Granted, Daveyâs a little younger than usual, but facts are facts. Sometimes no one cares if a kid disappears.â
Sophie didnât want to believe him. Children were a treasure from the Lord, not discardable afterthoughts. But Kadeâs adamant anger gave her a peek inside his head. He spoke from experience and that experience had left him bleeding.
Lord, Youâve put this man and this child in my life for a purpose. What now?
A quiet rustle of movement stopped the conversation as Davey rounded the corner into the kitchen. With sleepy eyes
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