Page 28 of Vanishing Point
“Trust me, Beckett. My husband could make a life withtenkids romantic. You should be so lucky.” She gave him a little nudge so she could move around him. “I’m clocked out. See you tomorrow, boys.”
“You clocking out too?” Copeland asked Thomas, too used to Laurel giving him a hard time to get worked up about it.
Thomas stared at the computer, scowling. He wanted to get home to Vi, but he just didn’t like the idea of the postal inspector poking around at all, plus he had two hours to make up for. “She said she’s going to have to take the evidence for her case. I don’t like it.”
“Well, she gave us time to do our tests, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Relax then.”
He knew he should.
But he couldn’t.
VI WAS HUMMINGwhen Thomas got home. She’d made a perhaps more elaborate than necessary dinner. It was the least she could do. Just like out at the ranch. If she could cook and clean up some, she didn’t feel so bad for essentially sponging off people.
“Tata!” Mags squealed, getting up off the floor where she’d been happily playing with some magazines Vi had found inThomas’s office. They’d been in a recycling bin, so Vi didn’t feel bad about letting Mags rip them apart.
She toddled over to Thomas, who picked her up on a big, dramatic swoop that made Magnolia squeal.
“I saw Franny outside. She told me to let you know she’s heading home. At least I think that’s what all those grunts meant.”
Vi laughed. “Snooping around your house really got her creative juices flowing, and I don’t think Mags’s impressive concert of squeals was conducive for getting any of it written down.”
He didn’t look especially frustrated or tense, but he wasn’t particularly happy either. Still, he came over, gave her a kiss, peered down at what she was making. “You didn’t have to, but this looks amazing.”
“I like to cook.”
“Good, because I do not.” He stood there, his arm around her while she stood over the stove. Mags sat on his hip, plucking at the chain around his neck that held his badge.
She waited for that to settle in her like a jolt. Fear. Worry. PTSD. Call it what you will. But he was holding her daughter, holding her. Everything he’d done for her, everything he’d been to her. It trumped that symbol of her old life. Her old mistakes.
She leaned into him, giving the pasta another stir. “What are you procrastinating telling me?”
He sighed, then kissed her hair. “That obvious, huh?”
“I’m learning to read the signs.”
“A postal inspector came in today and had some questions about the envelope I received with the pictures. Something to do with mail fraud. She can’t tell me how it connects quite yet, but I’m hoping to get more out of her tomorrow. She’s probably going to give you a call. I imagine if she’s staying here a few days, she’ll want a face to face and to ask you questions.”
“Can you be there?”
“She’s very by the book, so I’m not sure she’s going to go for that. That okay?”
She wanted to balk at that. Atallof this. But she’d promised him. That she was ready. Ready to fight for herself and for Magnolia and a future with Thomas.
“Of course,” she said firmly. “Whatever gets us to the end of this.”
He settled Mags into her highchair, then said he wanted to take a quick shower. So she set the table and got Magnolia her dinner and let it cool a bit before Thomas came out and joined them.
They ate dinner and talked about different things. She knew he was carefully avoiding the topic of those pictures, and she let him. He patiently picked up Magnolia’s sippy cup every time she gleefully tossed it to the ground.
“Where did you learn to be so good with kids?”
“I don’t think I have any childless friends left. Except my Hart cousins, but that won’t last forever and there’s still kids running all over the place out at the ranch anyway. It’s just…go to parties, see people, end up holding a baby or entertaining a toddler or feeding somebody, or be alone.”
“You never did like to be alone.”
