straight black hair a damp fringe around his face. He smelled like talcum powder and baby.
“Which bedtime story tonight?” Patsy asked him, holding up the two books she’d taken from his shelves when they’d left home. There had been dozens more she’d left behind, but these two were Billy’s favorites.
Bathing Billy had soothed her jangled nerves after that near kiss from Justin. That and the story were a familiar routine, one that had been repeated for so long, no matter where they were, that she could almost convince herself that their lives were normal.
Billy popped his thumb into his mouth and studied the covers of the books as intently as if it were the first time he’d ever seen them. “Two stories,” he pleaded finally.
“No, sweet pea. Only one.”
A mutinous expression crossed his face. “Two.”
“Choose or there will be no story at all.” She moved to put the books away.
“No, Mama. Read rabbit story.”
She grinned. Forced to choose, The Velveteen Rabbit was always the one he picked. “You must know it by heart.”
“Don’t care. Read it,” he commanded with the same authoritative manner as his father.
“Please,” she prompted.
“Please, Mama.”
As she began reading the familiar words, Billy began to drift off. She was even more surprised, then, when he murmured, “Mama, where’s Daddy?”
It was the first time he’d mentioned his father since they’d left home. She’d wondered more than once if that was because Will was so often away from home that Billy was used to not seeing him or if it was because he preferred this quiet, peaceful life without his father around.
“Daddy’s at home in Oklahoma.”
“Wanna see him.”
Patsy sat back and tried to control the shaking that began deep inside. She hadn’t wanted to believe that Billy would ever miss his daddy. She’d almost convinced herself that the disruption in their lives she’d brought on by running away hadn’t fazed Billy at all. After all, he and his father had spent precious little time together bonding. Obviously though, what time they had shared had had a profound impact, one that weeks of separation hadn’t dimmed.
Before she could think of anything at all to say, Billy crawled into her lap. “Please, Mama.”
Patsy hugged him tightly. “Oh, baby, I know you miss your daddy, but it’s not possible to see him right now.”
“Please.”
“Daddy’s far away. He can’t come visit.”
“Wanna see him,” Billy protested, tears welling up in his eyes.
Patsy rocked him. “Shh, baby. It’s going to be okay,” she promised.
How? a voice inside her head demanded. How was she going to make this right? She couldn’t explain to a two-year-old that his daddy was a potential threat to both of them. For almost the first time since she’d left home, doubts began to crowd in.
Maybe she should call Will. Maybe by now he would have gotten the message that she wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. Maybe he’d reform.
And maybe pigs would fly, she thought sarcastically. She knew better. How many women fell into that trap? How many convinced themselves that their husbands were truly sorry, that the psychological abuse or battering would never happen again? She wasn’t going to delude herself that way. She wasn’t going to wait for Will to actually slam his fist into her rather than an inanimate object.
Still she could take a drive one day, call Will from a public phone and let Billy talk to him. If she made the call far from Los Piños and kept it brief, surely he wouldn’t be able to trace it, wouldn’t be able to find them. Didn’t she owe Billy that much at least?
She glanced down and saw that her son was finally asleep, his thumb tucked securely in his mouth. She shifted him into position on his bed, then pulled a sheet up over him. He’d kick it off in no time, but at least he could start the night covered up.
She stood for a long time, gazing down at him, then bent over and pressed a kiss to his flushed cheek. “I love you, angel. More than anything.”
After she left him, she took her own bath, sinking into a sea of fragrant bubbles and trying to let her mind drift. Unfortunately, every time it did, an image of Justin Adams floated into view. Even the memory of his fingers against her cheek made her nipples hard. Recalling the exact instant when she’d known he was going to kiss her made her flesh heat. As the cooling bathwater lapped against her overheated flesh, she moaned softly.