Authors: Loree Lough
“Trick or treat!” a lop-eared bunny shouted.
“Trick or treat!” hollered his black cat companion.
“My, my, look at you!” Kasey said, grabbing a handful of candy from the overloaded bowl beside the door.
“Thanks,” said the bunny, as a candy bar hit the bottom of his bag.
“Yeah, thanks, lady,” said the cat.
“You be careful out there,” Kasey called, as they ran down the porch steps. “And remember to look both ways when you cross the street.”
She zipped up her jacket and grinned. “They’re probably too excited to listen to reason.”
“Which is why there oughta be a law—no trick-or-treating unless accompanied by a responsible adult.”
Kasey led the way onto the porch, invited Adam to sit in the adirondack chair beside hers. “What was your favorite costume when you were a boy?”
He leaned back, rested his hands on the chair’s wide wooden arms. “I was a monster, a soldier. Even dressed up as a superhero once.”
“Only once?”
Chuckling, Adam shook his head. “Couldn’t see through the eyeholes on that plastic mask. I’d only been to four or five houses when I tripped on my cape and fell flat on my face. Broke my nose and sprained my wrist, and spent Halloween in the emergency room.”
“Oh, Adam, how terrible! How old were you?”
“Five, maybe six.” He met her eyes, glittering like green gemstones in the porch light. “How ’bout you? What was your favorite costume?” He held up a hand. “No, wait. Let
me guess. You were a princess, or a ballerina, or a nurse….”
She shook her head. “Actually, I preferred comfortable costumes to stuff like that.”
“Comfortable?”
She nodded. “Too hard to manipulate your trick-or-treat bag wearing frilly dresses and tiaras, and carrying magic wands. Not to mention, you could freeze to death in the flimsy things! I liked going as a hobo, a private detective—self-made characters that didn’t require one of those plastic masks and—”
“Private detective?”
“Yup. I’d wear one of my dad’s white shirts, borrow a tie and a sports coat, and put on his old Sunday hat.” She groaned softly. “But Mom wouldn’t let me carry a toy gun—said it was bad enough her only daughter didn’t want to put on makeup and a frou-frou outfit—”
“Frou-frou?”
“Y’know…gauzy, ruffly things.” She lifted her chin. “I preferred sensible costumes. Much to Mom’s dismay, I was a tomboy all the way.”
Adam recalled the way she’d looked, all wet and windblown, on his cabin porch the night before. “Didn’t look like a tomboy last night,” he admitted.
“Are you for real? Jeans and hiking boots and—”
“—and all that gorgeous hair, those big beautiful eyes. You could put on full camouflage gear and not fool anyone into thinking you’re a boy.”
“I don’t want to fool anyone into thinking I’m a boy. It’s just that—”
Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf skipped up the steps, singsonging “Trick or treat!”
“—sensible,” he finished, as she doled out the sweets.
One more reason to like you, my dear,
he thought.
“Hey, lady,” said the Wolf, “the candle in your pumpkin blew out.”
“Goodness,” Kasey replied. “How terrible. I’ll get right on it. Thanks for pointing it out.”
The kids were on her neighbor’s porch before she’d finished thanking them. “I’ll be right back,” she said, rising.
Adam grasped her wrist. “Where’re you going?”
“To get a book of matches, of course.”
It was clear how much she enjoyed watching the children parade in and out in their multicolored costumes, and it didn’t seem fair that she might miss even one. “I’ll get them,” he said. “Just tell me where they are.”
She sat down so quickly, he knew he’d made the right decision.
“In the drawer under the coffeepot, which is beside the refrigerator. You can’t miss ’em.”
He headed inside. “Don’t sneak any gumballs while I’m gone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She cupped a hand beside her mouth. “Peanut butter candies are my favorites.”
On his way to the kitchen, Adam cut through the dining room, aglow with the soft light filtering in from the stove hood. Kasey had made several flower arrangements in here. Two flanked a cornucopia on the buffet, and one stood in the center of the gleaming cherry table. She’d woven some kind of twisted branches around the curtain rod, and topped off both corners of the window with dried flowers. He searched his memory for a word to describe the room.
Homey,
he decided, like the rest of the house. He could live like this…if he’d had the guts to tell Buddy to take a flying leap that night.
Adam all but stomped into the kitchen and pulled open the drawer under the coffeepot. It surprised him a bit to find the matches in a tidy row, strike-pads all facing the
same direction. They reminded him of broad-shouldered paper soldiers, standing at attention. The organizer tray also held screwdrivers, pliers, a tape measure, assorted batteries, and a small jar of nails, tacks and screws. What would have been a jumble of this-and-that in most kitchens had been stored here with military precision.
Adam grabbed a book of matches, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement. Curiosity compelled him to open the cabinet above the coffeepot, to see if the same meticulousness continued there, as well. Sure enough, mugs and cups stood in straight lines; on the shelf above them, boxes of herbal tea and canisters of flavored coffees were stacked.
The next cabinet held plates, and there, too, attention had been given to the order in which things had been placed. Likewise, the silverware drawer, where spoons and forks nestled one atop the other, appearing at first glance to be one fat utensil rather than dozens of thin ones.
Yep,
Adam told himself,
I could live like this.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder
why
things were so perfect in the Delaney household. Had it been her way of reclaiming command of a world gone out of control?
“Took you long enough,” she said, when he stepped onto the porch. “I was getting ready to send in search dogs!”
“Your jack-o’-lantern awaits, m’lady,” he said, bowing low before handing her the matches.
She hurried down the steps, to where the carved pumpkin sat in the bowl of a concrete birdbath, then struck a match and held it to the candle’s wick. “There!” she announced, as the flame frolicked in the breeze.
He’d seen the pumpkin earlier, as the foursome ascended the steps for dinner. “Did you carve it yourself?”
Kasey plopped down beside him, nodding. “Uh-huh. Well, not
all
by myself. Aleesha helped.”
“Your adopted daughter.”
“One and the same. But we never say ‘adopted’ around here. She needs all the assurances she can get that I love her like crazy, even if she isn’t my flesh-and-blood kid.”
He understood, and admired her attitude. “Where is she, out trick-or-treating?”
“No, she considers herself much too mature and sophisticated for such childish nonsense.” Kasey laughed. “Which is why she’s at the church, doing her best
not
to enjoy the costume parade and contest the youth group is sponsoring.”
“I forget…how old is she?”
“Seventeen. I adopted her on her sixteenth birthday.”
“And she was what, thirteen or fourteen when you met, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re something else, Kasey.”
“You keep saying that—I’m going to need a carpenter.”
“For what?”
“To make keyhole shapes out of all my doorways, so I can fit my big head through the openings!”
Chuckling, Adam said, “You can’t blame me. I don’t know another person who’s adopted a struggling inner-city kid.”
“And isn’t that a shame? There are so many children out there, yearning for parents.” Kasey blew a stream of air through her teeth. “Everybody wants newborns, though I don’t for the life of me understand why.”
“Maybe because they’re not secure enough to take on a kid who already has opinions and mind-sets of their own.” He shrugged. “Get a brand-new baby, you get a blank slate and unofficial permission to write on it whatever makes you comfortable.”
She sat forward to meet his eyes. “I never thought of it
that way before.” Grinning mischievously, she added, “Very philosophical.
You’re
something else, Dr. Adam Thorne.”
He was about to protest when half a dozen giggling and shouting boys stormed the porch. “Trick or treat!” they bellowed.
Adam recognized the usual comic book and TV characters. But one youngster’s costume puzzled him. “What’re you supposed to be?”
The kid adjusted a wide-brimmed hat, then tugged at the Windsor knot of a too-long tie. Extending a half-filled bag with one hand, he plopped the chubby fist of the other on his hip. “I’m an undercover FBI agent,” he said, rolling his big brown eyes. He looked at his pals as if to say,
What’s this guy, a moron?
“I thought maybe you were a private detective,” Adam explained, winking at Kasey, “or a newspaper reporter. But an FBI agent. Wow. You had me going for a minute there.”
“Private detective? Who ever heard of being a private detective for Halloween?” The boy and his buddies snickered, as if it was the most ridiculous idea they’d ever heard. “Thanks for the candy, lady,” the FBI agent said. “And didja know the light’s out in your pumpkin?”
“I had no idea!”
Adam thought he heard a trace of disappointment in her voice. Because the candle was out again? Or because the boy made fun of her favorite costume? When the kids were out of earshot, he said, “If I was that boy’s dad, I’d teach him to be respectful of his elders.”
“You would?”
“You betcha. Especially beautiful, shapely elders who’re handing out free candy!”
The sound of his own voice sounded alien in his ears. Adam couldn’t recall the last time he’d cracked a joke,
deliberately or accidentally. Couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed himself so completely. His life, it seemed, had had two purposes: help his patients, and help the Delaneys. Fun was for others, who hadn’t destroyed a man’s life, and in the process, the man’s family.
Uncomfortable with the newfound emotions, Adam coughed. “Say, I have an idea….”
Kasey tilted her head.
“To keep the light in your pumpkin from going out again. Well, from
blowing
out again, anyway.”
“I’m all ears.”
“When I got the matches from the kitchen drawer, I saw a flashlight. Plenty of batteries, too. Why not take out the candle, replace it with the flashlight?”
If it was possible for an entire body to smile, Kasey accomplished it. She got to her feet and clapped her hands, reminding him of an excitable, enthusiastic girl.
And she calls herself a tomboy,
he thought, grinning. She didn’t overdo the jewelry or the makeup, and didn’t seem to fuss much with that gorgeous mane of reddish curls. But Kasey Delaney was all woman, a fact she couldn’t hide under hiking boots and blue jeans. She couldn’t hide it under that bulky fisherman’s knit sweater, either.
“That’s a terrific idea, Adam,” she said, half running toward the front door. “While I’m inside, can I get you anything? Soda? Iced tea?”
She could get him a guilt-free conscience; maybe then he could
really
enjoy his time with her, make some plans for the future, start living like a normal guy. “Nah. I’m fine. But thanks.”
“How about if I put on the teakettle? We could sip hot chocolate while we wait for more kids to show up.”
He hadn’t known her long, but so far it seemed to Adam that Kasey was happiest when doing for others. Hot choc
olate had never been one of his favorite beverages; he kept the instant stuff at the cabin for people who used the place on the weekends he didn’t, for friends who joined him when he did. But he said, “Sure. That’d be great.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“Take your time. I’ll hold down the fort.”
“Okay, but don’t eat any gumdrops while I’m gone.”
“Not a chance. Peanut butter candies are my favorite.”
A full minute after she was out of sight, her musical giggle still echoed in his ears. And, oh, how he delighted in the sound of it! Fact was, he liked everything about her, from her orderly cabinets to her genuine delight in seeing the costumed youngsters. She brought out the best in him, made him feel good and decent…something he hadn’t felt in a decade and a half. Made him feel that maybe, somehow, there was a way he could live a normal life, if she was at the center of it.
The only way that could happen was if he was willing to ’fess up, about everything. The very thought sent a chill snaking up his spine. Yes, she deserved to know what kind of guy she was getting involved with, but Adam didn’t know if he had what it took to be that honest.
A lot of what she’d said earlier about him and the other boys was true. Buddy’s gang had been a bunch of rowdy, attention-seeking mutts who’d created mischief and mayhem everywhere they went. But they’d never hurt anyone. At least, not before that Halloween.
Buddy would likely always be Buddy, but Wade and Luke and Travis often pointed out that Adam had been solely responsible for the choices they’d made after that night: his determination to right the wrong committed on the tracks had given them all the courage to grow up and go straight.
He’d always denied it, but in his heart of hearts he’d
known it was true, that they
had
listened to him back then. If he’d been able to muster the backbone to stand up to Buddy…
Well, he hadn’t, and because he hadn’t, the lot of them would live with the part they’d played in Al Delaney’s death, forever. Didn’t matter, here and now, that they’d changed a lot, that
he’d
changed a lot, had walked the straight and narrow for fifteen years. Kasey Delaney was the only thing that mattered. She deserved only the best life had to offer.
And from where Adam sat, that surely wasn’t him.
“How many costumes did I miss?” she asked when she returned.
“None.”
“Must be the threat of rain. Or the chill in the air. Some years, we get a hundred kids.” She glanced at the deep candy bowl that sat on the board floor between their feet. “We’ll be lucky to get two dozen this year.”