Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [65]
“That’s your wife, Chief,” the dispatcher said, repressing a laugh. “She’s been trying to reach you to let you know she’s home.”
“You’re sure of that?” Kerney asked.
“Ten-four, Chief. I took the call from Colonel Brannon myself.” Kerney thanked the dispatcher, locked the shotgun and sidearm in his unit, and took a closer look inside the sedan. On the backseat was Patrick’s dog-eared copy of Pablito the Pony. Inside the house he found Sara in the master bath, dressed in her nightie, brushing her teeth.
“Where have you been?” she asked, her mouth full of toothpaste. She rinsed out and gave him a steely-eyed, exasperated look. “I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”
“My cell phone gave out,” Kerney replied, “and I had a late start coming home.”
Sara shook her head. “Well, if you weren’t so obsessively punctual all the time, I never would have worried about you.”
“You were worried about me?” Kerney asked, stroking her shoulder.
“More than I’d like to admit,” Sara said as she wrapped her arms around Kerney and gave him a kiss. “Did you have fun?”
Kerney nodded. “The world of filmmaking is zany but highly entertaining. What brings you home so unexpectedly?”
“I’m off in the morning on a special assignment. Patrick is yours for the duration.”
Kerney’s expression turned slightly befuddled. “I don’t have a sitter. I’m not prepared for this.”
Sara smiled sweetly. “There really isn’t an alternative, so you’ll have to work it out.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“A week,” Sara replied. “But since I’ll be starting leave so soon after I get back, Patrick might as well stay with you until then.”
“You could have given me some warning,” Kerney said, sounding a bit apprehensive.
Sara slipped past him into the bedroom. “I tried. I called here and called your office Thursday night and again on Friday morning, and I couldn’t get through to you on your cell phone over the weekend to leave a message because the calls kept getting dropped.”
“Cell phone reception in the Bootheel seems to be spotty at best. The film crew were all annoyed about it.”
“Or maybe you had the phone turned off for some reason you’d rather not tell me about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sara shrugged and set the alarm clock. “Nothing. Chalk it up to my overactive imagination. I’m just glad you’re home and safe. I was worried about you.”
“What kind of special assignment are you on?” Kerney asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not really. It’s more along the lines of challenging.” She fluffed her pillow, pulled back the duvet, and climbed into bed. “I’m up and out of here in five hours. Patrick will need his breakfast. He’s recently become fond of blueberry pancakes.”
“Blueberry pancakes,” Kerney repeated as he leaned down and gave Sara a kiss. “Every day?”
Sara shook her head and yawned. “Vary the menu, but no fast food.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kerney gave her another kiss, turned out the bedroom lights, closed the door, and tiptoed into Patrick’s room.
His son slept soundly with the blanket kicked down below his knees and his stuffed pony snug under an arm.
He pulled the blanket up to Patrick’s chest and whispered, “I guess we’ll have to learn how to bach it for a while, sport.”
Sara woke at five in the morning to find Kerney’s side of the bed empty. As she moisturized her face, put on a touch of eye shadow, and dressed, she could hear him rattling around in the kitchen. She made the bed, checked her travel bag, and joined him.
“There are no blueberries in the house,” Kerney said with an apologetic smile. He handed her a mug of coffee and went back to mixing batter in a bowl. “Patrick will have to settle for apple pancakes.”
Sara held the warm mug in her hands and took a sip. “That will do nicely.”
“Will you be able to stay in touch?”
“I’ll try.” She looked out the French doors that led to the pergola-covered patio. Impending daybreak brightened a cloudless sky and in the gathering light the sweep of mountains behind Santa Fe slowly unveiled.