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Rafe picked up the machine and shook it until a red light came on. “I’m just keeping an eye on him.”
“How come?”
“He reminds me of myself, I guess.” He met her gaze with the same half confident, half defiant expression she’d noticed the other day, then set the machine back in place. “I’d like to see him get out of here.”
So her impression of Oscar as the dangerous type had been valid, Anne realized. Because according to the company brochure, Rafe himself had grown up as a gang member in Los Angeles…until his last juvenile conviction had started him down the road toward rehab, law school and the crusade to help kids like those he’d done time with.
“I saw that fund-raising story about your background,” she told him, and saw his posture stiffen as he headed down the hall.
“That was Peter’s idea,” he said, snapping off the light switch at the end of the hallway. “Guy who put up the money. He said we’d get a lot more donations if people saw a poster child make good.”
Although his face was obscured by the shadows as he came back toward the lobby, she heard the thread of uneasiness in his voice. “How do you feel,” Anne asked, “about being a poster child?”
He hesitated for a moment, then she saw his expression grow more determined, more resolute as he came into the light.
“It gets the job done.”
And getting the job done, she suspected, was worth any amount of sacrifice. If he was ashamed of his past, the way she suspected from the sound of his voice, he wouldn’t let that interfere with helping Legalismo.
“This really matters to you,” she said softly, “doesn’t it.”
“Yeah.” Rafe moved past her toward the desk, where he retrieved what looked like an appointment book from the center drawer and reached for a pencil. “I want to get some of these kids on track.”
“Who did that for you?”
“Lot of people,” he answered without looking up from the page. “I’m still paying it back.”
Which would explain his passion for the job, and why Beth had complained that he put his crusade ahead of his marriage. But paying back implied a time limit, which she couldn’t remember her sister mentioning. “For how long?”
He glanced at her then, checking off one last name on the page. “Beth always asked that, too.”
Maybe because she’d recognized that Rafe was already doing more for the world than it had done for him. “And what did you tell her?”
Shutting the appointment book, he slid it back into the drawer and straightened up. “Long as I can do somebody some good,” he said, reaching for his keys. “These kids—somebody’s gotta be there for ’em.”
It looked like he was getting ready to lock up, but she hated to leave right now. Not when a glimpse of his personality was almost within reach.
“Was anybody there for you?” she asked as he locked the desk drawer. And when he didn’t answer, she offered a prompt. “Your parents?”
“My mom took off when I was three.” He glanced around the room, as if making sure all the closing chores were complete. “My dad left me with a neighbor who left me with Aunt Nita, who left me with my grandfather, who—” Then he broke off, as if only now realizing what a narration he’d begun. “Long story. Anyway, you ready to go?”
No, although clearly his chores were finished. But they couldn’t leave with his story hanging in limbo like that, because finally she might be near his motivation to avoid needing anyone. “How many people left you?” Anne blurted.
“What, you want a head count?” He sounded amused rather than annoyed, but he made no attempt to offer a count. “It was a long time ago.”
All right, then. She wasn’t going to push for whatever lay behind that nonchalant defense…at least not now. Instead, she reached for her purse, then caught her breath. Cindy had warned her not to sit still for more than five or ten minutes without shifting her posture, but she hadn’t realized how much that warning mattered.
Because right now she couldn’t stand up without Rafe’s help.
Although helping her up probably wouldn’t affect him one bit, since he’d been touching her with such casual courtesy all along. She just needed to forget that bizarre moment of longing, which had swept through her a few minutes ago, and focus instead on—
On—
Oh, the business. Legalismo.
“Rafe,” she said hastily as he came toward her, “I should have told you this sooner, but I really admire what you’re doing here.”
“Ah. Thanks.” He leaned down, offering her his hands for as solid a grip as she needed, and as she rose from her seat she saw more warmth in his gaze than she’d ever noticed before.
“I mean,” she faltered, “you’re really making a difference in the world.”
Why that statement should affect him so strongly she wasn’t quite certain, but she saw an unmistakable glow of pleasure in his eyes as she recovered her balance.
“That means a lot,” he said, keeping hold of her hands until she felt the pulse of warmth between them swirling even higher, then quickly letting her go. “Thanks.”
It shouldn’t mean so much that somebody admired his work, Rafe told himself, handing his card to the judge’s clerk. Anne was just being polite, same as all the well-meaning donors who raved about the importance of saving kids from gangs.
But somehow her acknowledgment, coming from a woman so much like the one who’d resented his passion for Legalismo, made him smile every time he remembered it.
Like now, while he was waiting for Diego’s file, and mentally replaying this morning’s conversation with the physical therapist.
“Anne is terrific,” Cindy had told them both. “Lucky in the first place, yes, but also a really dedicated worker. And doing so well, she can start driving anytime now.”
Which was great, since he’d had to work around her schedule no matter how often she insisted she could take a cab.
But in a way, he would miss the conversations they’d shared on the way to her morning sessions and on the way home at night—
“Here you go,” the clerk told him, and he jerked his attention back to the judge’s office.
“Thanks,” Rafe muttered, and headed outside. His next mission was to check for messages, see if Anne was doing okay. See if she needed a ride home yet. She’d promised to call when she was ready to leave, but his cell phone had to stay silent in the judge’s chambers.
It rang the moment he switched it back on, and he felt a flash of pleasure before realizing that such intense happiness didn’t make sense. This might not even be Anne.
And even if it was, so what? The woman was his sister-in-law!
The caller, though, was the newest intern at Legalismo, Heidi, who had drawn front-desk duty for the day.
“I just thought you should know,” she told him, “someone called about the train crash. They’re returning Beth’s luggage, so I told them to bring it here.”
Real life couldn’t have intervened at a better time, Rafe decided. He needed a reminder of Beth right now, before he found himself edging toward fantasies that were completely out of line.
“If you want,” Heidi continued, “I can just put everything in the storage room until you’re ready. Because I remember when my dad died, it took my mom a long time to go through his things.”
That hadn’t struck him as a problem, although he’d been living with Beth’s things all along. He’d actually been seeing Beth’s face and her body and her clothes on Anne every day, so seeing the clothes she’d taken to California shouldn’t be any different.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll swing by on the way home. Did they mention finding Anne’s things?”
“No, just Beth’s. I don’t think they’re very well organized.”
Anne might regret not having her own clothes back, although that would likely happen within the next few days. Meanwhile, there was no point in mentioning the find. He could go through Beth’s luggage on his own.
But it surprised him that night, handling the clothes from his wife’s severely battered suitcase, how much her scent resembled Anne’s. Maybe that was always the case with twins, but somehow he’d never noticed the similarity between his wife’s personal fragrance and her sister’s.
Which was something he needed to forget.
Because thinking that way about Anne was completely unacceptable.
Rafe picked up another shirt, caught Anne’s scent again and closed his eyes. He’d loved Beth, not her sister, so these feelings were way out of line. It would be one thing if he’d accidentally mistaken Anne for her twin—which people probably did all the time—but he knew perfectly well who was in the guest room down the hall.
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