of high-minded attitude only made him want her more.
Well, as soon as he got the extra staff and funding that the emergency teams so desperately needed, and as soon as natural disasters started happening somewhere else on the globe for a change, Patrick was going to make sure one of them started looking for a new job.
However, at the moment he couldn’t forget about the job he did hold. He drove home by way of the convenience store, his belly knotting when he saw the mess. The roof had caved in, one wall was mostly rubble, and the windows had blown out.
On impulse, he pulled over and stopped the car.
The physical damage didn’t worry him so much.Walls and roofs and windows could be replaced. A human life never could.
He recalled the older woman who’d served him and his family. She always had a kind word for the children, and often a couple of lollipops would find their way from the jar she kept behind the till into two eager little fists.
God, the kids could have been there when the shaking began. Anyone’s kids could have. The corner store was a popular after-school hangout. If he could be grateful for anything, it would be that there weren’t more casualties.
It wasn’t much comfort, because even one death was a tragedy, but he’d have been less than human if he didn’t say a quick thanks that the children of Courage Bay, including his, were now sleeping peacefully at home.
He drove to his house, then entered as quietly as he could through the door that led from the garage into the laundry room. From there he crept into the kitchen. He headed for Fiona’s room first.
His heart squeezed as he gazed down at his little girl. She’d only been two when Janie died, and she didn’t remember her mother at all. In sleep she was angelic, her soft brown curls framing her round face, her lips opening and closing slightly as she breathed. She held her favorite stuffed hippo in her arms.
Patrick straightened the covers on her bed, kissed her forehead and went next door to his son’s room. Dylan wore baseball pyjamas and had kicked all his covers onto the floor. Patrick picked them up and replaced them, though he knew they’d be back on the floor by morning. He swore his son got more exercise when asleep than he did running around or playing sports.
He tousled the black hair that stuck out in tufts behind Dylan’s ears, just as Patrick’s had when he was a kid.
Returning to the kitchen, Patrick opened the fridge. Often the housekeeper left him a plate of dinner to microwave if he was late coming home, but since he’d planned to dine with Max Zirinsky, the police chief, there was nothing for him.
Most of the food in the fridge had been bought to appeal to people under the age of ten. Patrick passed on the hot dogs, the gelatin jigglers, the yogurt tubes, the peanut butter and the cheese strings. The mixed tropical fruit juice was no doubt healthy, but right now he didn’t want to drink anything quite that color.
Instead, he cracked open a beer, found some crackers and a block of cheddar. He made short work of all three, before taking himself off for the world’s quickest shower. In minutes he was falling into bed.
Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day.
CHAPTER FIVE
P ATRICK WALKED into his office next morning at nine, having taken the time to have breakfast with Dylan and Fiona, and to thank Mrs. Simpson for staying the night. She’d had to run home and feed her cat and change clothes before returning for the day.
He knew he could call his parents, or his brother, Sean, or Sean’s wife, Linda, to help out when these emergencies arose. They would be there in a flash, if he called. But all of them had their own lives, their own responsibilities. And from the way Dylan and Fiona had climbed all over him and talked his ear off in their excitement to have their father to themselves for a morning, Patrick knew that he was the one his children needed to have around.
Sure, Courage Bay needed him, too, but
Well, as soon as he got the extra staff and funding that the emergency teams so desperately needed, and as soon as natural disasters started happening somewhere else on the globe for a change, Patrick was going to make sure one of them started looking for a new job.
However, at the moment he couldn’t forget about the job he did hold. He drove home by way of the convenience store, his belly knotting when he saw the mess. The roof had caved in, one wall was mostly rubble, and the windows had blown out.
On impulse, he pulled over and stopped the car.
The physical damage didn’t worry him so much.Walls and roofs and windows could be replaced. A human life never could.
He recalled the older woman who’d served him and his family. She always had a kind word for the children, and often a couple of lollipops would find their way from the jar she kept behind the till into two eager little fists.
God, the kids could have been there when the shaking began. Anyone’s kids could have. The corner store was a popular after-school hangout. If he could be grateful for anything, it would be that there weren’t more casualties.
It wasn’t much comfort, because even one death was a tragedy, but he’d have been less than human if he didn’t say a quick thanks that the children of Courage Bay, including his, were now sleeping peacefully at home.
He drove to his house, then entered as quietly as he could through the door that led from the garage into the laundry room. From there he crept into the kitchen. He headed for Fiona’s room first.
His heart squeezed as he gazed down at his little girl. She’d only been two when Janie died, and she didn’t remember her mother at all. In sleep she was angelic, her soft brown curls framing her round face, her lips opening and closing slightly as she breathed. She held her favorite stuffed hippo in her arms.
Patrick straightened the covers on her bed, kissed her forehead and went next door to his son’s room. Dylan wore baseball pyjamas and had kicked all his covers onto the floor. Patrick picked them up and replaced them, though he knew they’d be back on the floor by morning. He swore his son got more exercise when asleep than he did running around or playing sports.
He tousled the black hair that stuck out in tufts behind Dylan’s ears, just as Patrick’s had when he was a kid.
Returning to the kitchen, Patrick opened the fridge. Often the housekeeper left him a plate of dinner to microwave if he was late coming home, but since he’d planned to dine with Max Zirinsky, the police chief, there was nothing for him.
Most of the food in the fridge had been bought to appeal to people under the age of ten. Patrick passed on the hot dogs, the gelatin jigglers, the yogurt tubes, the peanut butter and the cheese strings. The mixed tropical fruit juice was no doubt healthy, but right now he didn’t want to drink anything quite that color.
Instead, he cracked open a beer, found some crackers and a block of cheddar. He made short work of all three, before taking himself off for the world’s quickest shower. In minutes he was falling into bed.
Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day.
CHAPTER FIVE
P ATRICK WALKED into his office next morning at nine, having taken the time to have breakfast with Dylan and Fiona, and to thank Mrs. Simpson for staying the night. She’d had to run home and feed her cat and change clothes before returning for the day.
He knew he could call his parents, or his brother, Sean, or Sean’s wife, Linda, to help out when these emergencies arose. They would be there in a flash, if he called. But all of them had their own lives, their own responsibilities. And from the way Dylan and Fiona had climbed all over him and talked his ear off in their excitement to have their father to themselves for a morning, Patrick knew that he was the one his children needed to have around.
Sure, Courage Bay needed him, too, but
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