The funny old man blinked. "Popbottle ain't hurt."

"My friend is correct. I've suffered no ill effect." Ulysses E. "Popbottle" Jones grasped the top of the heavy metal trash bin and peered over the edge, his red miner's hat tipped to one eye. "But we do require assistance."

Curiosity got the better of Sophie and she tiptoed up for a look. The sight she beheld chipped off a piece of her teacher's heart. Cowering against the side of the bin and surrounded by trash, a young boy, maybe eight or nine, clutched a book against his chest and stared out with round blue eyes. Poorly dressed for the cold day, his shaggy blond hair hung limp and dirty around a pale, thin face smeared with something yellow, probably mustard from the piece of old hamburger gripped in his other hand.

"The small fellow won't allow me near him," Popbottle said with some chagrin as he hopped to the street. "Must be my unusual attire or perhaps the miner's lamp. I thought one of you ladies would fare better."

"Probably thought you were an alien from Jupiter," Ida June grumbled. Barely tall enough to see inside, she chinned herself like a gymnast, peered in, then slithered back to earth, muttering. "My nephew will know what to do." Whirling toward the town square she barked loud enough to be heard over the din of a city truck rattling past. "Kade, on the double! We need help."

Sophie, too concerned with the child to wait, said, "GI, boost me up."

The gentle old man, still strong as the soldier he'd been, patted his bent knee. "Foot here."

She grabbed the top of the trash bin and vaulted up and in to slide unceremoniously onto a pile of damp newspapers. She rested there for a few seconds to study the little boy and gauge his reaction to her presence. Dampness soaked through the back of her sweater. She'd need a trip home before schooltime. Not that her clothes mattered at the moment.

When the little boy didn't scramble away, she slowly moved toward him, picking her way across the junk, careful not to turn an ankle in the heeled boots.

"Hello, there," she said in her kindest voice. "My name is Sophie. What's your name?"

The question was met with a silent stare.

Sophie went into a crouch, inches from the child, but careful not to touch until he was ready. Holding back was hard. She was a toucher, a hugger, believing children needed physical connection. "I'm a nice person, honey. You can talk to me and I'll help you."

Still only that bleak stare.

"I'm a teacher here in Redemption. Fifth grade. What grade are you in?" Nothing.

Outside the trash bin voices rose and fell-Ida June's spit and vinegar, and a chorus of males. By now, someone had likely called the police station, and Sophie worried the sight of an officer might frighten the boy even more. He was like a wary, wild thing, cornered and ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

Metal scraped against the outer bin. Someone else was scrambling up the side. The boy's gaze shifted to a spot behind Sophie just as that someone dropped to the surface with catlike quiet.

Sophie glanced over one shoulder to see the trim, lithe, dark-as-a-shadow nephew of Ida June Click. His eyes, the same espresso brown as his hair, met hers in a narrow squint. There was something lethal about Kade McKendrick, and she remembered the rumor that he'd been a big-city cop or in the DEA or some such. He looked more like a man who'd been on the wrong side of the law than a police officer.

"The cookie lady," he said with an unsmiling nod.

Sophie offered a cheeky grin. "You'll order some yet. It's a great cause." Every year she and her fifth graders baked and sold Christmas cookies and contributed the proceeds to charity.

He went to his heels beside her and hitched his chin toward the child. In the bin, large as it was, three was a crowd. "Who's your friend?"

She tilted her face toward his, noticed the tense lines around his eyes and mouth. "One frightened boy."

Kade turned a quiet look on the child. "Hey, buddy, what's your name?"

Sophie waited, but when the child's response was more silence, she said, "He's not said a word to me, either."

"What's that he's holding?" Kade gestured, stirring the scent of warm, working male and clean cotton shirt, a welcome respite from the stink of trash. "A book."

"Good work, Sherlock," he said, lightly enough that Sophie would have laughed if she hadn't been so concerned for the child. "What kind of book and why is he gripping it like a lifeline?"

Sophie wondered the same thing.

To the boy, she said, "I'm a teacher, honey. I love books. What kind of story are you reading?"

He shifted slightly, his gaze flickering to the oversize book.

"Will you show it to me? Maybe we can read it together over breakfast? Are you hungry?" She extended an upturned palm and waited. She was surprisingly aware of Kade squatted in the trash next to her. She knew little about him, other than rumors and that he was good-looking in a black panther kind of way. An interesting energy simmered, in this of all places, as his arm brushed hers.

She ignored the sensation and smiled encouragement at the little boy, all the while praying for guidance and a way to connect.

Slowly, with stark hope and a dose of anxiety, the towheaded boy relinquished the picture book. Sophie shifted nearer, relaxing some and moving easily into teacher mode. She knew books, knew kids, knew how to relate.

"This is beautiful." She touched the brightly colored cover. "Is it your favorite?"

For the first time, the boy responded. His head bobbed up and down. He scooted closer and opened the cover of the popular Christmas tale. Sophie shot a glance at Kade, who offered a quick, approving hitch of his chin. For some reason, his encouragement pleased her. Not that she wanted to impress Ida June's great-nephew, but they were in this crowded Dumpster together. The thought made her giggle. The males gave her identical, bewildered looks.

"Look what we have here," Sophie said, her finger on the flyleaf inscription. "To Davey. Happy Birthday. Love, Mama. You must be Davey."

Eagerly, the child nodded, his face lighting up.

Someone rapped sharply on the side of the trash bin. The sound echoed like a metallic gong. Davey jumped, then shrank back into himself.

"Are you two taking up residence in there?"

Sophie glanced up. Three pairs of eyes peered back from above the edge, watching the scene below.

"Ida June has the patience of a housefly," Kade muttered, but rose and offered a hand to the little boy. "Come on, Davey, I'm hungry. Let's get some pancakes."

Davey hesitated only a moment before putting his small hand in Kade's much larger one. Then, with eyes wide and unsure, he reached for Sophie on the other side. Body tense, his fingers trembled. Over his head, Kade and Sophie exchanged glances. She wasn't sure what she expected from Kade McKendrick, but anger burned from eyes dark with a devastation she couldn't understand.

In that one look, Sophie received a stunning message. Davey was lost and alone. So was Kade McKendrick.

Chapter Two.

Davey sat in Police Chief Jesse Rainmaker's desk chair, swiveling back and forth, while the adults-Sophie, Ida June and Kade-discussed his situation. The Dumpster divers had come and gone, promising to "spread the word" and find where Davey belonged.

Kade hoped they could, but he wasn't holding his breath. He'd seen this before, although finding a kid in a trash can was a new low. A kid, tossed away like tissue. Use once and discard. Yeah, he'd seen plenty of that. Only they got used more than once before they ran or were discarded.

Kade's gut burned with the implication. He hoped he was wrong. He turned his back to the sad little scene and perused the faxes and photos on a bulletin board. Creeps, losers, scum. Somebody somewhere knew who this kid was and what had happened to him.

"Has he told you anything at all? Where he's from, his name, his parents. Anything?" Police Chief Jesse Rainmaker was a solid man. In a few short weeks, Kade had come to respect the understaffed officer and his handful of deputies. They were small-town but efficient and smart. Good cops.

"Nothing," Sophie said. "Even over breakfast, he didn't say a word. I'm starting to wonder if he can speak."

The sweet-faced schoolteacher had drawn a chair up next to Davey. She was good with the kid, calmed him, gave him a sense of security. For a fraction of a minute in the Dumpster, she'd done the same for him. It was a weird feeling.

Kade pivoted. "Why don't we ask him? Obviously, he can hear."

"Or he reads lips," Sophie said.

Chief Rainmaker tilted his head. "Hadn't thought of that."

"I know sign language. I can try that, too," Sophie said, moving round in front of Davey. "Davey."

The dirty little boy focused on her face. Some of his fear had dissipated, but he remained edgy, watchful, uncertain.

With a grace Kade found beautiful, the woman moved her hands in silent communication. Davey stared but didn't respond.

"Well, that didn't work. Davey, can you hear me?"

An eager head bob.

"Why won't you talk to me?"

Davey shrugged, one hand moving to his throat.

"Let's send him over to the clinic," Rainmaker said. "Have him checked out. Either he won't talk for some reason or he can't."

Restless in the small office Kade paced from the bulletin board to the boy and back again. Someone had put an automatic air freshener on top of the file cabinet to counter act the smell of burned coffee and stale shoes. Every few minutes, a spurt of fragrance hissed a girly scent into the air. Jesse either had a wife or secretary. No self-respecting cop would buy-Kade squinted at the can-white tea and roses. Smelled pretty good, though.

"Then what happens to him?" he asked.

Rainmaker rounded his desk, a long metal structure overflowing with paperwork. Kade empathized. Paperwork was the bane of cops.

The chief shuffled through some messages, pulled a stack of faxes from the basket. "Nothing on the wires about a missing child in the area, but I'll make more calls and get the word out. We'll hear something soon."

Kade didn't let it go. Couldn't. "If you don't?"

"Child protective services will take over. I'll have to notify them anyway. Someone is responsible for letting this boy get in this situation. Finding them is my job. Taking care of the child isn't."

Kade grunted. Shoulders tense, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He'd told himself the same thing once. It was a lie. Taking care of the kids was everyone's job.

Ida June, who'd remained amazingly silent for a full ten minutes, piped up in her take-no-guff tone. "We'll take the boy home with us. No need to call anyone."

His aunt's idea took Kade by surprise, but he didn't object. He wanted to keep an eye on Davey, just as he wanted to find out who'd left him in such a condition. Someone needed to pay big-time. And Kade was in the mood to be the collector.

"Now, Miss Ida June, you know I have to follow the law," Jesse said patiently.

"Please, Jesse," Sophie said, voice as sweet as her face. "I'd take him myself, but I have to get to school. I'm already late and an aide is watching my class, but Davey's too fragile to go with another stranger right now."

If Rainmaker could resist that face and tone, he was a strong man.

"Girl's right," Ida June announced with a slap to the desktop. Davey jumped, blue eyes blinking rapidly. Sophie placed a soothing hand on his knee. "We'll take Davey to the clinic, me and my nephew here, and then home to clean up. I figure the little man is tuckered plum out. He can rest up for a few hours at my place, and then if you haven't found his mama and daddy, you can call Howard Prichard."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell you what, Miss Ida June, I'll give Howard a call and apprise him of the situation. If he agrees, it's a deal."

Good luck with that, Kade thought.

"Well, get to it." Ida June crossed her arms over the front of her overalls. "Time wasted is gone forever and Lord knows, at my age, I can't afford to lose any."

Mouth twitching, Jesse made the phone call. When the social worker agreed with Ida June's plan, Kade was amazed. Small towns worked differently than the city where the letter of the law was followed, regardless. Here, apparently, human beings took precedence over protocol. Interesting.

They prepared to load Davey and his book into Kade's truck. Ida June had wanted him to ride with her, but Kade and Jesse both said, "No!" with such force that Ida June puffed up like an adder and stalked off. Kade didn't ride with her. He sure wasn't putting a child in the truck with her.

"She cut across the street yesterday, slapped a U-turn as if there weren't cars coming both ways, all because there was a parking spot on the other side."

Rainmaker nodded sagely. "I think she got her driver's license out of a cereal box."

Kade arched an eyebrow. "She has one?"

Both men chuckled.

"Come on, Davey," Kade said, taking the boy by the hand.

Davey hopped obediently from the chair and reached for Sophie. Her face crumbled. "Oh, honey, I can't go with you. I have to go to work."

Davey wrenched away from Kade to throw both arms around Sophie's middle. With a helpless look toward Kade, she hugged Davey close against a long blue sweater. Kade got a funny kick in the gut and fought off the urge to join the hug fest.

"You'll come to the house after school." His was a statement, not a question. He knew she'd come.

She nodded, gray eyes distressed. "I'll be there right after three." She held Davey back from her a little, hands on his shoulders. "Do you hear me, Davey? Go with Kade to Miss Ida June's house. They'll take good care of you, and as soon as school is out, I'll be there. We'll read your book as many times as you want. Okay?"

Looking from her to Kade and back as if he thought the pair of them went together, Davey thought over the proposition. Then, he retrieved the book he'd dropped, clasped Kade's hand and followed him to the truck.

Sophie's school day started out shaky, but she, an eternal optimist, was certain things would get better. They didn't.

After rushing home for a quick clothing change, she arrived to find her class in chaos. Emily Baker had suffered a seizure and had to go to the hospital. Even though everyone knew about Emily's disorder, witnessing a seizure frightened the class. Even Zoey Bowman, the vet's daughter whose blindness only increased her compassion and wisdom, had not known how to react. She and best friend, blonde and bouncy Delaney Markham, huddled together holding hands, desks scooted close.

By the time Sophie settled the group down with assurances that Emily was not going to die and a promise to get Mrs. Baker on the speakerphone in a few hours so they all could hear an update for themselves, lunchtime arrived.

"Academics took a backseat this morning," Carmen, the teacher's aide, said as she slid her lunch tray onto the cafeteria table next to Sophie. A fortysomething bleached blonde with an extra twenty pounds, Carmen floated between classrooms doing whatever was needed.

"Caring for people is more important sometimes," Sophie said. She sniffed a forkful of mystery casserole, a combination of tomato and meat scent with sticky pasta in the mix. Or was that rice?

"Don't say that to Mr. Gruber."

"I already have." Sophie jabbed a fork into the glob and took a bite. Not bad. Not good. She reached for the salt and pepper.

"Only you could get away with talking like that to the principal."

"Oh, that's not true. He's fair to everyone. Here, try salt on that." She offered the shakers to her seatmate.