Page 51 of Critical Strike

“I know that whatever you do, it’ll be the right thing,” Clinton decided. “I don’t know a lot of things, but that much I know for sure.”

Luke hoped his father was right.

Chapter Sixteen

Claire woke the next morning and found herself trapped in a family sitcom out of the 1950s.

The mom wore an apron and bustled around the kitchen, laughing and rolling her eyes at her husband’s terrible jokes. Their pride in their son shone through every time he was in the room, as did the love and respect they had for each other.

Definitely something out of a ’50s sitcom, except the dad was Black, the mom was Puerto Rican, their son was white, and their guest was a wanted fugitive.

It was all a little surreal, especially when she had never fit in at her foster homes. Most of them hadn’t been bad; nobody had been mean to her, except for the people at Skyline Park.

Even so, she’d been the quiet kid. The one who wasn’t good with people, who slipped through the cracks. Foster families tended to be full and busy, the parents already stretched thin by trying to provide for all the kids in their care.

None of them had set out to ignore her. It had been easy to do since she was the kid who basically wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The squeaky wheel got the oil, the quiet wheel ended up alone with a cat.

That wasn’t the case with Sheila Patterson. Nobody was left out when she was around.

She’d coddled Luke ever since finding out about his wound, looking after it, making him his favorite foods.

More surprising? Luke had let her do it.

He loved her and she loved him. Nothing could be more evident. And the more evident it became, the more Claire found herself withdrawing. Not on purpose. It was what she did whenever she was on the outside looking in.

But Sheila was having none of it.

She’d included Claire in every conversation. Every game of spades. Cooking, washing dishes—Sheila included her in that, too. She didn’t treat Claire like a guest; she treated her like family.

It was amazing and alarming, like nothing Claire had ever known. Yet every time she started to withdraw and shut down, some member of the Patterson family pulled her back in.

“Mom.” Luke found Claire and Sheila in the kitchen, and he didn’t look happy. “Dad is dragging me down to the lake so he can show me his new rod and reel. Please tell me you have something I can do here so I don’t have to go. Like scrubbing toilets.”

He sounded like a whiny little kid and Claire couldn’t help but smile.

Sheila sighed with a shrug. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to go fishing with your father. I’m going to teach Claire how to make apple turnovers.”

That was news to Claire, though the fact that the mere mention of turnovers made Luke’s eyes literally light up told her this was a good way to spend the time. “You are?”

“That way she has something to lord over you when you’re not behaving the way you should.” Sheila dropped a knowing wink Claire’s way.

Luke shook his head. “You’re a cruel woman, Sheila Patterson. Equipping the younger generation to operate in that way.”

Sheila raised one dark eyebrow. “We women have to stick together.”

Luke was still grumbling good-naturedly as he and Clinton walked down to the creek that fed into the lake. Meanwhile, Claire had the feeling this situation was a setup to give Sheila a chance for them to talk privately.

She tried to keep a positive expression on her face, but she couldn’t help but worry. Sheila might not have been related to Luke by blood, but she thought of herself as his mother.

And undoubtedly, thought of Claire as a threat to her son.

The irony of the situation didn’t escape her as Sheila took her through the process, step-by-step. There was nothing Claire wanted more than to know how to make Luke’s favorite dessert, though ideally, she’d make it when he wasn’t in danger because of her. She was only learning the recipe because they’d come here to hide out for a while.

There was also a sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Sheila’s tone to change as she took Claire through the steps. When was she going to get around to it?

As it turned out, Sheila got around to it while Claire was busy folding the homemade pastry dough around apple slices. “Luke is important to me. All of my sons are.” She didn’t stop working as she spoke, so Claire didn’t, either.

“I could see that. He loves you and Clinton, and you both love him. I’m so happy he found a family who appreciates him.”