"I was hoping my dad was here so he'd take me home," Stephanie said.

"Nick's at the courthouse today. Hector said he'd be there most of the day. I can call him for you if you want."

Stephanie looked at her backpack. "Can you take me home?"

Nick had forewarned her that Stephanie skipped school occasionally, and had instructed both of his deputies to call the principal and take his daughter home to Mrs. Thornsberry if she showed up at the station when he wasn't around.

"Sure I can." Erin figured it was the least she could do, since she'd upset Stephanie so terribly the night of the party. "Now I have an excuse not to finish this paperwork."

It took Erin nearly ten minutes to help Stephanie out of her wheelchair and get her strapped in the cruiser. By the time she stowed the chair in the trunk and climbed behind the wheel, she'd broken into a sweat. For the first time, she realized fully the weight of Nick's responsibility when it came to his daughter. She knew he shouldered that responsibility without complaint-but she also realized fully the love and devotion that was required to care for a physically challenged child.

Pulling onto Commerce Street, Erin steered the cruiser toward Nick's house.

"I guess you think I acted like a brat about the basketball," Stephanie said after a moment.

The statement startled Erin. Not knowing exactly how to respond, she glanced away from her driving and studied the girl. "That was my fault, honey. I should have realized the basketball might upset you."

"It doesn't. I mean, it did at first, but not anymore. After I got used to the idea, I started thinking it might be fun to, you know, play."

"It's okay for you not to like it, Steph. I'll take it back and get you something else-"

"But I do like it," she insisted. "I just… when you first gave it to me, I started thinking that I won't ever be able to walk again, and it made me feel sad. But after I thought about it awhile, I started thinking maybe I could take some lessons or something."

"You want to take wheelchair basketball lessons?" Erin asked cautiously.

"Maybe. I mean, you said kids in wheelchairs could take lessons. Didn't you say that, Erin?"

She thought of Nick and wondered how she should handle this. "How did your dad feel about lessons?"

"He worries too much, but he's always like that. Mom used to call him a worrywart. But he promised he'd think about it."

Erin blinked, surprised that Nick had told Stephanie he would consider letting her take lessons. He'd seemed dead set against it. The thought that he might have softened his stance sent a ribbon of warmth through her heart. "So… you had a pretty good birthday, after all?"

"Pretty good." Sighing, Stephanie looked out the window. "My dad's pretty cool. He let me stay up past my bedtime for once. He even got me a green parakeet. I named her Bertha. And Mrs. Thornsberry made that really yummy cake. She's like my grandmother, or something. I just wish…" The little girl's voice trailed off.

Erin gave her a moment, then pressed. "You wish what, honey?"

"I wish my mom could have been there. I mean, she'd probably be sad that I'm in a wheelchair, but she always made me feel better. She was pretty, and she laughed a lot. She made my dad laugh, too. He hardly ever laughs anymore."

The words sent a pang through Erin. The mention of Nick's wife sent another, more complex, pang right through her. "Your dad told me about your mom. I'm sorry." Remembering her own childhood, and the death of her mother, she ached for the little girl.

"I miss her sometimes."

"I know what you mean," Erin said easily.

"You do?"

"I lost my mom when I was six."

Stephanie turned wide blue eyes on her. "You mean your mom died, too?"

Erin nodded. "She had cancer."

"That must have been really hard, since you were only six. Did you cry?"

"I cried a bunch. I missed her so much."

"I used to cry all the time, but I don't anymore. I even saw my dad cry once. He thought I didn't see him, but I did. It was kind of weird. I told Mrs. T. about it, and she said everyone cries when they're sad. I never told my dad I saw him, though. I figured he'd be embarrassed or something."

Erin smiled despite the fact that she felt the warmth of tears in her eyes. She wondered how a nine-year-old could be so perceptive.

"Is that why you skip school, honey? Because you're sad?"

"I don't know." Steph's eyes skittered toward the window, then down to her sneakers. "Sometimes I get mad. I mean, not at my dad or Mrs. T. or anything. I just get mad because I miss my mom and I can't do stuff, like play basketball and ride Bandito."

Erin wasn't sure how to tell an innocent nine-year-old child that life wasn't always fair. "It's okay to be mad, Steph, but skipping school isn't such a good idea."

"I know."

"But you know what?"

The little girl looked over at her. "What?"

"It helps to talk about it. And I think your dad and Mrs. T. are pretty good listeners."

"So are you."

Feeling her own emotions rise, Erin glanced in the rear-view mirror and swallowed hard.

"Does that yucky feeling that makes you want to cry ever go away?" Stephanie asked.

"It gets easier," Erin said carefully. "Pretty soon when you think of your mom, you'll just smile and think about how much fun she was to be with, and it won't hurt so much to think about her."

"She was pretty fun. She used to braid my hair. Once she even braided Bandito's tail. He looked pretty funny."

Erin looked away from her driving and grinned. "See?" she said. "You're smiling already."

They rode in silence for several minutes, then Erin turned the cruiser into the driveway. In the adjacent pasture, the Appaloosa raised his head and watched them. "Hey, there's Bandito," she said.

Stephanie waved to the horse and blew him a kiss through the open window. "He's so pretty. I showed him at the county fair when I was in 4-H. I won first place in western pleasure class. We rode in the trail class, too, but he's never been good at backing. I could show you my ribbons if you want."

"I'd love to see them. In fact, I'd love to see Bandito, too."

The little girl's face brightened. "Really?"

"Sure." Erin stopped the cruiser.

"So, you really do like horses? The other day I thought you were just, you know, trying to be nice."

"I like horses a lot. And I am really nice." At Stephanie' s smile, she added, "Once you get to know me."

"Do you really think I could ride him sometime, Erin? I mean, with my legs the way they are? You talked about it the other day, and I've sort of been wondering."

Caution demanded Erin tread carefully when it came to this child. She didn't want to give her false hopes. The little girl had had too many disappointments in recent years to build her up for another letdown. Nick seemed to be dead set against her taking on any activity that could be even remotely dangerous. On the other hand, Erin knew for a fact Stephanie could at least sit atop her horse; Erin had seen severely handicapped children ride horses with the help of adult spotters in the weeks she'd volunteered at the Quest Foundation. She'd personally spotted one such teenage boy afflicted with syringomyelia. Stephanie wasn't severely handicapped. Surely Nick wouldn't deny her that small joy in the name of safety. He had, after all, softened his stance on the basketball. Why would he object to her sitting atop Bandito?

"Do you want to give it a shot?" Erin asked, praying she hadn't just committed herself to something that would once again put her and Nick at odds.

Stephanie's grin was all the answer she needed.

"Oh, honey, I don't know." Mrs. Thornsberry worried her pearl necklace with nervous fingers.