“That’s fine.” Bliss took the papers and pen from Jessie.
What in the hell was she doing? She was going to have to leave when Stark came back after her, so why was she tying herself to this town?
Jessie went to break up two girls squabbling over a doll while Bliss began filling out the paperwork to avoid Drake’s curious eyes.
“You sure about this?”
“No, but I’ll stick with it until she hires someone else. It’ll give me something to do besides fuck you when you’re bored during the day.”
“I hope she finds someone to replace you soon.”
“Me, too,” Bliss said fervently.
Chapter 13
“Do angels fly?” Devon asked as Bliss wiped the glue off his small hands.
“Some do.” Bliss picked up the picture of an angel he had been coloring. It was soggy because he had used so much glue to apply glitter to the wings. “If they’ve earned their wings.”
“How do you become an angel?” Devon tagged along behind her as she pinned his picture to the wall.
Bliss took her time answering the delicate question.
“My mama’s an angel.” Darcy wobbled over to the picture, pointing to the one she had colored with blue hair. Her blue-green eyes filled with tears, a contrast to her expensive, festive dress with little Christmas trees and her long, blondish-brown hair that was braided and had a big red bow at the end.
Bliss leaned over, picking the child up into her arms. Despite herself, Bliss was becoming attached to the motherless little girl.
Jessie had told her Darcy had been placed in a foster home when her mother had passed away and Cal’s father had been sent to prison. Bliss didn’t tell her that she already knew, not wanting to bring up her connection to The Last Riders until she had to. She really liked working with the children, and she didn’t even mind getting out of bed in the morning to rush there. Surprisingly, she had also asked Ginny to go to the department store with her to pick out more appropriate clothes.
Bliss didn’t care for the woman taking care of Darcy. Lisa West was a bitch; Bliss was an expert at recognizing them, because she was one.
“How did she become an angel?” Devon asked Darcy.
“Jesus missed her, so he took her home. I miss her, too. Do you think he would bring her back if I asked Santa?”
Bliss considered her heart unbreakable, but Darcy was putting a crack in it. A big one.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think Santa can do that. Santa brings presents to good little boys and girls.”
“I’ve been reeeal good.”
“I have, too!” Dalton chimed in.
“Not as good as me.” Darcy was crying with big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.
Bliss carried her to the reading corner where Jessie had placed a rocking chair. Sitting down with the girl on her lap, Bliss began humming a song she had thought she had long forgotten.
Darcy’s chubby hand reached out to grasp her blanket, brushing the satin ribbon at the end against her wet cheek.
“What’s the name of that song? It’s pretty.”
“‘Hush Little Baby,’” Bliss choked out.
“I like it.”
“I do, too. My mama used to sing it to me when I was little.”
Darcy’s head fell to her breast as Bliss slowly rocked the chair and hummed. Her lids lowered, and her breathing evened out as she fell asleep.
Jessie had laid out the napping cots, so Bliss carried the girl to the one closest to the desk. That way, she could watch over Darcy as she napped. She covered her with a blanket Jessie handed her, and then Bliss helped Jessie lay the rest of the children down. Most of them fell asleep as soon as they lay down, while the rest wiggled before settling down and drifting off.
“She’s a sweet kid,” Jessie remarked, throwing herself down in the chair behind the desk.
“Yes, she is,” Bliss replied as she went around the room, picking up the toys and straightening the learning centers.
Jessie sat at her desk, watching her as she ate her lunch. “You’re very good with children,” she complimented.
“I like them. I always have. I would babysit a friend of mine’s twins whenever they let me.”
“They let you?”
“I had to stand in line. They had several friends volunteering.”
“Oh. Sit down and take a break.” Jessie pulled out the chair next to hers then handed Bliss a sandwich. “I made extra. I noticed you have a habit of not eating lunch.”
“I’m not a very good cook.”
“I’m going to give you a secret recipe with only three ingredients.”
Bliss unwrapped the sandwich, taking a bite of the gooey goodness.
“Bread, peanut butter, and jelly.”
“I can add another recipe to my file. Microwavable macaroni and cheese, cups of soup, and now peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Bliss chewed the sandwich, expecting to be assailed by bad memories of the many times she had eaten them when she was a child. It was a staple at homeless shelters.