Dogs didn’t like it when people stared into their eyes, either. They also hated to be petted on their heads. He didn’t like Cait patting his hand, either.
But she was his wife, and she probably wanted a kiss. Which meant back to the eye locking and that awkward moment of leaning in—never sure if the woman would turn away and slap him with a rejection.
Cait stood and met him halfway, giving him an easy pitch. Their lips touched, and he allowed himself to loosen up. He kissed her and she kissed him back. He kissed her again, and she kissed back. Even number still. Would it be bad luck to end with an odd number of kisses?
He moved his lips again, but this time, she also opened her mouth. Then, she grabbed him around the neck, and he lost track of when one kiss started and ended.
She tasted like bacon and coffee, but felt soft and wet and everything nice. Tiny pinpricks of panic poked at him, trying to remind him it wasn’t the time or the place and this wasn’t on schedule.
But another part of him didn’t care anymore. Whenever he was with Cait, he wasn’t a zombie or a weirdo. He was a man, and she was tender and caring, and best of all, she didn’t speak words when they were in bed.
He kept his lips busy and locked onto hers, so he wouldn’t say anything stupid, and as his body heated and took over, he let his hands roam over her, the same way Mrs. Thornton had taught him. He was a master at playing a woman’s body. It was like an exquisite musical instrument, and the sounds they made were better than going to an opera.
Cait, especially, was a worthy soprano. He loved his mastery of her, especially, because it made her happy and warm and fuzzy. When she was happy, she didn’t complain or talk as much.
Firmly, he guided her to the bedroom and shut the door, leaving the two dogs outside.
“Say you want to make love to me, Brian.”
She needed to hear him, so he said it. “I want to make love to you, Cait.”
And so he did, and it confused him why she needed to hear what she should have known all along. If there was a thing called love, and if it actually existed between two people, the way he thought he had with Alana, then he did love Cait—logically.
He just couldn’t feel it the way Connor, Larry, or any normal man felt.
Sex with his wife, that felt really, really good, and by the way he made her moan and gasp and scream, it was really, really good for her, too.
Except, she deserved a normal man, one who brought her flowers and said icky things about love and forever. Seeing someone who reminded him of her bent double kissing another man told him she wanted way, way more than he could ever give.
The ability to say those words, “I love you, Cait.”
Chapter Eleven
The drive down the mountain was scenic as the road wound down knobby hills, seasonally green after the recent rainfall. Evergreens stood out in stark contrast to the scrubby oaks whose bare branches twisted like gnarly fingers of ancient wizards.
Brian whistled, in a good mood, and Cait wasn’t feeling too bad herself. They’d spent a leisurely morning entangled in bed, and even though not many words were spoken, the passion was white hot and the tender moments sweet.
Sierra and Melia lay in the tailgate section of Brian’s Subaru Outback, content as only dogs could be. Sunlight filtered through the tinted glass, and even though it was in the forties outside, Cait was snug and warm.
The town was little more than a center square and two cross streets filled with old buildings. Brian parked the car in front of the one and only diner. “We might as well use their wifi internet in there.”
“I can get a signal right here,” Cait said.
“Need to use my laptop,” Brian said. “Besides, I worked up an appetite.”
Cait leaned over the console and kissed him on the cheek. “So did I.”
It was times like this that convinced her Brian did truly care for her. He wasn’t as demonstrable as other men, but he was good, solid, and dependable.
He gave her a half smirk and got out of the car. “You two want to stretch your legs?”
“Is the diner dog friendly?” Cait asked.
“They have an outdoor section.” Brian opened the hatch and let the two dogs jump out.
A few minutes later, they were seated outside on the patio. It was chilly, but Cait had her scarf, coat, and gloves, so she wasn’t complaining.
“What pretty puppies,” the waitress said. “Where’d you find them?”
“They found us,” Brian said, taking a menu from the waitress. “Can we have your wifi password?”
“Sure, it’s printed on the menu.” The waitress, who appeared to be a college student, quirked her eyebrow as she stared at Brian. “You look familiar.”
“I was here last night,” Brian said, not making eye contact.
“I wasn’t working last night,” the waitress said. “I saw you over near Dead Man’s Gulch. Were you the guy who put flowers at the scene?”
“Might have been me.” Brian’s face turned pink. “Can we get some coffee while we decide?”
“You put flowers at the place?” Cait asked after the waitress retreated to the kitchen.
“Was no big deal.” Brian’s voice lowered to a rasp. “Mrs. Thornton always liked yellow roses.”
“Was she from Texas?” Cait asked, knowing how Brian’s thoughts leapt from one association to another.
“Yes, Abilene, but she moved to San Francisco after marrying Mr. Thornton.”
“You seem to know a lot about the family. How old do you think these dogs are?” Cait kept her voice calm, despite the twinge of jealousy rising in her belly. He bought flowers for his former teacher, but never did romantic gestures for her.
“The dogs are around four years old.” Brian’s knee jittered under the table. “She got them for her son when they diagnosed him with Asperger’s syndrome.”
“Asperger’s?” Cait jolted upright and stared at Brian. “Didn’t you tell me she thought you had that, too?”
He looked down at the menu. “I didn’t agree with her. My parents didn’t either.”
“Well, sure, but wasn’t she your hero? The teacher who could do no wrong? The one who inspired you to go to firefighting school?”
Brian gritted his teeth and squeezed the plastic menu so hard his knuckles whitened. “She’s wrong about that. I’m not crazy. I’m perfectly normal.”
“Sure you are.” Cait covered his hand with hers and rubbed his knuckles. “But why would she tell you that Glen has Asperger’s? Were you that close to her?”
“No.” Brian jerked his hand away from Cait and pushed the metal bistro chair back, startling Sierra who had camped herself next to him. “After high school, I lost touch with her. She tried to get rid of me by telling me to go to firefighting school.”
“Get rid of you? Why would she do that?” Cait was getting more and more puzzled with each turn of the conversation. If Brian had truly lost touch with Mrs. Thornton, then how would he know how old the dogs were? How would he know about Glen’s diagnosis?
And most of all, why was he putting flowers at the site of her death?
“Look, can we not talk about her?” Brian placed his laptop on the table and opened it.
“That’s fine, but since you know whose dogs these are, you’d better find a way to contact the owner. If Glen has Asperger’s then he’ll need these two dogs back. Are they therapy dogs?”
“No, they’re just pets.” He stared at the laptop and tapped on the keys, not glancing at her.
Since he was so uncommunicative, Cait picked up the dogs’ leashes and said, “I’m not hungry. I think I’ll take a walk in the town square.”
“Suit yourself,” Brian grumbled, not meeting her eye.
As Cait walked out of the diner, past the large wooden bear statue standing out front, her ears buzzed and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled as a distinct chill made her shudder.
There was something fishy between him and Mrs. Thornton, and she shuddered to t
hink what it might be.
Brian’s gaze followed Cait as she made her way across the street to the small town square. She should keep her nose out of his business and stop asking questions.
Of course, it was the waitress’s fault for recognizing him. Yes, he’d gotten Alana her favorite flowers, but there was no reason for Cait to be jealous about it. He had to visit the scene to get closure. To see it for himself and move on to his next step.
Finding Glen and claiming him as his son.
The senator had played daddy long enough, and from what Alana had told him, he and Glen didn’t see eye to eye. No surprise there. Glen was a sensitive child whose inner life was richer than what was outside.
He was a dedicated gamer and preferred playing the role of thief, where stealth and cunning were more important than sheer strength and power.
The last time they chatted, Alana had mentioned something about the senator wanting to send Glen to a military school for troubled teens, but she hadn’t mentioned any names.
Brian searched online, looking for images of Glen and Alana. There were pictures of them walking down the sidewalk in Washington, DC, and other official photos of the family standing around at campaign events.
Glen was paraded around whenever the senator spoke on women’s issues: daycare tax credits, school choice, and equal pay. The fact that Mrs. Thornton was a working mom and a high school teacher gave voters a warm and comfy all-American family feel and raised their trust in the senator.
It must have worked, because even though Alana died shortly before the election, the voters re-elected Senator Thornton for another term. The pictures at the funeral showing him as a grieving widower and devoted father kept his opponent from attacking him in the final days of his campaign.
Brian scrolled through dozens of pictures taken from the fall campaign until he found one of Glen and Alana out walking the dogs. There they were, Melia and Sierra, wearing their light blue kerchiefs. He stared at the background, hoping to get a hint of where they were, but it was an ordinary park with green grass and shrubs in the distance.
The biggest problem was, he had no way of contacting Glen, and if he called the senator, one of his aides would simply take the dogs and that would be that.
Brian scratched his head and tapped his foot, his knee jittering a mile a minute. What was he to do? How could he let Glen know about the dogs?
After the accident, the kid had disappeared online. His email bounced and his social media accounts vanished.
Brian had no choice but to broadcast a message on Twitter. He created a fake account using his video game username, one Glen would know—Wonderman.
He agonized over the tweet, and finally settled for, #SenatorThornton Let the Thief find Sierra in the realm of Melia.
Hopefully, Glen the Thief would find a way into the Realm of Rogues game site, where he and Wonderman the Archer had spent many hours together chatting and fighting like brothers in arms.
Chapter Twelve
~ Glen Thornton ~
I’m in the superintendent’s office for the fourth time in five weeks.
Major Dunbar sniffs and glares at me from across his big desk. “You’re here to learn discipline and respect for authority. If you want to stay here at Marshall Military, you’re going to have to buck up and stop the whining.”
“I don’t want to stay here.” I clench my fists under the desk. They have nothing on me, because the first chance I get, I’m running away.
I’m not going home, either. My father told me my dogs ran away. I have to find them, and then I’ll travel around the world with them.
My mother said “Bye and wander,” when she died because she wanted me to be a wanderer.
“Your father paid a lot of money to straighten you up,” the superintendent continues. “Effective immediately, you’re to report to the galley after classes to mop the floor. You’re also suspended from sports and socials, and confined to your room when not going to class or working in the galley.”
When I don’t respond, he barks. “Do I hear a ‘yes, sir?’”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get out of here.” He flicks his hand and turns to his computer.
Like I care. Mopping the floor is better than doing things with the other cadets. They’re all mean and pick on me. Not that it bothers me, since I’m used to being picked on.
My mother always said it made me stronger and better. She said all the special people got picked on. She gave me the dogs and lots of hugs, and she would never have sent me here. Now, it’s my job to get out of here and do what she wanted me to do—wander around the world.
I leave Major Dunbar’s office and walk by the secretary’s desk. It’s lunch hour, and no one is there. Her computer screen isn’t locked, and she has a browser window open. What an opportunity.
I immediately go to the Realm of Rogues game site and log in. My inbox is full of messages from my guild. They’re all wondering where I’ve been, but some want to nominate another Thief, since they hadn’t heard from me in weeks.
Wonderman the Archer sticks up for me. He tells them if they kick me out, he’ll leave also. I never have any friends, really, but what the Archer says makes me feel good.
I type a message to him.
Dude, I’m stuck at a military school. Trying to get away. If the guild don’t want us, we don’t need them either.
The superintendent’s office door is still closed, so I browse to my social media accounts. They’re all gone, and so is my email.
My father must have done this. It’s lucky he didn’t know about the Realm of Rogues game.
I don’t have time to play, so I go to the search engine and look for lost dogs. There are lost and found dog sites, and I quickly add a listing for Sierra and Melia, two blue chow chows. Too bad I don’t have a picture of them to post.
The door to the superintendent’s office opens, and I slip under the secretary’s desk. The taps on his shoes click, click, click, as he walks by on his way to lunch.
I wait until the outer door shuts before I get back on the computer. I enter the zip code for our vacation home in the Sierra Nevadas, but no one has found any dogs similar to mine.
I search the rescue shelters and type their names in search engines. No hits except for a hotel in Spain.
Time is ticking away, and the secretary’s lunch break is almost over. I make up new email accounts and get back on social media, but I don’t know any real people who can help.
My gamer friends are probably kids, and I don’t know where they live. The teachers at my old school will probably report me to my father. They were afraid of him because he’s a senator. Even my mother was afraid of him.
I hear the outer door swing open right when I get onto Twitter. I type my dogs’ names into the search bar and get a hit.
It’s from Wonderman, my buddy in the Realm of Rogues. He’s asking my father to let me find Sierra in the realm of Melia.
My heart beats in a frenzy. If my father sees the tweet, he’ll be furious. He told me the dogs were long gone and I was not to be a baby and cry for them.
Just like I’m not supposed to cry for my mother.
Right after the funeral, he shoved me into the limo and marched me to the airport. He said I was no longer a baby, and he was going to make a man out of me.
I send Wonderman a direct message because it’s private.
You have to help me find Melia and Sierra. I’m stuck at Marshall Military.
He replies that he found them, and I tell him my father hates the dogs, that I need to get away from military school. I ask him to help me, and he agrees.
I tell him to leave coded messages in the Realm, because I’m using the school computer. They would be able to trace anything we write to each other, so he agrees to leave clues for me to meet up with him and the dogs. He’s so nice, he says I can stay with him. I agree with him, because I need his help, but I’m a wanderer. Once I have Sierra and Melia, I’m disappearing so my father can never
find me.
“What are you doing at my computer?” The secretary hits my shoulder with her purse. “I’m reporting this to the Major. Now, scram and get back to the barracks.”
I exit all my open windows with a keyboard shortcut and run out of the office, but not before swiping a few large paperclips.
Later, when she’s gone, I’ll pick the locks so I can use the computer again. I’m not TrickyGlen the Thief for nothing.
Chapter Thirteen
Cait walked briskly away from the diner with the two chow chows trotting at her side. The wintry breeze fluttered through the dried leaves, and a flock of crows cawed, swooping through the air right above her.
Brian’s behavior had spooked her, and she couldn’t shake off the willies. This entire Brian and Mrs. Thornton thing seemed unnatural and weird. Had Brian had a crush on the teacher?
If so, Mrs. Thornton should have discouraged it, not kept in touch with him and ultimately, bequeathing him an antique fire engine.
As for the dogs, it didn’t require much research to find the owners. All Brian needed to do was find the phone number for the senator’s office and let him know he had them. Simple.
Cait took out her cell phone and asked it for Senator Thornton’s phone number. It instantly appeared on the screen, and all she had to do to call him would be to tap the touchscreen.
She’d let Brian do it, though. He seemed to have put himself in charge of the dog project, when in reality, she was the one who’d found the two.
It was too bad she couldn’t keep them. They were really sweet, and even though they needed a bath and grooming, they were peppier this morning after scarfing down a ton of food.
Sierra dragged behind while Melia pulled and wanted to go faster. Their leashes crisscrossed, almost tripping Cait as they sniffed at the fence posts and monument in the center of the small patch of grass.
“Are those your dogs?” A young woman with a large reddish dog with upright ears walked by.
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