by Katie Meyer
No, he was a dumb native who should know better than to make his run in the middle of the day. Normally, he exercised in the morning, before the sun was high, like any sane person. But he’d had a sleepless night, finally dozing off a little before dawn. By the time he’d woken, it was late morning and hot enough to make the devil sweat. A sane person would have skipped the run, or at least postponed it until evening. Not him.
If he’d been trying to punish himself, he’d succeeded. His muscles were cramping, sweat stung his eyes, and he was embarrassingly close to upchucking the banana he’d eaten for breakfast. Mindful of the lifeguard as well as the sunbathers lining the shore, he managed to haul himself to his feet before a well-meaning townsperson decided he needed rescuing.
Moving slowly but steadily, he waded out into the gently rolling waves, letting the primal rhythms of the surf wash some of the tension from his body. He kept his gym membership current for the occasional bout of bad weather, but a run on the beach, even a really crappy run, beat the treadmill any day. And a dip in the ocean was a thousand times better than a lukewarm petri dish of a hot tub. And that was why he’d been so eager to move to Paradise. Half floating, half swimming, he let the current carry him and the stresses of the past week away.
Well, most of them. It seemed even the powers of sun, surf, and sand couldn’t sway Megan Palmer out of his head. He’d tried to focus on the budget last night when he’d finally gotten home, but instead had ended up wading through the rest of the literature she’d left with him. Then, curiosity piqued, he’d spent another few hours on the internet researching service dogs and their work with autistic children. He had to admit, some of the stories seemed nearly miraculous, and if Owen’s dog was half as helpful as the ones he’d read about, he could understand why his mother was pushing so hard for access to the classroom.
No yet completely won over, he was at least no longer adamant about dismissing the idea out of hand. But it wasn’t the dog or Owen that had kept him tossing and turning, tangled in sweaty sheets, half the night. It was Megan herself. Her tousled hair, which he ached to run his fingers through. Her clear blue eyes, the same shade as the ocean that surrounded him now. And her skin... Dear lord, he wanted to touch every inch of it, to taste it, to bury himself in the sweet softness of her. Even now, chest-deep in the chilly waters of the Atlantic, his body reacted to the thought of her.
Frustrated, he turned against the current and shifted into an efficient crawl stroke. He hadn’t been able to outrun the lust, but maybe he could drown it. Reach, pull, turn, breathe...the steady rhythm had always been enough to calm him. Exercise had gotten him through the hormone surges and teenage crushes of puberty, and later the anxiety of college exams and job interviews. But this time, there was no peace.
He had no idea what to do about that.
Chapter Three
Saturday was her favorite day of the week. Weekdays were about school and filled with worry about how Owen was doing and whether or not she’d get a call to pick him up early. Sundays were for church—where she had to endure disapproving stares as Owen bounced and fidgeted in the pew until the kids were dismissed for Sunday school—and readying for a new week. But Saturdays, there were no obligations to meet, no one’s schedule to obey. They could, and often did, spend the whole day just hanging out in the yard with Lily. And that was where they were now, Megan in a faded lawn chair and Owen knee-deep in a muddy hole.
Her phone started buzzing in the pocket of her cutoffs. Tugging it out, she glanced at the screen even though she knew who it would be. Her mother called every Saturday morning, no matter where she was in the world. Sometimes, like now, that meant they were crossing time zones, but thanks to modern technology her mother’s voice sounded as clear as if she were down the street instead of half a world away.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hay is for horses,” she responded automatically, as Megan knew she would. Her mother’s gentle corrections were as predictable as her call schedule and, although they’d driven Megan to distraction as a kid, by her teens she’d found amusement in provoking them on purpose. “How’s my favorite daughter?”
“I’m your only daughter, and I’m fine. How are you? Enjoying Brussels?”
Although her father’s military career had ended two years ago, his technical skills and decades of experience had led to a second career as a consultant on nuclear technology. Instead of settling down, they still traveled the world. Megan was proud of them, but thought it would be nice for Owen to have grandparents around.
Tim’s parents had moved to North Carolina shortly after his death, as if by escaping the state they could escape the grief of losing their only child. They sent Owen a card with a five dollar bill in it twice a year for his birthday and Christmas, but had never come back to visit.
At least her parents tried to create a sense of family, and Owen looked forward to their brief visits the few times a year they managed to make it into the same time zone. And they did love her. But long-distance love—no matter how strong—wasn’t the same as having someone in your life day in and day out. And her father’s career came first. Or, as he would phrase it, service to country came first. If they hadn’t been willing to settle down when she’d been a child, they weren’t going to do it now.
So Megan half listened while her mother described the amazing food and the less than amazing public transportation, only barely rolling her eyes when she referred to the furnished apartment they’d been given as “home.” Her parents were firm believers in “home is where the heart is,” but Megan wasn’t so sure. Yes, home was about love and family, but she’d spent her whole life craving more, needing somewhere to spread roots that wouldn’t be torn apart and dug up at a moment’s notice.
“So, what do you think?” Her mother’s question held an uncharacteristic note of impatience, making Megan think she must have repeated it more than once.
“Sorry, Mom, I lost the connection there for a minute,” she fibbed. “What do I think about what?”
“Meeting us in the mountains for Thanksgiving. We could rent one of those vacation cabins in North Carolina or Georgia or wherever, and have an old-fashioned family holiday. What do you say?”
Megan bit her tongue, her thoughts tumbling too widely for her to voice them. Time with her family sounded wonderful, but would it be worth the fallout, behavior wise, of upsetting Owen’s routine? Not to mention the logistics of a road trip with a first-grader and a dog.
As if reading her mind, her mother hastily added, “We’d pay to fly you and Owen up, of course. Oh, wait, can Lily fly?”
Megan stifled a giggle at the mental image of the big Labrador with wings, flapping her way across the sky. “If you mean will the airlines let her on board, yes. As a service dog, she can sit in the cabin with us.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll start looking for reservations today.”
“Mom! I didn’t actually say yes yet.”
“But you will, right?”
Megan wanted to be annoyed, but her mother’s enthusiasm was contagious. And hadn’t she just been wishing for more time with her family, for more shared memories? Sure, she’d hoped they would come to her, but a rented place in the Great Smoky Mountains was a lot closer than Europe. And that was how she ended up saying, “Of course, just send me the details.” That’s how it had always been, her mother diving headlong into a project and everyone else being dragged along before realizing what was happening.
They chatted for a few more minutes and Megan promised to check Owen’s school vacation schedule and send her mother the dates he’d be off, not mentioning that there was a good chance he wouldn’t even be at All Saints by then. No point in upsetting his grandmother with that little tidbit until and unless she had to.
“Well, I need to go. Your father made reservations for us for dinner and you never know when the tram is going to run. But I’ll talk to you next week?”
<
br /> “Of course. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Megan ended the call and glanced at the time, amazed as always at how exhausting her mother could be, even long distance. The woman had the energy of half a dozen mere mortals, and sometimes her fast-forward approach left Megan a bit disoriented. Still, she didn’t hesitate to grab the phone without even looking at it when it rang again a second later, knowing the faster she agreed to whatever vacation detail her mother had forgotten to mention, the easier her weekend would be.
“Mom, I thought you said Dad was in a hurry?”
The line went silent for a beat and then a very male, very not her mother’s, voice asked, “I’m sorry, is this Megan Palmer?”
Startled, Megan bobbled the phone trying to see the Caller ID, nearly dropping it in the process. The number was local, but not one she knew. For a split second, she considered hanging up and pretending she’d never said anything, but her ingrained Southern manners wouldn’t let her. So she swallowed her embarrassment and replied, “This is she,” as though she hadn’t just called some strange man her mother.
“Oh good, I was hoping I would catch you.”
Her stomach dropped as she realized this wasn’t a sales call or a wrong number. No, the voice was familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it.
“I’m sorry, who’s asking?”
“This is Luke Wright, from All Saints.”
Heat flooded her face. She’d worked so hard to be nothing but professional with Owen’s principal, and now she’d gone and called him “mom.”
“Oh, Principal Wright. I’m so sorry... I thought it was someone else.”
“Yeah, I figured that out,” he said, his amusement carrying clearly through the line.
Pride straightened her spine. Yes, she should have noticed who was calling, but it had been an honest mistake. He’d never called her directly before, and it was Saturday, for crying out loud. What reason would he have for calling her over the weekend?
Unless...unless he was in such a hurry to expel Owen that he didn’t want to wait until Monday. Her brain froze at the thought and it took a second for her to realize he was waiting for a response.
“Um, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I read over the paperwork you left with me, about the service dogs, and had some questions. And, well... I was wondering if it would be possible for me to meet your dog.”
“Owen’s dog,” she corrected automatically, her mind racing ahead to the possibilities. Did this mean he was open to Lily going to school? Surely he wouldn’t ask to meet her if he was just going to say no, right? “When would be good?” She’d need to give Lily a bath, maybe spray her with some of that doggy perfume Owen had insisted she buy.
“Actually...” He chuckled, the sound giving her chill bumps despite the heat. “I’m in your driveway right now. I got the idea to come over, and then realized I should’ve called first. So, um, I’m calling.”
He was there. In her driveway.
She looked down at her raggedy shorts and bare feet, and then across the yard to where Lily and Owen—both covered head to toe in mud—were happily tunneling to nowhere, and wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. In the end she did neither, and instead directed him to the gate at the side of the house.
A minute later, he rounded the corner, somehow looking impeccably dressed even in casual khaki shorts, a lightweight, short-sleeved button-down, and boat shoes. Self-consciously, she pushed the sagging strap of her stretched-out tank top back into place and forced a smile.
“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got iced tea or water.”
“Sweet tea?”
“Is there any other kind?” she quipped, pretending an ease she didn’t quite feel.
“Not as far as I’m concerned.” He grinned and she found herself reciprocating despite her discomfort. “I’d love one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I was about to get a refill anyway.” She bent to retrieve her mostly empty glass from where it sat on the concrete slab next to her chair. “I’ll be right back.”
She debated calling Owen over to say hi and decided against it. He was lost in his own world and she knew that trying to force him out of it would take more effort than it was worth. Besides, she didn’t want him overhearing her conversation with his principal. If things went badly, she’d explain it to him later, in private.
Waving the man toward her thrift-store patio furniture, she headed inside, careful to close the sliding door tightly against the oppressive heat. Even now, teetering on the edge of fall, her ancient air conditioner struggled to keep the house at a livable temperature. One more reminder of her precarious bank balance. She’d be happy to leave it all behind once she’d saved up enough money to move to a better house. Something with decent insulation and appliances that weren’t older than she was.
But that, Megan reminded herself as she took out a second glass and poured the tea, all depended on her being able to work. She put in long hours at night, when Owen was sleeping, communicating with the overseas consulting firm that had hired her. Her plan had been to do the actual coding work during the day while Owen was at school. In reality, she’d been so tied up in knots worrying over him and how he was adjusting—or rather, not adjusting—that she’d barely managed to get anything done. And staying up even later to catch up was catching up with her. A glance at her reflection in the small window over the sink confirmed that the circles under her eyes would soon take over her face if she didn’t get some sleep.
It all hinged on Lily being able to attend All Saints with Owen. She knew what a difference the dog made in his self-control. If he had Lily, he’d be fine. And that decision rested in Luke Wright’s hands. Who, at this very minute, was sitting in her backyard. Surely he’d say yes once he saw how well behaved Lily was and the calming influence she had on Owen.
Even now, as she watched through the window, Lily was hovering over Owen, keeping a watchful eye on her small master as he played. But then, as if he could hear his mother thinking about him, Owen paused in his digging and looked up. Megan knew from the look on his face the moment he realized she was no longer on the patio and that someone else was.
And that’s when the screaming started.
* * *
The first shriek had Luke bolting out of his chair and across the yard before his brain fully registered the sound. The cry was primal, triggering protective instincts he hadn’t known he had. As he got closer, the screeching got louder, although he would have sworn a minute ago that that wasn’t possible. What on earth could have happened? Bee sting? Fire ants? Pygmy rattlesnake? His mind raced in time with his pounding heart as he reached the boy, who was now curled in a ball, his face pressed against a concerned Labrador.
“Owen, are you all right?”
If he answered, it was swallowed up by the dog’s muddy fur. At least the screaming had stopped, replaced by a low whimper that pulled Luke to his knees. Sliding in the mud, he looked for visible injuries, but it was impossible to see anything through the thick layer of dirt coating every inch of the boy’s bare skin. He placed a hand on Owen’s shoulder to calm him and was greeted by another round of screams.
Hell, he’d been left alone with the kid for all of two minutes and had managed to break him.
“Owen, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Megan appeared as if by magic, shoving past him in her rush to get to her son. “I just went in the house. I’m sorry, I should have told you.” Owen’s screeches continued, but the volume had lowered by a few decibels.
“I didn’t see what happened.” Guilt churned like acid in Luke’s stomach. “I ran over as soon as he screamed. Is he okay?”
“He will be, if you’d back off.” She glanced up at him from her crouch by the boy’s side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just...could you give us some space, please?”
Worry, and what looked a whole lot like embarrassment, troubled her eyes.
“Um, sure.” He retreated to the patio and found the sliding-glass door ajar, an open invitation to mosquitos. She must not have taken time to secure it in her rush to get to Owen.
He just meant to close it, but what he saw through the doorway stopped him. The kitchen floor was awash in broken glass and iced tea, the ambler liquid slowly seeping toward the carpeted living area beyond. A glance over his shoulder showed the now quiet Owen still hunched over his dog, shaking his head at something his mother was saying and showing no signs of moving. Megan looked frustrated, but no longer panicked, which hopefully meant that whatever was wrong wasn’t serious. Still, from what he knew of Owen, even a minor upset could take hours to recover from.
That was why he was more than a little surprised when mother and child walked through the back door only fifteen minutes later.
Megan, for her part, looked even more shocked. Mouth open, eyes wide, she looked from the now spotless floor to where he stood at the stove with a spatula in his hand. “What did you...what are you... What’s going on?”
Luke shrugged and flipped a perfectly toasted grilled-cheese sandwich. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, and it was lunchtime, so I made sandwiches.”
She blinked. “You made sandwiches?”
“Uh-huh.” He gestured to the pan. “You do like grilled cheese, right?”
She ignored the question and asked her own. “What about the floor?”
“I cleaned it.”