by Mari Manning
“Brooke!” Esme’s cheeks turned red.
He bought some recovery time by stooping down and focusing his attention on the child. “Hi, Brooke. I’m Mr. Jamey. I’m a g-g-good friend of your Uncle Rafe.” A little better. Just one slip.
The child studied the blue polish on her toenails. “Are you going to get a new dog?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what kind. That’s why I was waiting for your momma. I was hoping she could help me decide.”
The child grinned at him. Her two front teeth were missing. “I can help, too. I know a lot about dogs. My momma taught me.”
He’d won over Esme’s daughter. Tilting his head up, he eyed Esme. She reminded him of the deer that got trapped in his parent’s garage last winter. Charming her was going to be a challenge.
He threw out one of the phrases he’d practiced on the drive over when he’d been bursting with optimism. “Let’s go look at the dogs, shall we?”
“Come on, Momma.”
Brooke pulled Esme toward the shelter’s front door, and after a brief moment of resistance, Esme allowed herself to be dragged off. She looked scared out of her wits. He hated himself for cornering her and for using Rafe’s name with Brooke, but how could he ever win her trust if she ran away every time he came close.
It took about an hour—Brooke, unaware of Esme’s pain, insisted on parading every adoptable dog in the shelter before him. Esme provided formal evaluations of each dog, reciting their medical histories and habits as if she were reciting her grocery list. Her eyes remained firmly on her clipboard.
You’re going to have to try harder if you want to get rid of me. He’d stuttered all his life, been the butt of more cruel jokes than he could count, and still made a success of his life. A cold shoulder wasn’t going to discourage him.
When the seventeen dogs up for adoption had been properly introduced, he looked down at Brooke—since her mother was still ignoring him.
“What do you think, partner?”
At the word “partner,” Esme’s jaw dropped. She quickly shut her mouth, then began to tap her pencil on her clipboard impatiently.
“The Pekinese. Her fur is so soft, and I like the way her little nose sniffs at me.”
“Hmmm.” He pretended to seriously consider Brooke’s recommendation. “Might be hard for her to jump into my truck.”
“You could get her a little stool. Maybe a pink one with jewels on it. I think she’d really like that, and a pink bowl for her food, too.”
“Brooke! That is enough. Let Mr. Jamey chose his own dog.”
“I asked for help.” He managed to catch Esme’s eyes. “What do you think, Miss Esme? The Pekinese?” He lifted a brow at her.
She turned her gaze back to the clipboard. “Get whatever you want.”
He pushed a little harder. “Well, in that case I bow to Miss Brooke’s superior wisdom in these matters. The Pekinese it is. Perhaps one of you ladies can tell me where to buy a pink stool.”
“You are both being ridiculous,” Esme snapped.
“Momma?”
“Mr. Jamey is not a seven-year-old girl.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
Her eyes widened. “Take the Lab-Collie mix.” She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “Excuse me. I’ve got some patients to check on.”
The young Lab-Collie mix had huge brown eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. It had taken to Jamey the moment he was brought out, licking Jamey’s hand and fiercely wagging his tail whenever Jamey looked down at him. It was the perfect dog for him, but he wasn’t ready to call it a day.
He pulled out another line from his script. “Let’s talk names over an ice cream cone. My t-t-treat.” His near-flawless delivery broke down as Esme’s face froze.
“I’m busy. Besides, I don’t allow Brooke to go into town.”
“I thought we could go to my house,” he said. “I got some chocolate chip in the freezer. My momma made it, and it’s the best in all of El Royo.” He lifted his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
Brooke began jumping up and down. “Can we, Momma? Please. I love chocolate chip.”
“You love everything with sugar, nena. We need to go.”
Brooke—God bless her—stamped her little foot. “Not like chocolate chip ice cream. It’s my favorite.”
Esme shook her head. “You’ll spoil your supper.”
“Please, Momma. I’ll eat a whole plate of broccoli tonight. I swear.”
Come on, Esme. Take a chance. Say yes. But he kept his mouth shut.
Esme eyed him.
He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
“I guess it would be okay just this once.”
He tried to act cool but he was having trouble breathing. “G-g-great. It’s just a few blocks from Dinah’s place. On P-p-pecan Lane. You can follow my pickup.”
At Jamey’s truck, his new life companion leapt into the front and curled up on the seat as if he’d been riding shotgun all his life. Jamey scratched the dog’s neck. “I think we’re going to get along just fine, boy.”
Through the rear-view mirror, he watched Esme’s shiny new GMC pickup pull out of the parking lot, then held his breath until he was sure she was following him. At every stoplight, he waited with his heart in his throat, convinced she would lose her nerve and peel away before she got to his house.
But she stayed with him, and he sensed that he had Brooke to thank for his good luck.
He was proud of his new house. It was a traditional bungalow with a low-slung roof and a wide front porch. Before he moved in, he’d sent a crew to paint over the peeling exterior with a soft green-gray. For a splash of color, he’d painted the front door bright red, and his momma had given him two matching red Adirondacks for the porch as a housewarming gift.
“Come on in.” He unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Esme, Brooke, and his new four-footed companion into his castle. “You’re my first visitors. Besides my folks, of course.”
Brooke and the dog bounded into the house like two eager explorers. Esme seemed to have trouble lifting her foot and stepping over the threshold. He suppressed the urge to say something comforting. She had to work through this herself. He knew it. But it was hard to be patient.
“Hurry up, Momma.” Brooke called from the kitchen.
Esme looked up at him, wariness glimmering in her eyes.
He shrugged with feigned indifference—or at least he hoped that’s what it looked like.
Her knee bent, and her boot hit the polished oak floor in the hallway. While her head was turned, he closed his eyes for just a second and offered up a little prayer of thanks.
“Excuse the lack of furniture. I ordered a sofa and some chairs for the living room but they’re on a boat halfway between China and the port of Los Angeles. Or so I’m told.”
She walked into the living room anyway and surveyed the gold, dark blue, and maroon oriental carpet that waited for the rest of his furniture to arrive. “This carpet is magnificent.”
“Bought it when I was living in Dubai. An old woman up in the mountains wove it.”
Skirting the rug, she pressed on, eyeing an antique secretary and ladder-back chair, then halted at a display of African tribal masks. “These look real.”
“They are. I worked at some drilling sites in Africa. I fell in love with these masks.” Did he really say “love” to her? What a dumbass. Fortunately her interest was on the masks, because if she’d turned around, she’d have seen him blush.
She pointed to a red mask. “This one looks like an antelope.”
“It’s the mask the Kwele people wear during their purification ceremonies to drive away evil spirits.”
“Does it work?”
Exhilaration warmed him. She was talking to him! “I didn’t have a chance to see the ceremony, but the man who sold it to me said this mask had been used by a famous witch doctor.”
“I could use a mask like that.” She sounded wistful.
“Are evil spirits after you?”
&
nbsp; The dog barked. “Momma? Mr. Jamey? Where are you?”
Esme spun away from the masks. “Time for ice cream,” she said over her shoulder. “Then we must go.”
At least the kitchen was presentable. He’d ripped down the wall separating the dining room and kitchen, torn out the old fixtures and appliances himself, and installed new everything with the help of a few friends. He’d chosen warm oak cabinets, granite counters, a stainless steel sink, and pale terra-cotta tile to create a peaceful haven that would entice visitors to linger. In the kitchen, an island with a stovetop and four tall stools would be—he hoped—the hub of a dinner party some day.
He dished up the ice cream while Esme lifted Brooke onto a stool.
“So, ladies, have you given any thought to a name for my dog?” He slid a dish of ice cream across the island to Brooke and began to scoop one for Esme.
“I like Sweetie,” said Brooke.
“Sweetie?” Esme looked taken aback. “It’s a boy.”
“Boys can be sweeties, can’t they? Miss Peppie calls Uncle Rafe sweetie sometimes.”
Jamey handed a bowl to Esme and jumped into the conversation. “Let’s see what he thinks about it. Here, Sweetie.” He patted his leg. “Come, Sweetie.” The dog, sleek and black with the heavy Collie body, yawned and lay down.
“I don’t know.”
“See,” said Esme. “Even the dog knows that is an inappropriate name for him.”
The corners of Brooke’s mouth turned down.
“Hey, I know,” Jamey said, trying to get the party back on track, “how about Butch?”
“Ew.” Brooke’s mouth puckered.
“Brooke Morales. That is not polite,” Esme scolded.
Brooke hung her head. “Sorry.”
“Perfectly okay. That’s why I asked. I don’t want to end up with the wrong name.” Why was Esme riding her daughter so hard?
“Eat your ice cream, nena.”
Brooke slumped over her ice cream and rested her head in her hand. His ice cream party was sliding downhill fast.
“How about Dog?” he asked.
Brooke giggled and shot him a toothless smile. “That’s silly.” Her eyes slid toward her mother. “I mean, it’s okay, but maybe some people will laugh.”
“See. That’s why I need your help. I’ll just end up calling him Dog, and people will laugh at me.”
She shoveled a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “How about Chocolate Chip?”
“Brooke!”
“Hold on a minute. That’s not a bad idea.” He rushed in before another mother-daughter skirmish could break out.
Esme’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to name your dog, the animal you intend to take to construction sites, Chocolate Chip. That’s ridiculous.”
Ridiculous seemed to be Esme’s favorite word, but he stopped himself from pointing this out. “We could call him Chip. Only the three of us would know his real name is Chocolate Chip.”
Brooke’s dark eyes were sparkling. “See if he likes it, Mr. Jamey.”
He stooped down. The dog raised his head and looked at him. “Here, Chip, here.”
The dog stood and came to him, his tail wagging so hard it whipped his rump from side to side.
“He likes it! Are you going to name him Chip, Mr. Jamey?”
He stood. Brooke was nearly jumping up and down in her chair. Esme was studying him, and she didn’t look pleased.
He ignored her. “You’re my witness. I officially name my new dog Chip.”
“Yeah!” Brooke clapped.
“Nena, take the dog out in the backyard for a few minutes so Momma can talk to Mr. Jamey.”
Brooke slid off the stool. “Can I teach him to fetch, Mr. Jamey?
“I don’t have any tennis balls lying around, but you might find a nice stick back there. I sure would appreciate any help you can give me training Chip.”
When the door banged shut behind girl and dog, Esme pushed her ice cream away and looked at Jamey.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Don’t play innocent. You know who I am and what happened.”
“Yes.”
“You also know I don’t date.”
He allowed himself a deep breath to relax his vocal cords and leaned over the island so his face was close to her. “B-b-because you’re afraid?”
Her face flamed. “How dare you!”
“How d-d-dare I what? Invite you and your d-d-daughter over for ice cream?” He was instantly remorseful. “Sorry.”
Her spine, held so stiff since he’d cornered her at the clinic, sagged. “You seem like a great guy, Jamey, so I want to be honest. Yes, I’m afraid.”
“Of what?” He asked the question softly.
“How do I know you aren’t doing all of this to get in my pants?”
She’d finally come out and said it. The tension in the room loosened.
“You d-d-don’t.”
“See. I’m right.”
He rushed through the little opening she’d given him. “I almost asked you out once in high school.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because some overgrown football player got there first, and because I thought a beautiful, popular girl like you would be embarrassed to be seen with a nerd who can b-b-barely get a sentence out without making a fool of himself.”
For a moment, she seemed like she was on the verge of opening up to him, but her spine straightened and her chin went up. “If you’d asked me out in high school, I might have gone with you. But it’s too late. The answer is no.” She bent her head and fiddled with her bracelets.
Desperation pushed him past the point of caution. “Look at me, Esme. I didn’t let my d-d-disorder stop me from pursuing my g-g-goals.”
“I have everything I want.”
“What about someone special in your life?”
“I have Brooke.”
“She’ll grow up and move away.”
Esme stood. “I have to go.”
“If you d-d-don’t like me—”
“I didn’t say that, Jamey. You know why.”
Stay with it, bro. Don’t let her get away. “I g-g-guess we have a problem.”
“A problem? How so. You ask me out. I say no. It happens to everyone.”
“D-d-don’t play dumb.”
Her expression softened, and her doe-like eyes glittered. “If I was ever to go out with anyone, it would be you. You’re a good guy.” She slipped off the stool and hoisted her purse on her shoulder.
He hated to let her go, but she’d been clear. She did not go out with men. Period. He straightened suddenly as a crazy idea hit him. “You said if I ask you out, you’ll say no. Correct?”
“Yes.” She said the word softly, suspiciously, as if she knew she was walking to a trap.
“But if you were ever to date someone, I’d be your first choice.”
“Hypothetically.”
“So what’s to stop you from asking me out?”
Shock widened her eyes to the relative size of saucers. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not. You could call me up and ask me out. You could even pick me up and take me somewhere you chose. You’d have complete control.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not at all ridiculous.”
She studied him. “What’s to stop me from agreeing to this laughable idea of yours, then walking out of here and never calling you?”
He hadn’t considered this. Probably because he was used to doing the asking, not the waiting. But if he was going to take the female role, then it was all or nothing. “Nothing. I g-g-guess I’m shit out of luck.”
“I don’t know, Jamey. I have to think about it.”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. He was proud of himself.
…
The doorbell rang. Jamey checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. Could it be Esme?
His heart
leapt as he rocketed out of his chair and flung open the door. It was Rafe. Dark circles of fatigue bruised the skin beneath his eyes.
“Hey, bro.”
“Can I come in?” Rafe asked.
“Sure. How about a beer?”
Rafe shook his head. “I’ve done three shifts in the past forty hours. Then, as I’m dragging my ass home from the station, I get a hysterical call from Miss Peppie.”
Jamey braced himself. “Yeah?”
“Seems like Brooke had a big story to tell when she and Esme got home this afternoon. Something about ice cream and dogs and the very nice man named Mr. Jamey who took them home with him. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not really. It’s personal.”
Rafe huffed impatiently. “The family went through a lot with Esme, and we’ve gotten to a good place now. We don’t need a tornado coming through our house again.”
“You’ve gotten to a good place or a safe place?”
“Both,” Rafe said stubbornly.
“Come on. At least be honest.”
“That’s as honest as it gets.”
“I’m not your enemy. Esme used to be my friend. Back at El Royo High, the jocks—” Jamey paused and arched a brow at Rafe. “—and the pretty girls used to give me shit b-b-because I stuttered. But not your sister. She was my friend, and she didn’t c-c-care what anyone thought.”
“She doesn’t need any friends. She has Peppie and Papa and Brooke. That’s enough. You need to get the hell out of her life and stay out.”
Jamey’s head nearly exploded. “What the fuck, Rafe? She’s a grown woman! She needs more than her momma and daddy. Do you honestly believe no guy c-c-could ever respect her because of what happened?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did. Let me t-t-tell you something. When she was…assaulted, I wanted to kill those guys. But even more, I wanted to be there for her. But your family wouldn’t let anyone c-c-close, and I get it. But it’s been eight years. That’s long enough.”
Rafe’s eyes glittered with pain. “What do you want with her?”
Jamey was ashamed. It wasn’t just Esme who needed understanding, it was her whole family. “I like your sister. She’s beautiful and smart and kind. She’s the whole package.”
“Whole package?”
“My intentions are honorable, if that’s what Miss Peppie sent you here to find out.”