Her Secret Protector

by Roxanne Snopek

  She raised her eyebrows. “Not that I’ve ever heard. Who said that?”

  “Mrs. Terlecki, at the high school. She also said that the mayor had plans to buy the land for some sort of heritage site, a boost to tourism or something like that.”

  “That would explain why he’s got it out for you, I guess,” she said. She looked down, then touched his arm. “Listen Ethan, since we’re sharing, I feel so bad that I haven’t held up my share of the deal. You’ve done all this work on my website, which looks fantastic, by the way, and I’ve done nothing in return.”

  “Carrie,” he started.

  “No. Let me finish. I’ve got an idea. The cherry festival dance is coming up. We’ll go together. Like a date. Or not. Whichever you prefer.”

  “A date.”

  Color tinged her cheeks and he wanted nothing more than to kiss those spots.

  “Or not. It’s your PR, you decide.”

  He touched her face, curling his big hand around her cheek, feeling her shudder. Then he ran his index finger along her hairline.

  “Date,” he said. “Most definitely.”

  “Ethan,” she whispered.

  “Shh.” Her pupils were so wide her eyes looked black and it seemed to him that they were trying to say something that he couldn’t understand.

  But she touched his cheek in return, meeting his gaze, and when he kissed her, it was like a thunderstorm, fireworks and a warm blanket on a cold night, all at once. Her tongue touched his and he pulled her tighter, wanting to drink her in, devour her, surround her, keep her safe for the rest of her life and let her do the same for him.

  A date? Hells, yeah. What had taken them so long?

  Suddenly Gun let out a low growl.

  “Gun,” he murmured against Carrie’s lips. “Not now.”

  He felt Carrie smile. “First things first.”

  Gun stiffened, then whined, then growled, more urgently this time.

  Ethan looked up, alarmed now. Surely not another bear.

  “What is it, buddy?” The dog twisted his head and barked twice. A warning.

  “Ethan?” whispered Carrie. Tension rippled from her body. She’d no doubt had the same thought he had.

  Then, there, he saw it. A pair of yellow ears, peeking up from the tall grass at the edge of the woods.

  “It’s a dog,” he whispered back, pointing. “There. See it?”

  A small Labrador retriever cross, he guessed.

  “Oh, thank God,” said Carrie, following their gazes.

  Ethan looked around for an owner, but could see no one nearby. The dog kept watching them, ears up, neither fleeing nor approaching. Careful.

  Carrie pulled out her camera and snapped a rapid series. “So we can put up posters, if it’s a stray.”

  “Amanda mentioned a stray dog that had bothered her kid. Maybe this is the one.”

  “Should we try and catch him?” asked Carrie.

  Her concern touched him.

  “Let me get this guy inside first,” he said, hoisting Gun into his arms. “Any meat left?”

  “I was going to send it in with Gun.”

  The shepherd growled again and the yellow stray drew back, then slunk away into the bush.

  “We can get more for Gun later. If this is the stray that’s been causing trouble, he needs to be caught. For the good of everyone.”

  They found the dog’s hiding spot: a rusted-out camper top that someone had abandoned in the park rather than take to the dump.

  At the back, pressed hard against the cracked fiberglass, was the stray.

  Oh, damn.

  “Oh, mama,” he said on a breath.

  “Oh, baby,” said Carrie.

  The dog cringed away but didn’t growl. She eyed the meat in Ethan’s hand and licked her lips. At her side, squirming and mewling, were four newborn puppies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‡

  They brought the mother dog and her babies to Doc Morrow. Once inside, the stray proved to be well-mannered and friendly, hovering closely as they handled the puppies, but showing no aggression. She’d been on her own for some time, according to the ribs showing through her scruffy fur. The pads on her feet had heavy calluses, like she’d traveled a long way to find a safe place for her babies, and Carrie’s heart went out to her.

  “If they’re all healthy,” said Ethan, “I’ll bring them back to my place. While we wait to find the owner.”

  “If you want,” said the veterinarian, shaking his head. “But you may never find the owner. She’s got no tags, tattoo or microchip, no way of tracking her.”

  Despite the mother dog’s sweet, trusting nature, they knew that the chances of her being adopted were slim. Puppies got adopted. Not adult dogs with questionable histories.

  Still, they hoped.

  The next day, Carrie contacted everyone she could think of, taped posters displaying the dog’s photo to lamp posts in front of the grocery store, the coffee shop, the diner, and broadcast fliers throughout parking lots.

  That poor dog giving birth alone and hungry. It was so wrong. Carrie sat back in her quiet studio, wishing there was something more she could do.

  Then she had an idea. They’d bring her to the festival. Everyone from town would be there. Surely if Dixie’s owner was local, they’d be able to reconnect them. Or if not that, find her a new family.

  In fact, why stop there? She sat up straight, knowing she’d just hit on the perfect plan to show Cherry Lake once and for all that Ethan Nash was a good guy and, more to the point, his dogs were awesome.

  She’d seen all Ethan’s equipment. They could take some of it, set it up at the festival and show everyone exactly how awesome his dogs were. It would be great!

  She quickly jotted down some notes, but she knew in her heart this was exactly what Ethan needed.

  “Knock, knock,” came a familiar voice at the door.

  Aunt Pansy. And Grandfather?

  No.

  Carrie wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  “What did you bring me this time?” she asked, ushering the woman inside.

  “Congratulations and felicitations.”

  “Oh yes? That sounds promising.” Unlikely, but a good chat with Pansy usually lifted her spirits.

  “And a bear claw. Give me tea and I’ll tell all.”

  They went upstairs to the bright kitchen. Aunt Pansy gave Belinda a thorough cheek scratch while Carrie put the kettle on.

  “So Gibson Kyle is no longer your friend,” said Pansy.

  Carrie laughed. “Was he ever?” Then she sobered. “I liked Bethany, though.”

  Carrie understood all too well how the girl’s upbringing had shackled her. She realized yet again that her time in San Francisco, difficult as it had been, had taught her a great deal she might never have learned otherwise. Would a girl like Bethany ever have that chance?

  “Congratulations again, my dear girl. I’d say that took some serious intestinal fortitude.”

  “I guess I was in a mood.”

  “I happened to be walking past their house last night and heard quite the ruckus,” continued Pansy. “Seems Bethany wasn’t happy with her daddy. Took exception to his story about you, in fact.”

  Carrie poured the tea. “You have a gift for happening onto things, don’t you?”

  Pansy preened. “I use what gifts I have. I couldn’t hear the particulars, but fortunately, someone had left a rake on the lawn. So I, being a good neighbor, brought it to the house.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “You should try it.” Pansy sipped her tea and nodded with satisfaction. “That’s when I heard her tell her father that she’d never find another photographer as good as you, she wished she hadn’t listened to him and maybe she was going to hire you back anyway. He said not on his dime and that’s when I dropped the rake and, well, they caught me.”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “What?”

  Pansy chuckled. “I know, right?
Has she called?”

  Carrie shook her head. Getting that contract back would be a huge boost, but she wasn’t holding her breath. Bethany wasn’t about to jeopardize her fantasy wedding over something like this.

  But it was heartening, nevertheless.

  “Hey, Aunt Pan,” she said, steeling herself to sound casual. “Do you know anything about Grandpa Nate and the old Lewis farmstead? Ethan heard that it had some sort of sentimental value to him. Is he upset that Nathan tore it down?”

  Pansy’s face softened. “Oh, honey. I know how you’re hurting about Nate. Are you okay?”

  Carrie nodded, unsure if she could speak.

  “He’ll come around. As far as that property goes, everything around here has sentimental value to someone. That house is where his wife, your grandma, grew up. I thought you knew.”

  Carrie cleared her throat. “I thought Uncle Robert and Aunt Linda lived on the old farmstead.”

  “Sure, now,” said Pansy. “But before that, long before your grandparents were even married, it was two separate properties. Mary Lewis and her family lived on the part that Mr. Nash bought.”

  She sighed, as if lost in memories.

  “Did you know her?” asked Carrie. “My grandmother?

  Pansy nodded. “Briefly. We were in high school together. She was a lovely girl. Very different from me, of course. Though for a little while… oh, never mind.” She clapped her hands. “Enough of ancient history.”

  Pansy went on to other bits of local gossip, and Carrie let the words flow over her, taking comfort from one person who seemed to think of her as she always had.

  “And don’t you worry about your bull-headed grandfather,” said Pansy, getting to her feet. “He’s an old coot who loves you and will come around in time.”

  Then she turned, as if just remembering something. “By the way, I’d like to book a sitting. For those,” she waved her hand, “racy pictures of yours. I won’t always look this good, you know.”

  *

  The next few weeks passed in a blur, though Carrie couldn’t exactly say why. No one had come forward to claim the stray dog, whom Ethan had taken to calling Dixie. Though Carrie visited often – puppies were irresistible, after all – the conversations had stayed strictly focused on the dogs and the upcoming cherry festival.

  While Ethan had embraced the idea of them going to the dance together, he was less enamored of her other idea.

  “An agility demonstration?” he’d said. “No way.”

  But she had more ammunition today.

  “See this?” she said, handing him a copy of the local paper. “Mayor Calloway is ‘dedicated to protecting the children of Cherry Lake from irresponsible dog owners.’ No names mentioned, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s not fair, Ethan. You’ve got to do something about it.”

  “An agility demonstration is a lot of work, Carrie.”

  “And you’re dance card is already full? Come on, Ethan. Neither one of us is busy. It could be fun.”

  “Or, it could be a disaster. Plus, I don’t want to leave Gun at home alone.”

  “Bring him along.”

  “And have him sit on the sidelines while the others play? No. That’s cruel.”

  And it wasn’t just the demonstration he was resisting. It was her. No matter how she teased and flirted, he refused to engage.

  In fact, he’d asked her to distance herself from him.

  She couldn’t afford a friend like him, he’d told her.

  Friends. Is that what they were?

  She didn’t know anymore. But there’d been no more kisses, so that was a clue.

  Frustrating, annoying man.

  Her appointment book continued to shine white and wide open, but she doubted it had anything to do with their friendship.

  She couldn’t find it in herself to panic, though. She had the festival retainer. She’d gotten the three hundred back from Kyle. And the shoot with Trish had been fantastic. Maybe, she thought, if all else failed, she’d start up Forever Yours Intimate again.

  “I don’t even know why you’re questioning it,” said Jess, one rare evening when they were both in. “Of course you should start doing it again. I don’t know why you ever stopped.”

  They were watching America’s Got Talent and had come to the agreement that on that particular night America did not, in fact, have talent.

  “You’re an artist,” she continued. “You’re pretty amazing, actually. I want you to take pictures of me.”

  Jess’s employment with Damon Brand at the automotive shop had progressed, Carrie suspected, to sleeping with him. Since Damon’s real passion was sculpting, Jess now considered herself something of an expert on artists, as a result.

  “Forget it,” said Carrie. She held out her hand and blew on her nails. A girls’ night in was kind of fun. They were sharing a bottle of polish called Secrets and Lies, and a bottle of wine called Dirty Laundry. The conversation seemed destined to head down a certain path.

  “Still the good girl, huh?” Jess yawned.

  “I knew when I started that there’d be hell to pay if they ever found out. I just thought I could keep it from them.”

  Grandfather had kept his distance but he’d offered no further rebuke. Her parents, Mom especially, remained horrified. As was Auntie Jane. Uncle Robert always looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack and Uncle Hal, who knew what he thought?

  Carrie didn’t want to know. They acted like she’d single-handedly blotted the Jackson copy-book for all to see.

  Except the blot was actually a Rorschach test, revealing that the Jackson minds contained no more or less than what every other mind on God’s green earth contained.

  “It’s ridiculous,” declared Jess. “You’d think we all sprang from pods, the way they’re so sex-phobic.”

  “They’re not sex-phobic. They just have very strict parameters.”

  Jess held out her glass for a refill. “Yeah. Do it once, on your wedding night, in the dark, missionary style.”

  “My parents did it three times,” Carrie said, obliging her. “Crazy hippies.”

  “No one lives like that anymore. Don’t you wish we knew what they’d been like, when they were our age?”

  “Ugh,” said Carrie. “No, thank you. In fact, let’s revisit the pod theory.”

  Jess slanted her a look. “Speaking of sex-phobic, looks to me like the Virgin Ice-Queen might be melting a little these days. Wanna spill?”

  Carrie felt her face heat up.

  “There’s nothing to tell. We’re going to the dance together. That’s about it.”

  “Oh, please. I’ve seen that look. First time on you though. If you haven’t already had him, you want him. Tell the truth, Care-Bear.”

  “Only if you spill about whatever’s going on with you and Damon.”

  “Oh-ho!” crowed Jess. “I knew it. So the scary mountain man with the blood-thirsty hounds has another side to him. Do tell.”

  “No way, you first. You want the pictures for Damon, don’t you?”

  Jess stretched, then flung her long legs over the edge of the couch while someone on TV started to yodel the alphabet.

  “Damon’s a great guy, as you know. Lots of fun. And he’s nuts about me, which is nice, considering everyone else thinks I ought to have an S for slut branded on my forehead. But it’s nothing serious. I’m only here for,” she did a quick calculation, then shrugged, “a few more weeks. He knows that.”

  Her smile faded. Carrie suspected there was more to it. Jess and Damon had been so close all through high school, it had been a shock when they’d suddenly stopped speaking. Even more of a shock when Jess left town, and Damon acted as if he didn’t notice.

  She suspected he’d been badly hurt and had hated Jess for that, for a while.

  But Carrie knew as well as anyone that there’s always more to any story than the headlines. Whatever their past, she hoped that when Jess left this time, she wouldn’t leave
a good man broken-hearted in her wake.

  “Hey, you could do some sexy photos of me at the car wash, or bending over a motor,” said Jess, brightening. “Damon would love that.”

  “Girly calendars in a garage,” said Carrie. “How cliché.”

  Jess tossed a pillow at her. “Ick. You’re right. Not while that creeper Tony is around. No. Private photos. Your nice ones. A gift for him to remember me by when I’m gone.”

  A faintly mournful note had crept into her voice and Carrie suspected that whatever Jess was telling herself about this casual affair, and how easily she’d be able to end it when the time came, it wasn’t the truth.

  “You make it sound like you’re dying.” Carrie tossed the pillow back. “Drama queen.”

  “Always. Now, your turn. What’s with you and Ethan Nash? It must be good. I’ve never seen you turn that particular shade of red.”

  “Oh!” said Carrie. “Speaking of photos, you’ll never guess who sat for me yesterday.”

  She was hoping to distract Jess, and it worked.

  “Who?”

  Carrie paused for effect. “Aunt Pansy.”

  “No. Way!” Jess smacked the couch cushion with the flat of her hand. “I love that woman! Who do you think they’re for?”

  “It’s just a pity thing, I’m sure. She’s trying to make me feel better about myself. But you know, if I look like that at her age, I won’t complain.”

  “I’ll bet she’s got a lover.”

  They giggled together.

  “Lordy,” said Carrie, catching her breath. “I’m tipsy.”

  “Yes, you are, my friend. Which is the perfect time to talk. So?” Jessica angled herself up on the couch and peered at Carrie. “Does Ethan Nash kiss as good as he looks?”

  “Oh, Jess.” Carrie closed her eyes and shivered. “A hundred, million times better.”

  Then, to her shock, she burst into tears.

  Chapter Seventeen

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  There was no reason, thought Carrie, for her to be nervous, yet here she was in the bathroom, while the Cherry Festival kick-off dance got started without her. All sweaty palms and twitchy eyes, because who should be waiting outside the door but Ethan Nash?