Nice.
“So, you know Jon?” Lillie asked, and Dana noticed that her left hand bore a very small solitaire diamond.
“Not really,” she said. “He’s in my math class, but we’ve only spoken a couple of times. I heard him talking about his little boy having some issues and butted in. I just thought that maybe pet therapy could help. And it’s free. We’ve got plenty of student volunteers this year, all of them trained, and Cassie and Zack just donated another van through the clinic, so we have the resources to branch out.”
There she went, babbling on again, like a brook that just couldn’t stop flowing.
Nodding, her expression serious, Lillie sat back to allow their server to set their drinks in front of them. “I’d love to set something up at the day care on a Saturday if it can be arranged, at least for the first visit,” Lillie said. “I’m afraid having pets there during a regular weekday might be too chaotic, but we only have one class of kids on Saturday, and I can invite in a couple of kids that I think would particularly benefit.” She was obviously thinking out loud. And a plan was growing.
So was Dana’s enthusiasm, as she envisioned little children who felt scared or misplaced or unloved, opening up to the unconditional love that animals brought.
“You’ll invite Jon’s son to join us?” she asked when Lillie paused.
“Abraham?” Lillie’s smile changed when she said the little boy’s name. “If I’m there, he’ll be there. Jon works on Saturdays. Abe’s actually the reason I wanted to see you. Alone.”
“He’s struggling?” Dana hadn’t heard much of the conversation she’d interrupted in class, and it had been much earlier in the semester.
“Not anymore,” Lillie said. “He was having some troubles, but it turned out to have a physical basis and that’s been tended to. He’s doing great, actually!”
Dana was envious. She wanted children. A houseful of them.
A picture of Josh Redmond on the floor cleaning up after Little Guy sprang to her mind. Did Josh want children?
“Jon and I are going to be married over the Christmas break,” Lillie was saying, stirring sweetener into her tea.
Dana drank hers straight—the stronger, the better. “Congratulations!” she said, wishing she’d known Lillie longer so she could be invited to the wedding. And wondering if someone was giving her a bridal shower.
“Do you have family here in town?”
Lillie shook her head. “My folks died when I was a student at Montford,” she said. “In a car accident.”
Her heart catching, Dana could almost feel Lillie’s grief. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” the other woman said.
“Do you have siblings?”
When Lillie shook her head again, Dana felt inordinately thankful for her two half sisters.
“Jon’s an only child, too,” Lillie said. “And an orphan,” she added. “Which is why we’re having a small ceremony here in town, officiated by the mayor. We’d have already gotten married, except that the folks in Shelter Valley decided we needed a celebration.”
“I agree with them.”
“Yeah, I do, too.” Their salads were delivered, and, putting ranch dressing on her salad as she watched Lillie do the same, Dana wondered at the weirdness of having so much in common with the other woman.
It had to mean something.
What, she didn’t know. But she was ready and waiting when the other woman said, “I need a favor.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to get a puppy for Abraham for Christmas. Jon and I share a bedroom, and he sleeps alone, and I don’t want him to feel lonely.”
Dana’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth. It was as though the other woman saw into her private life, knew things Dana had never told anyone.
In an instant, she was back in the Indiana home where she’d grown up. With Mom and Daniel’s room. Rebecca and Lindsey’s room. And hers. She thought of the little toy poodle, Angel, who’d shared that room with her for the past twelve years.
She blinked back tears. “I’m sure we can hook you up,” she said. “What kind of dog are you looking for? How big? I’d recommend not more than twenty-five pounds, full grown, since Abraham’s still so little. A cocker-poodle mix would be good. No shedding, and a gentle disposition...”
While Lillie ate, Dana babbled on, talking about the Love To Go Around program, already planning the call she’d put in to the clinic as soon as lunch was through.
And if all else failed, she’d call her mother. Susan would know if anyone had cockapoo puppies. And with it being winter, she’d be able to fly the puppy to Arizona, too, for the price of a plane ticket.
Dana remained at lunch until the last possible minute, fascinated by Lillie’s profession as a child life specialist. She’d never heard of such a thing before, but could see where it was needed. And she wished, for a long moment, that she could pursue her own heart’s desire, to be a veterinarian and really make a difference to the animals she loved, the animals that also contributed so much healing in the world.
And then, thankful that she was in Shelter Valley at all, that she had a chance at a better future than she’d thought, she rushed off to class. She had an hour of lecture to sit through and then it was on to Josh’s house to play with Little Guy for half an hour.
Josh’s scent, his presence, was everywhere in the house. And to her it seemed to be in the backyard, too. She couldn’t get away from him. Even when he wasn’t there. Even when she wasn’t there.
Because he was something else she wanted, but knew she’d never have. And that was fine. She could lust in secret. There was no law against that.
She had friends. A home. People who needed her. Who valued her.
A mother, and sisters, too, who loved her.
Yep, she was one lucky woman.
* * *
JOSH MADE IT THROUGH his first day on the job. The work, overseeing the planning and implementing of fund-raising ventures for the university, while not completely up his alley, was still interesting. And he figured he’d ultimately be good at it, since it would include talking rich people out of money—something he’d been doing most of his life.
First with his parents and later with clients.
His biggest challenge on the new job was learning to take orders.
But compared to Michelle, who’d be spending the rest of her life tied to a chair, he figured his challenge was not even worth thinking about. He’d adapt. Acclimate.
He hoped to find ways to help the university that no one had ever thought of before. Find ways to help more people like Dana—people who weren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths—get the educations they deserved.
He didn’t see her at all on Monday, but he could tell she’d been in his home when he stopped in for lunch and when he arrived home after work. Her fresh, flowery scent lingered. It was nice. Light. Nothing like the heavy, expensive perfumes he was used to.
He thought about dinner. He really needed to shop for food. And wasn’t sure what he’d buy. All he had at home was peanut butter. It had been his weakness, starting as a kid, to his mother’s horror. She’d have preferred him to like hummus sandwiches. But their housekeeper back then, an older woman named Emily who’d died way too young, had introduced him to peanut butter when he’d been about two.
He’d been hooked ever since.
He could throw a frozen dinner in the oven. But who in the hell ate dinner out of a box?
Unless the box bore the emblem of a decent pizza place. Standing outside with Little Guy, he looked into the big brown pleading eyes, pulled out his smartphone and searched for pizza places.
A couple of choices come up on the screen. Touching the first link and pushing the call button, he ordered a supreme thin-crust pizza, and was told that i
t would arrive within the half hour. Then he noticed the puppy was rubbing his ear in his own shit.
This whole average Joe thing was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought.
* * *
SHARON HAD BEEN ABLE TO get back into her house Monday afternoon. Her eldest daughter, an elementary schoolteacher in Phoenix, had driven up to help her mother clean up after the miniflood she’d had in her bathroom.
Finished with her homework by seven, Dana made one of her favorite casseroles, split it into separate portions and froze them. She talked on the phone to a couple of classmates. Had a call from Cassie regarding a possible puppy for Abraham Swartz.
Then she made a ground-beef barbecue mixture, split it into patties and put them in the freezer next to the buns she’d bought. Jerome, her short-on-cash, laundry-date classmate, usually came over hungry.
Lori missed home cooking, too.
She’d noticed Josh Redmond’s refrigerator and freezer had been almost completely empty when she’d been there that afternoon. She’d been searching for the canned dog food he’d received from the clinic—planning to give Little Guy just a bite or two as a treat for being such a good boy—and had found a single jar of peanut butter.
And beer.
A fifty-pound bag of puppy chow stood in a corner of the laundry room. She’d scooped up a handful of the dry stuff and fed it by hand to the happy pup.
She knew the puppy wasn’t going to go hungry.
She wasn’t so sure about the owner.
Dana glanced at the clock. It was only eight o’clock.
She opened the newly packed freezer. Grabbed various containers, buns and a bag to put them all in, called out a goodbye to Kari and Billy the hamster and was in her car, headed back to Josh’s place before she really thought about what she was doing.
CHAPTER TEN
EIGHT O’CLOCK AND Josh was at loose ends. He got out his tablet and, with L.G. under one arm, planted himself on the couch he’d moved into the living room by himself with the help of a furniture dolly.
That accomplishment had been four days ago. He’d taken the trailer back to a rental place in Phoenix before stopping in to introduce himself to Cassie Montford.
Now he’d saddled himself with a four-legged practice run.
L.G. plopped down on the sofa next to Josh and started to nip at his arm. They’d been through this on Sunday, too, before he’d headed over to Dana’s place for an unexpectedly memorable evening of cards. Bending over, Josh picked up what had once been an expensive leather shoe from the floor and shoved it in L.G.’s mouth.
He leaned back into the couch, preparing to make a grocery list. And then the doorbell rang.
* * *
SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE COME. Or should have taken the time to pull on a nice blouse instead of the black sweater she’d worn with her faded jeans to go to class that day.
What little bit of makeup she’d brushed on that morning had long since worn away, but Dana wasn’t out to gather catcalls.
“I brought you some food,” she said, walking into his house as though she’d been doing so for weeks instead of a day or two. Heading for the freezer, she carefully and neatly stacked containers with their labels facing outward. “There’s casserole, ground-beef barbecue and buns, chili, potato soup and some apple cobbler. I can bring more, but didn’t want to take up all the space in your freezer. I didn’t know when you’d be going shopping, and since you’ve been so occupied with Little Guy I thought it was the least I could do.”
Stopping to take a breath, she realized he hadn’t said a word since she’d walked in the door. She turned and saw him standing with Little Guy perched on his left arm—and a wide-eyed expression on his face.
“What?” She really shouldn’t have come. She’d pissed him off.
“I just can’t believe you did this.”
He sounded incredulous. Good incredulous or bad incredulous, she couldn’t tell.
“Did what?” Bring him something to eat to tide him over while he got settled in?
He sure looked good enough to eat. She’d never seen him in business clothes. And that body of his, the shoulders and thighs and...they filled out dress clothes like she’d never seen before.
He’d loosened his tie, but still had it on. At eight o’clock in the evening. What guy did that?
“The food...”
“You ever hear of the Welcome Wagon, Redmond?” she asked, feeling stupid again. And trying to play down the impact.
He frowned. “No.”
Oh. She’d thought everyone had.
“Well, it’s a neighborhood program. They’re all over Richmond. Neighbors bring over packages to help welcome new people to the area. I brought a frozen-food package, is all.”
Anyone else would have done the same. It had nothing to do with Dana’s inability to stop mentally drooling over the man. As soon as word got around about him and the college girls took notice of him, she’d be relegated to the far back of the line.
“I just sat down to make a grocery list,” he said. “How’d you know?”
Now she had to confess to snooping. She looked him straight in the eye as she apologized for poking around in his fridge.
“No! Don’t apologize! This is great! I mean, what do I owe you?” He pulled a wallet out of his back pocket.
Dana stared and felt as if she’d been slapped. “You want to pay me for being neighborly?”
The wallet disappeared. “No, what I want to do is heat up one of everything and eat,” he said, still holding the puppy, as though as long as he kept Little Guy between them, she wouldn’t hurt him.
“I’ll be going now,” she said, folding up her bag and walking back through to the living room.
“Wait!”
She turned.
“I... Are there instructions?”
“Instructions?”
“For...you know...cooking stuff...”
“It’s pre-made,” she explained, wondering what part of her earlier exposition he’d missed.
“I know...and frozen.”
“You put it in the microwave.”
He nodded. Shrugged as if that was something he could handle. And stood there, unmoving.
“You do know how to use a microwave, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Walking back into the kitchen, feeling him right behind her, she stopped in front of the built-in microwave above the stove and glanced over the controls.
“It has sensor reheat,” she said. “Everything is in microwave-safe containers. Put it in on sensor reheat, push the button and wait. When it finishes, test it. You might have to run it through a second time since it’s frozen. When you’re finished, you can either keep the containers, or put them aside and I’ll pick them up when I’m here to see Little Guy.”
He nodded, and before she took a step he’d already pulled a container of casserole out of the freezer. Still holding the dog, he put the container into the microwave.
“Let me hold him.” Dana took the puppy. He licked her nose. “You have to loosen the lid,” she told Josh. “Unless you want pressure to build up and risk having your food explode all over the inside of your oven.”
“Right. I know.” He said the words and released the lid. Dana had the impression he had no idea whatsoever what he was doing.
“Do you have dog treats?” she asked, because she needed to know where they were so she didn’t end up snooping again—and finding something else she could do to push herself on this man.
“No. I gave him the last package this morning when I left.”
“You give him a whole package at a time?” She’d seen the stuff the clinic sent home with him. The packets of treats weren’t full-size, but they should have lasted a week.
“I felt bad leaving him locked up all day.”
Rubbing the warm spot under Little Guy’s chin she said, “He sleeps, Josh. Puppies are like babies, they need extra sleep. And while some say an adult dog only needs about ten and a half hours of sleep a day, it’s not uncommon for them to sleep fourteen or sixteen hours a day, sometimes more depending on activity level.”
He stared at the puppy, who was falling asleep, leaning into her chest. It felt as if he was staring at her breasts.
Her nipples tingled.
He turned away. “I’ll get more treats.”
“And give them to him one at a time,” she said. “It’ll help with training if you use them judiciously, as praise. Like when he goes to the bathroom outside. Or sits when you tell him to.”
“I don’t tell him to sit.”
“You will when he starts to get bigger and jumps up on you.”
He glanced at the puppy again. She wanted Josh to notice her breasts. She’d never been so aware of her body.
And felt awkward as hell. Lindsey and Rebecca, her half sisters, would both know what to do; they’d have Josh tripping over himself trying to get their attention. They’d double-team him, playing him like a Ping-Pong ball.
Just as they’d been doing with all the cute boys in their town since they hit high school.
“You want to stay for a bit?” he asked as she continued to stand there.
She should go. But she didn’t want to. He was watching her. Her. As though he actually saw her. And liked what he saw. “I’ll stay if you answer a question for me.”
“You want to know how I creamed you at cribbage three games in a row?”
No. She’d pretty much figured that her inability to concentrate on the game was the reason for her loss. She’d been too distracted by her opponent sitting close enough for her to feel his body heat and smell his musky cologne, to pay attention to the cards in her hand.
“I want to know how old you are.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Four years older than she was. “And how did you get to be twenty-nine without ever using a microwave?”
He froze. His hand was raised to the cupboard he’d opened to expose a complete set of very nice dishes. She counted three serving bowls, a platter large enough to hold a thirty-pound turkey and even a gravy boat.
The Moment of Truth Page 8