The Moment of Truth

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I’m an only child,” he said then, almost awkwardly. “My mother spoiled me.”

  Dana’s heart went out to him at his obvious embarrassment. “One of those moms who wouldn’t let her son in the kitchen?” she asked.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “She give you your dishes, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  The microwave beeped. He tested the food and put the container back in the oven, pressing sensor reheat a second time.

  “But you’re twenty-nine,” Dana said, hugging the puppy to her with his front paws on her shoulders and her hand bracing his bottom half. “Surely you haven’t lived at home all of your life.”

  “No. But I traveled a lot with my job. And...paid for my meals.”

  She was pushing him into a corner. Told herself to let it go.

  “So—” just to be sure she got it “—you didn’t live with a woman, then? You weren’t...like...married, or anything?”

  Her need to know was more pressing than any fear of making a fool of herself.

  “I’ve never lived with a woman. Other than my mother when I was growing up.”

  He stood watching the oven. Dana sat at the big table, amazed at how beautiful it was. Having worked so many years in the family furniture business she recognized the quality. Wanted to ask him about it.

  But figured she’d used up her allotment of questions.

  * * *

  DANA OFFERED TO check in on L.G. each morning and afternoon for the rest of the week, and Josh didn’t argue. He didn’t offer to pay her again, either.

  On Tuesday night, feeling pretty good about his progress, he agreed to go out after work with a group of guys from the office. They were headed to Phoenix with box tickets to a Suns basketball game, compliments of an alumnus who’d been pleased with the year’s fund-raising efforts, and they’d invited Josh along.

  Leaving straight from the office, he was in high spirits with his vehicle once again filled with male voices, raucous jokes, laughter and a bit of in-depth business discussion, as well. Market analyses. Something he excelled at. They were all shooting questions in his direction by the time they pulled into the reserved parking outside of the stadium.

  “Bank One Ballpark’s right there,” Ian, one of the younger guys in the group, pointed to a huge complex across the street from the basketball stadium. “In the spring we’ll get great seats there, as well.”

  Josh nodded and grinned to himself. The Redmonds had had a box at every Boston team game since before he was born. He was the guy who handed out the complimentary tickets for jobs well done, or deals that he hoped to close.

  He wasn’t impressed by the VIP treatment they received from the moment they exited the vehicle—it was par for the course for him. But he had a great time. Downed a couple of beers.

  And got to live it up like the old Joshua without compromising his current plans.

  His phone rang as the Phoenix skyline was receding in his rearview mirror. His three passengers, all three of whom had consumed far more alcoholic refreshment than he had, were discussing player stats and arguing over potential strategies for the Suns’ current season.

  “Hello?” He held his cell phone to his ear. In his Mercedes he’d had a button to press on the dash that allowed him to have conversations through his six-speaker stereo system while driving.

  “Josh?”

  Dana. L.G. Shit. It was the nicest of all the expletives that ripped through his brain when he recognized the voice.

  He’d been so caught up in the joy of being on familiar territory, he’d forgotten the damned dog.

  “I’m on the road. I can’t talk right now,” he said. “Are you going to be up for a while?”

  He was sweating. And pushed his foot harder on the gas pedal as they entered a stretch of deserted highway.

  “Of course.”

  Promising to call her back, he rang off. And then called her right back.

  “Hi,” he said, knowing it was safest if he didn’t talk on the phone and drive at the same time. But talking and driving was perfectly legal in Arizona. Everyone did it, and...

  “Are you doing anything right now?” he asked succinctly, like the boss he’d been back east, a boss with an urgent matter on his mind that he needed someone to handle.

  “Just homework,” she said. “Zack Foster called earlier. There was a litter of puppies that had been abandoned, but we called around and got them all delivered to new homes,” she said. “They’re little, so finding homes for them was easier....”

  She’d talk the rest of the way home if he’d let her. He wished he could. Talking to Dana was so different from anything he’d ever known. She wasn’t after anything. She just talked to communicate with the other human beings in her midst.

  “I have a favor,” he said with less charm than he’d have liked. This wasn’t about him. “I...kind of left L.G.” He paused. He’d screwed up.

  “Left him?” Now it was her voice that held the urgency. “Where? Oh, Josh! Is he okay?”

  “Not left him left him,” Josh said, slightly sick of himself. “I forgot about him and went to Phoenix after work.” Aware of the silence in the car, hoping his colleagues had all passed out on him, but doubting the probability, he kept his gaze firmly on the road in front of him. He told her about the basketball tickets. The suite...

  “You’re telling me that Little Guy’s been in his kennel since I dropped by at three?”

  The question seemed easy enough, but he was sure the accusation was there. Couched in Dana style.

  “Yes,” he said. “Can you go rescue him?”

  Take him home with you. He’d be better off there.

  “I’m already on my way,” she said. He heard her car start. “I’ll stay with him until you get home,” she told him.

  “Thank you.” He pictured the pup, the kennel, and swore silently again. “If the kennel’s a mess just set it outside the door,” he said. “I’ll clean it when I get home.”

  She was going to wait for him. Would be there, in his home, when he arrived.

  The idea shouldn’t feel so good.

  “It’s probably going to be fine,” she said. “He went to the bathroom just before I left. And he hasn’t had dinner yet.”

  Way to rub it in. “I know.”

  “Josh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s only been alone for a little over eight hours. Some folks have to leave their dogs for that length of time every day.”

  “Not locked in such a little cage.”

  “Yes, some are locked in little cages. Now let me get off the phone so I can drive.”

  “I thought you were already driving.”

  “No, I’ve been stopped at the end of my street waiting to hang up. Drive carefully and I’ll see you in a few.”

  Drive carefully. It was as if she cared.

  For him. Selfishness personified.

  The woman was a fool.

  Josh was going to have to save her from him.

  Soon.

  Real soon.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE KENNEL WAS FINE. Little Guy, while rambunctious as heck, and gobbling his food like he was half-starved, was fine, too. Josh, on the other hand, looked as if he’d seen a ten-car pileup on the freeway.

  All because he’d left his pup for an evening?

  His concern was sweet.

  She didn’t really understand it. She stayed and talked to him—about the collection of dog treats she’d put together for him from the Love To Go Around stash, which was why she’d called earlier. She figured he could test out various ones, the way he was doing with his soaps. Soon he was grinning like the Josh she was coming to know, and she said she had to go
home and get a few hours’ sleep before class in the morning.

  Josh insisted on following her home.

  “That’s crazy,” she told him, standing in the doorway of his house, refusing to move.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer,” he insisted. “I won’t come in. But it’s late, after midnight, and you’re out alone on my account.”

  “This is Shelter Valley. And besides, I’ve been going out alone at night since I was old enough to drive, in a city much larger than this little town.”

  He followed her, anyway. And it wasn’t until she was inside her duplex and glanced out the front window to wave at him that he finally left.

  * * *

  ON WEDNESDAY, DANA came home for lunch to find a plant sitting outside her door. A live plant, not cut flowers.

  The card read, “I figured you’d appreciate something that would live over something that would soon die. Thank you. Josh.”

  Dropping her backpack to the cement on the front porch, she carefully picked up the pot and carried it inside. She was not going to cry.

  That would be dumb. He’d merely said thank you.

  But she’d never had flowers sent to her before. Had never dated a flower-sending kind of guy.

  She retrieved her backpack. And texted Josh’s number.

  The plant is wonderful. Thank you! She added a smiley emoticon, and then deleted it.

  Sixty seconds later she received a text in return. Glad you like it.

  Leaving the text on her phone, she went about her business. Made spaghetti sauce from scratch. Lori was coming over to spend the night—she had an exam the next day and was finding it hard to concentrate in the dorm—and had mentioned that she missed her mom’s homemade spaghetti sauce. With the pet-therapy trip late that afternoon, Dana wasn’t going to have time to make dinner before Lori got there, so she was doing it on her lunch break.

  Understanding that the girl was having a hard time dealing with hurt feelings over her best friend’s defection and her father’s decision to bond with the guys over Thanksgiving, Dana accepted the exam excuse at face value.

  Fifteen minutes after she set down her phone, the text message notification sound rang.

  It could be any number of people texting her. Including her sisters, who texted her now and then.

  L.G. just tripped and turned a somersault.

  Grinning, she quickly and one-handedly returned:

  Reminds me of his dad.

  When did I ever trip?

  The ground beef browning, she used a spatula with one hand and texted with the other.

  Not the tripping part, the turning somersaults part. You don’t have to work so hard to get things right.

  Didn’t know I was working hard.

  Just quit trying to pay me off for helping. Or I’ll stop.

  Thought you liked the plant.

  She had. Too much. He was wooing her heart and she was absolutely certain that he was not intending to do so.

  But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon him.

  I do.

  So?

  She poured in tomatoes. A can of tomato soup. A quarter cup of cooking wine. A can of tomato sauce. Some spices. Added diced onion at the end so that instead of browning and collecting grease, the onions softened in the tomato sauce—and set it all to simmer, planning to leave the finished product in the Crock-Pot while she was gone. Lori could eat whenever she got there. She set the table and played with Kari when the kitten came running into the room with the new catnip toy Lori had brought for her. She looked over her calculus homework. Read the chapter from her biology book—twice because she didn’t quite take it in the first time.

  She skipped lunch.

  And she did it all with a nervous edge about her. With tendons strung tightly, and not quite smooth movement, as if she’d snap in two at a sudden loud noise.

  Then there was a noise. Another text notification.

  Are you mad at me? Josh wrote.

  No.

  I’m just falling for you, which is ludicrous, and if you knew you’d be running for the hills, she thought but did not type.

  She stirred the sauce. Little Guy needed her. She had to hold it together and quit thinking about Josh Redmond so much. She was absolutely not going to screw up her volunteering gig with the Love To Go Around program.

  And... Oh, boy, did she have Love To Go around.

  She wasn’t going to read any more of Josh’s texts. Not until she had herself better in hand.

  Another text showed up. Lori. She’d just had a blowout with her roommate and wanted to know if she could come early and hang out at Dana’s for the afternoon, as well. She was on her way.

  You seem mad.

  The text came through while she was reading Lori’s.

  How did he know how she acted when she was mad?

  How’s Little Guy?

  Had lunch and bath.

  Why another bath? What did he do?

  Nothing. He’s sleeping in my bed, he has to bathe. Needs plenty of time to dry. Hates dryer.

  As soon as he mentioned his bed, she was hot again.

  Her doorbell rang, saving her from making an utter fool of herself with a man she’d known less than a week.

  * * *

  AFTER TWO DAYS of training, Josh’s weeklong orientation was cut short. He was called into the boss’s office for a consultation Wednesday after lunch. They wanted him to head up the alumni fund investment team as well as contribute to the university’s fund-raising efforts as he’d been originally hired to do. He met Will Parsons, Montford’s president. He liked the older man.

  He received a bit of a pay raise to compensate for the extra responsibility. If he wasn’t already a millionaire several times over, he’d never become one in his current position, but the salary was decent.

  And the work was interesting.

  Most important, he’d gotten a promotion after two days on the job. He left the early-afternoon meeting on Wednesday wanting to call Dana Harris to share the good news.

  Josh glanced at his watch.

  She was on campus. In class. And would be at his house in less than an hour to give L.G. a break from jail.

  Unfortunately, he had to get back to work.

  * * *

  SHE NOTICED THE empty containers stacked neatly on the countertop when she went into Josh’s laundry room to get a treat for L.G. Wednesday afternoon. Every single container she’d brought over on Monday. Empty and cleaned. Presumably ready to give back to her.

  She’d put aside some spaghetti sauce for the freezer. Had more barbecue and casserole at home, too. And vegetable soup.

  Clearly the man couldn’t cook. And even if he was planning to learn, it could take a while. Judging by his lack of microwaving skills, he had a lot to learn.

  Her afternoon class had been canceled—the professor was at a symposium in Phoenix, presenting a paper she’d published. Taking Little Guy with her, Dana ran home, checked on Lori, gathered up the food and stayed long enough to throw together a batch of chocolate chip cookies, too. To make up for her ungrateful acceptance of the plant he’d sent over.

  Little Guy was back home, secured in his kennel, by four that afternoon. She’d done her neighborly duty, fulfilled her responsibilities for Love To Go Around and made it back to school for the pet-therapy outing. Lillie was joining them and she didn’t want to be late.

  It dawned on her, just before she climbed into the pet-therapy van, that she didn’t even know if Josh liked chocolate chip cookies.

  * * *

  “HERE’S TO YOU, MAN!” Ian McDaniel raised a beer to Josh at a table in the campus pub Wednesday night.

  Josh raised his glass—one shot of a lesser brand whiskey than he was used to. The first shot
of whiskey he’d had since leaving Boston.

  The liquid trickled down his throat, burning a bit more than he was used to, but still good. Familiar.

  He talked business. And basketball scores. And thought of Dana Harris. She’d left cookies. Good ones. He’d had several when he’d stopped in after work to let L.G. relieve himself.

  As he waited for his second drink, he texted her.

  Thanks. Cookies are great.

  She didn’t reply.

  * * *

  WHEN HE CAME HOME during his lunch break on Thursday with a take-out sandwich from the school cafeteria, Josh set the sandwich down to let L.G. out and picked up the container of chocolate chip cookies to munch on while he watched the puppy play in the dirt.

  L.G. peed. Stepped in his pee. Wagged his tail as Josh praised him, and carried on with his business.

  Biting into another cookie, Josh looked up at the immense stretch of blue sky as he chewed. It was frigid in Boston right now.

  Here it was warm enough to wear shorts.

  He hadn’t called Sara once since she’d told him not to.

  Unclipping his smartphone from the case at his hip, he checked to see if he had any messages.

  There was a text from his mother. And nothing else.

  Opening up yesterday’s text message window, he added a new message—You can learn a lot from a dog—hit Send, put his phone away and helped himself to another cookie.