Courting Chloe (Hudson Valley Heroes Book 1)

by Victoria Lynne

  “Sure. Just stay where I can see you.”

  Preston leaped up and raced to the equipment, Prince running along at his heels. Ian watched him tackle a rock climbing wall, then a slide, then a low-beam balance bar. The proprietor came out carrying a metal dish of water. He set it on the ground near Ian. “Just in case your furry friend gets thirsty,” he said.

  Ian thanked him and held out a hand. “Ian Dowling.”

  “Jim Campbell. My wife Esther and I own the place.” Jim tilted his chin toward the playground. “Your boy part of the canine assistance camp?”

  “My nephew. And yes, he is.”

  Jim nodded approvingly. “They do good work there. Our granddaughter Louisa attended the camp a few years ago. Deaf since birth. They set her up with a hearing-assistance dog and it opened up her whole world.” He shook his head and chuckled. “She’s twelve now. Spunky little redhead. Bright as a copper penny. And, my word, does she love that dog.”

  Ian smiled. He glanced over at the weather-worn For Sale sign propped against the building. “Any nibbles yet?”

  “Nah.” Jim scowled and gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Just a bunch of low-ballers. Nobody who knows the restaurant business, that’s for sure. The potential for this place is tremendous.”

  “Maybe.” Ian sipped his coffee. “But you don’t pay for potential. You pay for what’s actually there.”

  Jim eyed him consideringly. “Sounds like a man who’s bought property before.”

  “I’ve got a couple bars back in Brooklyn.”

  “The bar business, huh? Well, that’s a whole different kettle of fish, I suppose.”

  A friendly silence hung between them, then Ian heard himself say, “So tell me about it.”

  “About what?”

  “The potential.”

  “You interested?”

  “It’s not what I do, but I’m listening,” Ian replied.

  Jim nodded. He eyed the diner, the parkland, playground, and athletic fields. “This used to be our family farm. All this acreage. But my dad wasn’t much of a farmer, and I was even worse. Long story short, we gifted the land to the county in return for a change in zoning ordinance, some hefty tax breaks, and the exclusive right to set up a restaurant here.”

  “Looks like you ran a pretty good business. It was packed over the weekend.”

  Jim smiled. “We’ve got a nice local following. But Esther and I, we always envisioned more for this place than just a simple country diner.”

  “Oh?”

  “Follow me. I want to show you something.” Jim strode to the western corner of the building. Ian cast a glance at Preston as he followed him. His nephew was sitting atop the slide, his hands cupped around a pirate-style telescope as he surveyed the playground. A toy forgotten or abandoned by another child, Ian supposed.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Jim said.

  Ian turned. The property sloped downward toward a small, crystal blue lake surrounded by gently swaying reeds. A few ducks and geese floated atop the shimmering surface. The backdrop was no less stunning: rolling mountains ablaze with fiery fall foliage. Late-blooming wildflowers were scattered throughout the field. A postcard perfect scene.

  “This is where Esther and I planned for the restaurant to go,” Jim said. “A real restaurant—tablecloths, candles, fine wines. Maybe a patio with a pergola here, threaded with tiny overhead lights, for outdoor seating. The way the ground runs, we figured we could put a tavern just below it for more informal dining. Pub fare, that sort of thing. Course we’d keep the diner near the playground, sell sodas and ice cream for the kids.”

  “Sounds like a pretty ambitious project.”

  “True, but we figured it was something we could take on one day. You know, after our kids were grown. We even had an architect draw up plans for us, got the whole shebang permitted and ready to build.”

  “You changed your mind?”

  Jim shook his head as they made their way back to the picnic tables. “More like life got in the way. Esther was diagnosed with breast cancer. I almost lost her. She made it through, but the chemo took a lot out of her. Guess the restaurant just wasn’t in the cards for us.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I’ve still got my bride by my side, so I’m not complaining.” He looked up at Ian. “You interested in taking a look at those plans?”

  Ian hesitated. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a piece of property that tempted him like this one. Hell, he didn’t remember ever seeing a property like this. He could see the restaurant just the way Jim described, how it would fit in the land. A destination kind of place that would draw locals and tourists alike. He wanted it. Wanted to grab it and claim it before somebody else did. But it didn’t make sense, and he knew better than to make business decisions based on misdirected impulses. He shook his head. “Sorry. Like I said, it’s not what I do.”

  “Fair enough.” Jim gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  Ian made his way down to the playground. Preston stood with one arm wrapped around one of the metal poles that anchored the swings, idly twirling in circles.

  “Hey, there. How’s it going?”

  “Where do you think all the other kids went?”

  Ian glanced around the playground. A few mothers with toddlers and infants in strollers had gathered by the sandbox, sipping coffee. But of course, two and three-year-olds were far too young to be of interest to Preston. At the other extreme were a group of high-school boys in soccer uniforms who were running passing drills on a nearby field.

  “Kids my own age,” Preston put in petulantly, following Ian’s gaze.

  “Maybe they’re still at school.”

  “When does school get out?”

  “I don’t know, buddy.”

  “Do you think they’ll be here later?”

  Obviously Preston was expecting a repeat of the crowds of children he’d played with last Saturday. Doubtful. It was Tuesday, late afternoon, the sky was overcast. “Hey, I have an idea,” Ian said. “Why don’t we see if we can find a movie somewhere? Prince hasn’t been to a movie with us yet.”

  Preston draped his body, slug-like, over a swing and spun it in lazy half-circles. “No. I don’t want to miss them if they come.”

  “Hey, careful. You almost kicked Prince.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” He tucked in his legs. “Michael said he’d bring his Transformers with him when he came back.”

  “Michael?”

  “One of the boys who was here before.”

  Ian frowned. “He said he’d be here today? This afternoon?”

  “I don’t know. He just said he’d come.” He spun again.

  Ah. Now it was starting to make sense. Naturally the boys would want to play together again. But Ian hadn’t thought to follow up with one of the other parents. Without an adult to step in and set up a place and time to meet again, it was unlikely to happen. “Watch your feet,” Ian repeated, as Preston continued to spin in desolate circles. “Look, maybe you’ll see him some other time. We’ll wait ten more minutes and then we’ll leave.”

  “No.” Preston stubbornly shook his head. “I have to wait here.”

  “Preston—”

  “One of the boys said he was having a Star Wars birthday party and I’ve never been to a Star Wars party. He told me I could come but I don’t know where to find him.”

  “Who, Michael?”

  “No, the other boy.”

  “Preston, that’s the third time you’ve almost kicked Prince. Either sit up or we’re leaving.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Fine. Then sit up.”

  Preston stuck out his lower lip. “No! And I’m not leaving!”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake. Another tantrum? The mommy group from across the playground looked his way, shaking their heads and sending superior ‘Dads just don’t know how to handle kids,’ glances. Ignoring them, he reached for Presto
n’s arm and gently removed him from the swing. He hunkered down, bringing himself eye-to-eye with his nephew. “Yes, we are leaving. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Preston, but if you think talking to me like that will—”

  “Mommy let me have friends!”

  Ian froze. “What?”

  “She did,” he choked out, his tiny fists balled at his sides. “I remember that. She let me play with other kids all the time.” Tears streamed down his cheeks and his small body trembled. “I had a best friend named Stuart and we used to eat pizza together and trade Pokemon cards. And we played Aquaman and superheroes. And you won’t let me play with anyone, ever!”

  The oxygen left Ian’s lungs. “Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t have any friends now but those kids liked me! They wanted to play with me! I just want to stay until I can find them! Please, Uncle Ian!”

  Ian swallowed hard. After Barbara’s death, he had sworn that his heart would never break again. He would never again allow that kind of shattering pain into his life. But it was breaking now. “Is that what you think, Preston? That I don’t want you to have friends?”

  Preston studied the ground. He smeared his sleeve under his runny nose and over his tear-stained cheeks. He looked impossibly small, fragile, hurt. “I don’t know.” Prince slid up beside him, nuzzling his nose against Preston’s thigh, offering what comfort he could.

  “Why didn’t you talk to me about this before?”

  “I thought you would be mad at me.”

  “Mad? Why in the world would I be mad?” Ian took a steadying breath and tried a different tack. “Preston, look at me.” He waited for his nephew to raise huge blue eyes, brimming with tears, to meet his. “Your mom had years of practice at being a mom. She was a very, very good mom, wasn’t she?”

  Preston nodded mutely.

  “But I’m new at this. I’m trying my best to take care of you, to do everything right. Just the way she would have done it. But if I make a mistake, you have to promise to tell me. We need to talk to each other, okay?”

  Preston gave another solemn nod. “Okay.”

  “And one more thing.” Ian took a deep breath. He placed his hands lightly on his nephew’s shoulders. “I love you very, very much, Preston. You are the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt. You know that, right?”

  “I love you, too, Uncle Ian.”

  Ian wrapped him in a fierce hug. Stroked his small, tender scalp. “All right, then,” he choked out, his voice raw. “Glad we got that settled. Now we just need to figure out this friend thing, right?”

  Preston thought for a moment and then volunteered, “Most of my friends go to school.”

  “True. But we tried that, and you weren’t happy there. You said you didn’t want to go back.”

  “But what if I promise not to have a seizure while I’m at school?”

  Ian let out a horrified, jagged laugh. He wrapped one strong arm under Preston’s rear and swooped him up, holding him against his hip. “You’re killing me, buddy. You know that?”

  “I don’t want to be made fun of, but I miss having friends.”

  “I know you do.” Ian motioned for Prince to Come and headed toward his SUV. “Tell you what. Let’s go back to the camp and talk to Chloe. Maybe she can help us fix this, okay?”

  Preston rested his head on Ian’s shoulder. Placed his small hand over Ian’s heart. “Okay.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “He’s finally asleep,” Ian said, coming up behind Chloe to press a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. She released a contented sigh and leaned back, offering him more of her throat to nibble, but he paused instead, his attention caught by the video link on her laptop. “What are you watching?”

  “Oh. That’s Jake,” she said. “My next client. I have a meeting with his speech therapist tomorrow morning.”

  Ian pulled up a chair beside her. They’d polished off the Chinese food a few hours ago. In the interim, while Ian got Preston ready for bed, she’d set up her laptop and spread her paperwork across the dining room table.

  The video showed a handsome thirteen-year-old boy, the kind of effortlessly cool kid destined to break hearts and make middle-school girls swoon. Jake’s skin was tan, his eyes a brilliant blue, his shoulder length hair bleached blond from the sun. He wore knee-length boarder shorts, a sleeveless tee, and a puka shell choker.

  Speech therapists often used real world simulations to ready their clients for everyday situations they might find challenging. In this mock retail set-up, Jake was given the task of returning a shirt that was too large and swapping it for a smaller size.

  Looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, Jake stepped up to the counter, glanced at the woman standing behind the cash register, and promptly fell apart. Words didn’t come. In their place were repetitive, mono-syllabic sounds and agitated grunts. For four torturous minutes the video played on, Jake turning red with mortification, his entire body rigid with frustration as he gestured to the shirt and struggled to form the words I want small.

  “Poor kid,” Ian said.

  “Wait a minute,” Chloe said. “Not so fast. Now watch this one.” She switched to the next video link, one that had been filmed after three months of intense work with a speech therapy dog. She watched in satisfaction as Ian’s brows shot up.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Exactly.” The progress was extraordinary. Granted, Jake still stuttered. But he was far from non-verbal. He could form full sentences. Not only that, the awful tension that had filled the boy in the earlier video was no longer there.

  Chloe launched into an animated discussion of the exemplary work speech therapists had done by including canine assistants as part of their clients’ repertoire of tools. Speaking directly to a therapy dog was strikingly helpful in reducing a client’s speaking stress, creating a judgment-free zone to sound out difficult words, and expand his vocabulary. The technique didn’t always succeed, but when it did, the results were amazing. Literally life-changing. After a few minutes she realized their conversation had been entirely one-sided. She gave a self-deprecating laugh and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that. It’s just so… exciting, isn’t it? I can’t wait to meet Jake.”

  “You’re incredible.”

  She sent him a jaunty smile. “Just noticing that now, huh?”

  Ian returned her smile with an expression of somber resignation. He leaned back in his chair. “Well?” he said. “Go ahead. I’m waiting. Aren’t you going to say it?”

  “Say what?”

  “‘I told you so’. You were right and I was wrong.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to you sooner. Turns out, he can’t wait to get back to school, to be around kids his own age again.”

  “Ah. That.” Chloe powered down her laptop, carefully clicked it shut.

  “Not only was I wrong,” Ian continued, “I was a complete ass about it. Too hard-headed to listen to a word you were saying. I’m sorry.”

  She sent him a soft smile. “Apology accepted.” Hard to hold a grudge when he’d only been trying to protect Preston. Even now, he looked so unabashedly remorseful, she might have let it go at that. But technically he was still a client, and the trainer in her was too ingrained to miss such a perfect teaching opportunity. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You think it’s bad now, Ian, just wait until he wants to go on his first sleepover, or spend a week away at camp, or get behind the wheel of a car.”

  He pulled back, shocked. “You think he’ll be able to do that one day? To drive?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. The course of pediatric seizure episodes is almost impossible to predict. Particularly in cases like Preston’s, where a traumatic injury was involved. The point is, it’s all about learning to let go.”

  “It’s not easy.”

  “No, it’s not. Not for anyone raising a child.”

  He raked a hand over his lower jaw, absorbing that. Then his gaze shif
ted to her. His lids lowered slightly. Heat filled his stunning amber eyes, turning them from deep moss green to a flickering golden flame. An anticipatory shiver raced down Chloe’s spine. She knew that look. Loved that look. A look of desire and possession, a look that promised intense pleasure was only a few heartbeats away.

  “What’d I do to deserve you?” he asked, his voice husky and low.

  “Absolutely nothing. You just got lucky.”

  A devilish grin curved his lips. “Speaking of getting lucky…”

  He pulled her out of her chair and straddled her across his lap so that their chests were nearly touching. He undid the buttons of her blouse, working steadily until the garment fell open, revealing the lacy front of her bra. Brushing aside her hair, he kissed the soft column of her throat, kissed the shadowy cleavage between her breasts. Continuing his slow perusal of her body, he traced his lips across the tops of her shoulders, over the delicate ridge of her collarbone.

  Chloe clung to his broad shoulders and arched her back, her eyes closed, drinking in the sweet, sensual sensations. He knew exactly how to touch her. He knew where she liked a soft, gentle touch, and where she liked it rougher. He knew that rubbing his bristly chin against the creamy skin of her breasts, that taking her nipple in his mouth and scraping it between his teeth, would cause heat to pool between her thighs. He knew that a playful slap on her ass would send tremors racing down her spine. He knew how to make her sigh, make her shiver, make her laugh. He knew exactly how to excite her, and reveled in doing so.

  And she knew him. She worked his shirt free, slipped it from his shoulders, and traced her hands over every muscular ridge and masculine contour of his body. Her gaze hungrily raked over the rippled abdominal muscles of his stomach, the breadth of his shoulders, the corded strength of his arms.

  She knew his scars—the ones he’d earned from his days as a bouncer (including the jagged one across his upper chest, when a jealous, drunken boyfriend had lunged at him with a knife), the one on his left bicep that came from a reckless bike accident (speeding on the New York Thruway in the rain), and the ones he’d earned as a child, particularly the crescent-shaped scar that marked his right temple, the result of his getting between his father and a bottle of scotch.