by Judi Fennell
Maggie had already started to make her sandwich. The evidence dripped from the countertops, down the cabinets. Sherman was in an orgy of pleasure, running between the cabinets to lick the different ingredients.
Bryan hoped to hell that peanut butter didn’t make dogs sick. Though it’d serve the mutt right if he got an upset stomach.
“First order of business, we’re putting Sherman outside.” He scooped up the dog and looked for his leash. He found it lodged behind the potato bin.
Once Sherman was out, barking and pulling against the leash, Bryan closed the back door to muffle the sound, then grabbed a set of sponges from the pantry. “Come on, Maggie. Let’s clean up the mess before we make another one.”
“Well that’s silly. We should just keep making the same one so we only have to clean it up once.”
Words of wisdom from a five-year-old.
“Did you ever have peanut butter and applesauce when you were little, Bryan?”
He tried to remember back—because he’d tried so hard in the interim years to forget. “Not applesauce, no. But I did have peanut butter and banana.” Both of which were staples from the welfare system.
His gut twinged. He’d vowed to never eat peanut butter again once he’d had a job, yet now he was going to do just that.
Surprisingly, the applesauce was good with the peanut butter. It also smeared across Maggie’s face every time she took a bite and dripped onto her plate, once with such a big drip that it splashed applesauce onto her chin.
Maggie’s eyes sparkled with laughter as she giggled and wiped it off. “Kelsey says I’m a messy eater.”
“I think you eat messy food.”
She cocked her head sideways with a look on her face that stole his breath because it looked so much like her mother. “I think you’re right. I like messy things. Glitter glue, applesauce, peanut butter, my room. Well, except for Mrs. Beecham. I don’t like her messes. But I like her. She’s cuddly.”
Bryan had gotten more than a few glimpses of the Maine Coon cat. Cuddly was a good word for it. So was messy. The cat shed enough fur to knit a winter blanket from. That’s what he’d found himself cleaning up the most of, especially in the corners of the dining room on the hardwood floor. Forget dust bunnies, the cat shed dust kitties. It’d watched him clean up its fur once. Sat there licking its front paw as it washed its whiskers, complete boredom in its stance. Cats were peculiar that way. But he was even coming to like the damn thing almost as much as he liked Sherman.
Wait. When the hell had he ever decided he liked the dog?
Bryan shook his head. Dogs, cats, kids . . . they were all going to cease to be important once his contracted date was up.
And would you be interested in buying a bridge in Brooklyn while you’re at it, Manley?
“Will you help us look for Muffy, Bryan? Mommy and I are going out in a little bit to search. You’re so good at finding Sherman, I bet you can find Muffy.”
No pressure . . . Bryan didn’t even think about trying to get out of it. The truth was he wanted to help them find the missing dog, though he wasn’t so sure he believed Beth’s story yesterday. There’d been a gleam in her eye and a purpose to her stride that hadn’t seemed like a lost-dog finding attitude, but when he’d asked her about it, she’d stuck to her story.
He wanted to know what the truth was and why she was hiding it, so for that alone he’d go with them.
To be around Beth . . . well, that went without saying.
And speaking of the devil—er, angel—Beth ran into the kitchen at that instant, and came to an abrupt stop when she saw him.
“Bryan! What are you doing here?”
“He works here, Mommy,” Maggie, in all her five-year-old wisdom, answered. “And he’s going to help us find Muffy.”
Great. Beth had counted on being able to have Maggie home in a half hour by saying she must have been mistaken. But with Bryan . . . He wasn’t going to buy that so easily.
After the soccer game, he’d looked at the tear on her shirt and the missing button and her hair. He’d smoothed it down and it’d been a major lesson in keeping her composure that she hadn’t melted in to him and told him the truth.
Especially after she’d looked at the pictures last night. If she ever saw Mr. Steve McAllister again, it’d be too soon. His pictures had made it look as if there was something between them. He’d captured her, Maggie, and Bryan laughing, with Maggie on Bryan’s lap. She hadn’t even remembered that Bryan had put a hand on her knee, but Steve McAllister had captured that moment for all posterity.
She’d kept the memory card instead of destroying it. Stuck it in her safe where no one but her would ever be able to see those photos. Should the need ever arise, that was.
Or should she want to relive these surprising days in the lonely years to come.
“Uh, sure, that’s great if he wants to come. Another set of eyes is always good.” Though it would be torture on her acting skills to keep up the pretense. He was the actor of the bunch, not her. She couldn’t even lie about Santa effectively. Mike had been the one to keep that myth going for their kids. When he’d died and Maggie had been so into Santa and the Easter Bunny, and the stork . . . Christmas had been tough these last two years.
The next hour rivaled Christmas for toughness.
“Are you sure you saw something over here?” Bryan asked for the umpteenth time, moving branches around.
Beth nodded. Oh, yeah, she’d definitely seen something, but it’d been much higher than the knee-high branches Bryan was searching through. Mr. Steve McAllister was at least six feet tall and so was his tripod. Too bad he hadn’t used the camera—the very big, very expensive camera—to find a lost dog instead of stealing someone’s privacy and well-being.
“I don’t see anything. Especially not a hole for a fox’s den.” He let the branches fall back into place. “You’re certain this was the spot?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean the fox lives here. He could have been wandering around.”
“Not in the day. Foxes are nocturnal.”
Crud. She knew that. She also knew that Maggie didn’t know that. “Maybe it was rabid?”
“And you went after a rabid animal?”
He had her there. She’d never have done that. “I thought it was Muffy.”
He arched that eyebrow at her again, but didn’t say anything. It was a good thing she hadn’t picked acting as a career choice.
Beth let them wander for another hour, knowing full well they weren’t on Muffy’s trail, but she didn’t want to freak her kids out or make Bryan feel guilty about the paparazzi any more than he already did.
“Hey, aren’t you Bryan Manley?” A kid on a skateboard popped a wheelie to stop beside them.
“I am.” Bryan stopped walking to talk to the kid. Beth admired that about him, that he hadn’t forgotten where he came from or didn’t forget to appreciate that fans were why he could do what he did.
“Any chance I can get you to sign my board?”
“You have a marker?”
“Yeah.” The kid pulled out a marker—Beth had no idea why he’d be carrying one—and thanked Bryan for signing it before riding away.
“Why do people want you to sign things, Bryan?” Maggie tugged on his shirt.
He picked her up and settled her on his hip. “It shows people that they met me.”
“Why do they want to meet you?”
“I guess they like my movies and it makes them feel like they’re a part of it when they meet me.”
Um . . . no. At least, that wasn’t why Kelsey’s friends and their moms wanted to meet him. But Beth was thankful he didn’t share that info with Maggie. She’d learn soon enough. And when she learned that Bryan had held her in his arms . . .
“Hey, can I get a picture of you two?” She pulled out her cell. This was a memory for Maggie, not a publicity shot.
“Yay, Mommy!” Maggie wrapped her little arms around Bryan’s neck and rested her head against his
cheek.
The image on Bryan’s face was priceless. Stunned and happy all in one.
Beth felt a lump rise in her throat. He was holding her daughter so tightly, one hand on her back, the other arm holding her against his waist, and the smile on Maggie’s face . . .
Beth worked a smile past the lump. “That’s great, Maggie. It’s a good picture of both of you.” Not that either could take a bad picture.
“Let me see!” Maggie kicked her legs.
Luckily, Bryan’s reflexes kicked in so he avoided some, ah, damage.
Beth hid a smile as she showed them the photo.
“Oh cool! Maybe you can sign this for me, Bryan?” Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck again and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Please?”
Bryan averted his eyes from Beth’s. Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Of course, Maggie.” He gave her a final squeeze, then set her down. “How about we give it another few minutes to find Muffy and then head home? Your mom can print it out.”
“Nah, let’s go home now. Muffy’s not going to go this way. She doesn’t like the McNulty’s dog, Bruiser. He’s a bully.”
Bulldog, but it was close enough. Beth grabbed Maggie’s hand. “Okay, kiddo, let’s head home.”
Maggie reached for Bryan’s. “Come on, Bryan. You have to walk with us.”
Bryan was lucky not to be stumbling back. Too much emotion was clogging his chest, making breathing difficult. The moment he’d held Maggie in his arms and she’d wrapped hers around his neck . . . The look on Beth’s face, then that photo . . .
He was never going to make it through the rest of the time without doing something he’d probably live to regret.
But, hell, if he didn’t do something, he’d live to regret that as well.
Thankfully, Liam called to say their friend Jared had scored some last-minute baseball tickets, so the four of them had plans for the evening. He even left Beth’s house early, though Maggie begged him to stay for dinner, but that was too much temptation. His brothers would never let him live it down if he blew them off for a five-year-old. Well, and her mother. But still . . .
But despite the fact that he was out with his best friends in the world, not to mention the thirty thousand other people in the stadium, it turned out to be a pretty lonely night when all he could think about were the six people he’d left behind.
Chapter Nineteen
OH no, Sherman, not again!”
Bryan winced when he heard Kelsey’s whine.
Beth came flying out of the kitchen. “What’d he do now?”
Bryan peeked around the corner from the mudroom. This room was going to take him all day to clean; the Hamilton children had taken the name to heart. Plus, there was a tear in the vinyl flooring that was going to require some work to fix. Beth needed a handyman more than she needed a cleaning service. He was definitely going to talk to Mac about adding the service.
“He dragged my underwear through the Templetons’ backyard.”
The laundry line. Again. That made four times since he’d been here. No wonder they had so much laundry, the dog was making more work.
That was it; he was building Beth a freestanding clothesline that the dog couldn’t get to.
“Hey, Jason. Want to come with me? I need to head to the hardware store.”
“Not really.” The kid was flat on his back on the sofa with a handheld in his hands, thumbs punching feverishly.
“Dude.” Bryan tugged the game from his hands. “It wasn’t really a question. Let’s go.”
“Aw, man. Do I hafta?” Jason swung his long, gangly legs off the sofa and looked at his mom. “I got stuff to do today, Be—Mom.”
Beth raised her eyebrows. “What kind of stuff?”
“Uh, you know. Stuff. School stuff.” Jason put a smile on the end of it as if he’d thought Beth would believe him.
“You can do that after you go with Bryan. I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked you unless it was important.”
It wasn’t a question, and Bryan appreciated the support.
He tapped Jason on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get going. The quicker we go, the quicker we can come back so you can get to your stuff.” Stuff both he and Beth knew didn’t exist. Jason could help him when they got back. It’d be good for the kid to learn about tools and building things. Mike had a nice array of power tools in the garage.
Beth couldn’t help but watch her son leave with Bryan. Couldn’t help imagining how real this could be. What it would have been like if Mike were still alive. He would have taken Jason there and shown him things, taught him to mow the lawn, fix the mower, maybe even use some of the tools he’d collected over the years. Although . . . she was pretty handy with a drill; she could show him—all of them—how to fix things.
Funny, but she hadn’t really given that a thought until now. It’d been a constant struggle to make sure their mental health was okay with all of this, and to keep being their mom. Being their dad was a whole other element and it was becoming a more important one than she’d realized. If she needed any reminders, that tire-changing lesson had drilled it into her. Jason wasn’t getting any younger. Two more years and he’d be driving. Then Kelsey two years after that. Look what had happened in the last two years. Those seven hundred and thirty days weren’t as long as she’d like.
“Mommy, why do you look like that?” Maggie poked her head up from the coffee table where she was drawing yet again. The therapist had said to give Maggie a tablet and crayons, since she’d been too young to write when Mike had died. That tablet had become her daughter’s constant companion and it turned out that Maggie had some real talent in that area. Beth had removed the frightening images she’d drawn right after the accident once the pictures had started to change into pleasant things. Butterflies, flowers, Sherman, Mrs. Beecham—another addition the counselor had suggested and whom Maggie had named after her preschool teacher.
“Look like what, honey?”
“Like you want to go with Bryan and Jason?”
Beth snapped out of whatever fog she’d been in. Maggie had picked up on that? Things were getting a little too much out of hand. No, not things. Her emotions. She had to distance herself from Bryan. Had to make the kids do so, too. Mike’s departure hadn’t been his choice; Bryan’s would be. A necessary one since he had a career to get back to, but the kids wouldn’t see it that way. He was here only for a brief moment in their lives; she had a feeling they didn’t get that. So when he left, it’d be one more person they cared about leaving them.
• • •
BRYAN could feel the noose tightening. The kids were getting to him. Jason had grumbled the entire ride to the hardware store, mostly about the company logo magnet on the truck and how uncool it was. Bryan told him cool was in the behavior of the person, not the trappings, and zoomed the truck into a parking spot in an impressive move one of the stunt guys had taught him on his last film. That had gotten Jason’s attention and opened the door to what they were doing at the hardware store.
“You’re sure Sherman’s not going to be able to get to this?” he asked as he helped Bryan haul the lumber to the truck.
“I’m fairly certain.”
“Then why are you doing it if you’re not totally sure? That dog is a monster.”
Bryan had to agree with Jason on that one, but didn’t voice it. “I think we can come up with something to outwit a dog.” He crossed his fingers.
“I dunno.” Jason picked up the roll of nylon rope. “I’ll bet the mutt chews through this in a day.”
“You’re on.” Not that teaching a fourteen-year-old to gamble was a good thing, but it’d keep him engaged in the project once they were finished building it. “So you’re going to help me build this, right?”
Jason swished his nonexistent roof of hair out of his face and looked surprised to find it missing. Or maybe the surprise was because of what Bryan had just asked him. “Me? Build? I don’t know how.”
“Good.” Bryan claspe
d him on the shoulder. “Then you’ll have no bad habits I have to unteach you. You’ll be learning the right way to do it from the get-go.”
“Why are you doing this? It’s not in your job description.”
“Because Sherman creates more work for everyone. A little extra effort now will save a ton of work later on.”
“But it’s not in your job description.”
“Sometimes, Jase, it’s not about what you’re supposed to do. Sometimes it’s about what’s the right thing to do. And the right thing here is to prevent the dog from doing what he keeps doing. It’ll make everyone’s life easier.”
Jason looked out the window and mumbled something.
“What? I didn’t hear you.”
For a second, Bryan wasn’t sure Jason had heard him—or wasn’t planning to answer. But then he turned his head and looked at Bryan. “I said, it’d be nice for Mom if life got easier. She’s been stressed out since Dad died.”
Bryan sucked in a breath and prayed for the right words. “Then it’s a good thing we’re doing this. Every little bit we can all do to make her life easier will be a help.”
“Yeah. That’s why I did my room. You were right.”
There was a moment. A teenager telling him he was right. Bryan ought to record this moment for posterity.
But . . . why? He was leaving, remember? Jason would have more of these moments with the next man in Beth’s life.
Bryan didn’t want there to be another man in her life—which was ridiculous since he couldn’t be.
Yeah, it made no sense, but then, a lot of these past two weeks didn’t.
Or maybe it did and he just refused to listen . . .
• • •
BUT, Jason, I want to mix the cement. Bryan said I could.” Mark stuck his tongue out at his older brother.
Jason held the trowel over his head. “You’re too little, Mark. You don’t have enough arm strength. It has to be done thoroughly and quickly, and you can’t.”
Bryan took the trowel from Jason and knelt down by the posthole. “It’ll be a moot point if we don’t get this mixed and the post in, guys. So let’s work together, okay?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead onto his shoulder. The backyard had a lot of shale below the surface, so he’d had to make another trip to the hardware store for some quick-set cement. Of course Maggie had wanted to mix it, then the twins had joined in, and all of a sudden, cement mixing had become a family affair.