That was the positive side to working hard and keeping busy. He was too distracted by what was to think much about what had been.
The negative? He was damn tired. For him that meant deep sleep, which meant nightmares, the kind that woke him up drenched in sweat, sure he was back in Iraq, the medical caravan he’d been escorting under attack.
He knew the drill, could almost hear his therapist at the VA hospital telling him to take a long walk, relax, put himself in the right frame of mind for nightmare-free sleep. Maybe call a friend, spend some time talking and listening and doing all the things normal people did. People without boatloads of baggage and a million bad dreams chasing after them.
He frowned, pulling onto the road that led into town. A two-way country lane, it meandered across three miles of fallow farmland. No lights illuminated the road. No houses huddled in the middle of fields. There was nothing between Jefferson land and the town limits. That was the way Elijah had liked it. He’d been a hermit, enjoying his solitude almost as much as he’d enjoyed his whiskey.
Good thing he’d married well. His wife had been the only child of a Seattle banker. She’d just happened to be driving through Benevolence on her way to somewhere else. She’d stopped in the diner, backed out of her parking spot and right into Elijah’s old Ford pickup. The rest . . . well, it was a story Sinclair was sure was still being told at the local hair salon.
Personally, he’d never met his grandmother, but he’d heard stories. She’d worked several jobs in Spokane, making the long commute daily so that her husband could stay on Jefferson land. She’d inherited money, and she’d put some of that aside for their only child, hiding it away so that her son would never struggle the way she had to.
Sinclair’s father hadn’t been any better with money than Elijah had been. He hadn’t been any better at holding down a job either.
Sinclair had broken the Jefferson mold on that one, and he was pretty damn proud of it. He doubted his grandfather and father would have felt the same about his accomplishments. From what he could remember of his father, Randy Jefferson had been pretty damn proud that he’d married a woman who could support him. Elijah had been proud that he could drink most men under the table.
Water under the bridge, and not something Sinclair spent a lot of time thinking about.
He’d made a good life for himself.
He had everything he needed and almost everything he wanted. He’d lived with Kendra for a few years, tried the happy-couple thing, found that it wasn’t quite the fit he wanted.
Now he was content to build his business, restoring homes all over the country, returning to his home base in Seattle when the jobs were done.
Seattle?
Yeah. That was more his speed. Just big enough for a guy who’d come from a place like Benevolence, population 1,521 (including animals). At least, that’s what the sign said. He didn’t plan to be in town long enough to take a head count. Or to be added to the number.
Something darted in front of his truck, and he slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding what looked like a gray hairy deer.
It took him about five seconds to realize what he was seeing.
Not a deer.
A dog.
And not just any dog. Adeline’s dog.
He pulled over and jumped out of the truck. Tiny had disappeared in a small copse of trees. Sinclair wasn’t in the mood to go after him, but an image of Adeline flitted through his mind: wild red hair, violet eyes just a little too big in her freckled face. She’d be heartbroken if the dog got run over.
It wasn’t his problem and shouldn’t be his concern, but he headed toward the trees anyway, pulling out his pocket Maglight and shining it toward the spot where the dog had disappeared.
* * *
Addie held the cell phone to her ear as she carefully released milk chocolate hearts from their molds. Twelve glossy, beautiful hearts. They were perfect. Her day had been nearly perfect too. Good sales. Happy customers. Even newlyweds who’d driven from Spokane to buy a pound of chocolates for their road trip to Glacier National Park.
Yes. Things had been going wonderfully since she’d arrived at the shop. Until now.
“I can’t believe I let this happen!” Nehemiah’s voice rang through the phone, his tone just short of panic. “You entrusted the dog to me, and I’ve failed you!”
“You haven’t failed me,” she assured him, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Nehemiah was a good guy, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He’d been known to misplace his glasses, his cane, his shoes. Maybe he’d just misplaced her giant puppy. “Are you sure he’s not just hiding somewhere?” she asked as she flipped another mold, watched the beautiful hearts release onto the marble board.
“Addie, you’re a smart girl, so what would make you ask such a stupid question?” Nehemiah responded. “He’s huge. Where could he possibly hide?”
“Under the coffee table?”
“Three months ago, he could have gotten under there. Not anymore. I think he slipped outside when I went to get the paper. The storm door wasn’t closed when I got back from the mailbox.”
An open door? That was an invitation for Tiny to run.
The sick feeling morphed to full-out dread. “How long do you think he’s been gone?”
“Let’s see . . . I went out to get the paper before the sun set. So . . .” He mumbled something. Maybe a calculation of the time the sun went down and the current time—six thirty.
“Two hours?” he finally said.
She didn’t curse. She thought about it, though. God, did she think about it!
“Two hours?” she repeated, hoping to heaven that she’d misheard. That maybe he’d said two minutes. Or twenty. Or anything but two hours.
One hundred and twenty minutes for Tiny to find trouble.
“I’d say about that. Seems to me I was thinking about starting my roasted chicken when I got in. That would have been about four thirty.”
“And you didn’t see him in the house after you got the paper?” she pressed, hoping against hope that somehow he was mistaken and Tiny really wasn’t gone.
“I wasn’t really looking for him. He was sleeping right near the fireplace when I went for the paper, relaxing on that old throw rug I brought down from the attic. Same as every day. I went into the kitchen, had me some coffee and a couple of those shortbread cookies I like so much. The ones from Ella’s Bakery Emporium? You been there, right?”
“Right,” she managed to say through gritted teeth.
She’d been there. She’d eaten a scone. She’d enjoyed every bite of it, but she didn’t want to discuss it. Not while Tiny was missing and presumed to be causing trouble.
“Great baked goods, that girl. She knows how to do things right. Reminds me of my Mary Sue’s baked goods. Mary Sue? She could—”
“Nehemiah,” she interrupted as gently as she could, as kindly. Mary Sue had died the previous spring. They’d been married for nearly seventy years. “I need to go look for Tiny. I’ll call you as soon as I find him.”
“I really hope you do find him, Addie. I really do. I feel responsible for that dog, and I’ve grown to like him. Problem is, I’m too slow and old and he’s too young and fast. Maybe it’s just not a good match, me dog-sitting him.”
Maybe not. Probably not, but she didn’t have another option. Janelle wasn’t going to take the dog. All Addie’s friends had pets or kids or a combination, and she didn’t feel like she could burden them with a high-energy, trouble-finding giant.
That sick feeling, that hard-hitting dread that was building in her stomach seemed to fill her chest, and she could barely breathe. “It’s okay, Nehemiah. I’ll find Tiny, and then we’ll discuss ways of keeping him from escaping again.”
She said good-bye and grabbed her coat from the hook near the back door, the beautiful chocolates left on the marble slab on the counter. She’d managed to mold all three flavors. Milk chocolate, white chocolate, dark chocolate. She�
�d purchased cute orange and white polka-dot cupcake wrappers to set the chocolates in. Hopefully May would be pleased.
If not, she’d have to start from scratch, come up with another presentation for the chocolate wedding favors May had ordered.
May, who had called three times to ask about the diet, the exercise program, and the dress. The one that still didn’t have a working zipper. Addie walked to the whiteboard list, put a red check near Fix dress, scribbled Find Tiny at the very top, wrote Figure out what to do about Tiny at the bottom.
She wanted to believe Nehemiah could continue to take care of the puppy, but she didn’t want to stress out her elderly neighbor. She also didn’t want to put a strain on their friendship. She’d been there nearly every day when Mary Sue was dying. She’d cooked meals, swept floors, dusted. Mostly she’d just listened to her neighbors share stories of the life they’d had together. As Mary Sue’s illness grew worse, she’d lost the ability to speak, the cancer settling into her brain and stealing her ability to communicate. That’s when Nehemiah had started to talk about what he was losing and about how much he’d loved what he’d had with his wife.
Only he hadn’t been talking to Addie. He’d been speaking to Mary Sue, saying the words over and over again as he held the hand of his dying wife. I loved you the day we met. I loved you the day we married. Every day after I have loved you, and I will love you through eternity.
Thinking about it made goose bumps rise on Addie’s arms and tears burn at the back of her eyes. What Nehemiah and Mary Sue had? That was love, and when she’d seen it, she’d known that what she’d had with Adam had been a poor facsimile. She’d also known that Nehemiah would be lost without that love to guide him, that half of his whole would be gone and that he’d need someone to fill just a tiny bit of the space Mary Sue had left.
She’d tried to do that, making him meals and visiting him every afternoon. It had been harder to do that since Granddad’s accident, but Nehemiah had seemed happy enough with Tiny keeping him company. Until now.
No. She couldn’t add stress to Nehemiah’s life, and she couldn’t hurt their friendship over a dog.
She’d come up with another plan for Tiny’s day care, and she’d bring Nehemiah to the local animal shelter, help him choose an elderly companion dog. One that would spend all day lying by the fireplace and thumping its tail every time Nehemiah spoke.
She locked the shop’s back door, jogged to her car. Thank goodness she’d closed up for the evening. Without an assistant to man the shop, she’d have had no choice but to close down during business hours. That wasn’t something Byron would ever have done. Chocolate Haven was his first priority. Always.
Unfortunately, she had other things that needed her attention. Like her accounting business, her dog, her life.
She climbed into the car, pulled around the side of the building and onto Main. A light in Granddad’s apartment was on, the soft glow of it spilling out onto the awning that covered the entrance to Chocolate Haven. Sinclair must have returned, but she hadn’t seen him or his truck.
Not that she’d been looking.
She’d been too busy to pay attention to the comings and goings of her grandfather’s tenant.
Sure you were, a little voice whispered.
She ignored it.
She scanned the road as she drove down Main Street. No sign of Tiny. Two hours was a long time for a dog to be wandering around. He could be miles away, trotting down the highway heading for Spokane or Seattle or Idaho.
God, she hoped not. He was a pain in the butt, but she didn’t want anything to happen to him.
She passed Nehemiah’s saltbox-style house and pulled up in front of her bungalow. She hadn’t left any lights on, and the place was dark and a little lonely looking. She’d have to remember that she didn’t want to come home to that, because . . . well, she didn’t.
She jumped out of the car, ran across the yard. Tiny wasn’t waiting on the front porch the way she’d hoped he would be. She called him, but he didn’t peek out from behind a bush or run around the side of the house to tease her into thinking he was actually responding.
Across the street, Mendelssohn Reynold’s trash can was sitting at the curb, several bags of garbage overflowing the bin. Tiny hadn’t been there. If he had, there’d be trash strewn from one end of the street to the other.
“Tiny!” she called, knowing that he wouldn’t answer. He was gone. Really and truly gone. “Tiny!?”
If she were a dog, where would she go?
Somewhere with food?
Or . . . other dogs?
She hopped back in the car, did a quick U-turn and headed back toward Main Street.
A vehicle moved toward her, headlights splashing on black asphalt. She barely noticed.
She was too worried about Tiny. He might be a giant, but he was gentle and sweet, troublesome but completely harmless. If he’d been injured, hit by a car, kidnapped by someone who would neglect or abuse him . . .
She couldn’t bear thinking about it.
She passed the approaching vehicle, had a quick impression of a truck with a huge dog sitting so close to the driver it might have been in his lap.
It took a second for that to register—the huge dog, the male driver, the pickup truck that she’d seen earlier that day.
Sinclair? He’d been at the apartment, hadn’t he?
She glanced in the rearview mirror. The truck was slowing as it neared her bungalow. It was Sinclair! And the huge dog had to be Tiny!
She did another quick U-turn, nearly jumping the curb in her haste. By the time she pulled into the driveway, Sinclair was out of the truck, Tiny on a leash beside him.
“You found him!” she cried.
“I think he wanted to be found,” he replied, the leash wrapped around his left hand. “He ran out in front of my truck.”
She took the leash from his hand, realized it was a rope. “What’d you do? Lasso him?”
“If only it had been that easy.” He smiled, a charming smile that made her pulse jump.
She had to look away, because she didn’t want to be looking into his eyes and into his face, seeing that smile and having her heart respond.
“He wanted to be found,” he continued, “but he didn’t want to be caught.”
“He gave you a run for your money, huh?” She couldn’t avoid his eyes forever, but she could dang well try. She dug in her pocket, pulled out a set of keys, plucked a twig from Tiny’s coat, did everything she could not to look at Sinclair.
“Run? I was at a full-out sprint, and I still only managed to get him because I had a pack of crackers on me. For future reference, Tiny loves peanut butter crackers.”
“Tiny loves anything edible.” She tugged the puppy with her as she headed toward the house. “He also loves things that aren’t edible.”
“Like?”
“Alarm clocks. Pillows. Couch cushions. The vet says he’ll grow out of the chewing stage soon, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen.” She unlocked the door, hesitated on the threshold.
How long had it been since she’d invited a guy who was younger than seventy into her house? A couple of months? A year? Longer?
Was it sad that she couldn’t remember?
“That explains it,” Sinclair murmured, eyeing Tiny as if he were a puzzle that needed to be figured out.
“Explains what?”
“Why he didn’t wait for me to take the crackers out of the package. I ripped it open, and he scarfed the crackers down so fast, I’m not even sure he chewed.”
“Wrapper and all?” she asked, moving into the living room and reaching to untie the rope from Tiny’s collar.
“Wrapper and all,” he agreed, brushing her hand aside, his skin warm and a little rough. “Let me. I made it extra secure because I didn’t want to have to sprint through the woods again.”
“I really appreciate you going after him.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” He looked up from the knot. For a mom
ent she was caught, just kind of staring into his eyes.
“Some people would have just let him go.”
“I hate to tell you this, Adeline, but he’s a menace. I figured if I didn’t catch him and bring him home, he’d start digging through people’s garbage looking for food scraps.”
“Then I guess I should thank you on behalf of the entire Benevolence community.”
He laughed, finally freeing the knot and releasing Tiny. True to form, Tiny trotted into the kitchen to search for food. “I wasn’t worried about Benevolence, I was worried that someone would see him scrounging through the trash, think he was a wolf, and shoot him.”
“I was worried about that too,” she admitted. “Tiny doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, but anyone looking at him wouldn’t know it.”
“It might be best to keep him locked up when you’re not home,” he suggested, reaching down to rub his left knee. He had fine lines at the corners of his eyes and a small scar above one eyebrow. He also had a couple days’ growth of stubble on his chin, dark hair that was just a little long, and eyes that . . .
Well, they were the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Probably the most intense too. As if he had a boatload of energy and it was all just shining out of him.
Maybe that was Janelle’s reason for wanting him in Granddad’s apartment. With the wedding approaching, and all three of her girls attending, she probably had big plans for hooking one of them up with Sinclair. Sure, Willow was engaged, but Brenna still hadn’t gotten a proposal from her boyfriend. In Janelle’s mind, that meant a possibility of things not working out. If they didn’t, she’d want to have a backup plan.
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