You'll Think of Me

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Maybe—” He broke off the sentence, looking suddenly impatient.

  With himself or with her?

  Wariness niggled at her insides, and she tried to push the feeling away. In recent months, she’d realized that distrust was her default reaction toward men, especially when they seemed to want to say something but didn’t. Her instant mistrust was a trait she didn’t like about herself and wanted to change. And yet mistrust him she did in that moment.

  Still staring out the window, she repeated words of encouragement in her head. Remember what Esther said. I don’t have to let old hurts and insecurities run my life.

  Had she forgotten Derek was right there in the room? It seemed like it to him. And maybe it was just as well. He needed to give her a little space before broaching the subject of the land a second time. He didn’t want to bungle it. Next time he wouldn’t beat around the bush and hope she caught his meaning. He would be better prepared.

  “Well,” he said, keeping his voice light, “enjoy the strawberries.”

  “We will,” Alycia chimed in for the first time since they’d all entered the house.

  Without thinking, he reached out and ruffled the hair on the top of her head. The girl pulled slightly away, giving him a look that said she was too old for that particular gesture. Then, just as suddenly, she grinned back at him, and he caught a glimpse of his old friend in her smile. So much like Chad that it almost hurt. His throat tightened. “See ya later, kiddo.”

  Moments later, walking across the field that separated the two properties, Derek continued to think about Chad. In the past, he’d figured his friend had had good reasons for moving far from Reno and his only child. But now he wondered. What would be a good reason to abandon a child? Even if Brooklyn had done something terrible to drive Chad away from his wife, would it justify leaving his daughter too?

  It shamed Derek that he’d never asked his friend why he’d left Brooklyn. In fact, he’d never asked any hard questions. He’d simply assumed Chad had to be in the right, which meant his wife had to be in the wrong.

  Derek remembered a time, a couple of years after Chad and Brooklyn eloped, when he’d walked into his grandparents’ kitchen and found Marie Hallston seated at the table, face in hands, weeping. Weeping for the son she hadn’t heard from in over two years. Weeping because she hadn’t known what became of him.

  Or had she known?

  Derek stopped and looked back at the house with its faded yellow paint. Had Chad’s parents learned they had a grandchild before they passed? Was that why Marie Hallston had cried in his grandparents’ kitchen? Was that why they’d been on the highway, somewhere in Nevada, in treacherous February weather when their vehicle slid off the ice-covered road?

  With a shake of his head, he started toward home again. Near the back porch, he set the empty strawberry basket inside a small shed and went inside. As he reached to open the refrigerator door, thoughts turning to dinner, the phone rang.

  “Hello,” he answered.

  “Derek? It’s Millie.”

  Millie Smith, his neighbor.

  “Hey, Millie.”

  “Are you free at the moment? I hate to ask, but Tommy is hiking with some friends down along the river, and they’ve found a dog that’s hurt but won’t let anybody help it. The boys are still there. They called me because they didn’t know what to do. Glen’s not home yet. I could call the sheriff, but—”

  “No, that’s all right, Millie. I’ll be glad to help. Are you at the house? I’ll pick you up and you can show me where to find them.”

  As a deputy, he’d been involved in more than one animal rescue, and when they ended successfully and a beloved pet was returned to the owner, everyone was happy. But sometimes the circumstances were hard—a puppy farm or starving horses in an overgrazed pasture.

  He grabbed the keys to his truck, patted his pocket to make sure he had his cell phone, and then headed out the door. Ten minutes later, he and Millie Smith were driving toward the river. They found the bikes Tommy and his friends had left at the side of a parking lot near a trailhead. Another fifteen minutes of walking, and they heard voices above the soft sounds of the smooth-flowing river.

  “Tommy,” Millie called.

  “Over here, Mom.”

  An outcropping of dark-gray rocks came into view. The boys stood near a small cave-like opening, one of them leaning over and peering into the dark recesses.

  “Mom.” Tommy waved when he saw her.

  As they drew closer, Derek thought he heard whimpers.

  “I don’t know what happened to it,” Tommy said, looking from his mom to Derek. “But there was a lot of blood coming up the trail from the river. We followed it up here ’cause we knew it had to be in trouble, but we can’t see it very good in there. We don’t have a flashlight with us.”

  “I’ve got one.” As Derek stepped closer to the opening, the boys moved aside. He went down on one knee. Blood had left dark smears on the rocks at the entrance. He pointed the flashlight into the dark interior. A pair of eyes reflected the light back at him.

  It was a small dog—he could tell that much—and it was frightened, cowering as far back as it could go, whimpering softly, sounding as if it didn’t have the energy for much more than that. Should he use the catch pole he’d brought with him? Not knowing where the dog was injured or how severely, he wasn’t sure that was the best option. But judging by the blood he’d seen already, he feared it could bleed to death before they could coax it out in the open. If they could coax it out.

  He pulled back from the opening and took his phone from his pocket. The local vet, Ethan Walker, was in his contact list. He pressed the button and waited for Ethan to answer. Unfortunately, all Derek got was voice mail. He left a message and hung up.

  This rescue was up to him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Tommy, I’ll need you to hold the flashlight for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “The rest of you better move farther off the trail. The dog’s scared already. We don’t want to make it worse as we bring it out.”

  Millie and the other three boys obediently moved out of view.

  In the end, the dog didn’t resist the rescue effort. Once the loop of the catch pole was around its neck, it hobbled toward the opening. The toy-sized dog wasn’t a breed Derek could name right off hand. Its coat was brown and white—where it wasn’t stained by blood, some of it still bright red.

  Derek unbuttoned his cotton shirt and removed it, then used it to wrap the dog. Holding her—he knew now the dog was female—close to his chest, uncaring if he got blood on his T-shirt, he stood. “Millie, can you call Ethan again? Tell him I’ve got the dog and am taking her to my place. Looks like she might have been shot. Maybe she has a broken front leg too. I’ll do what I can for her, but he should get there as fast as he can.”

  His neighbor made the call as they hurried back to the parking lot. The boys were on their bikes and racing toward Thunder Creek before Millie, now behind the wheel of Derek’s truck, had started the engine.

  Chapter 8

  Guilt was a great motivator, Brooklyn decided as she carried the hot casserole dish across the field to Derek’s house. She knew he was inside. His truck was parked in the drive, and she’d seen him enter through his back door no more than fifteen minutes ago.

  Alycia rang the doorbell while Brooklyn waited behind her.

  It had been five days since Derek brought over the basket of fresh strawberries. Strawberries that had sweetened breakfast for several mornings in a row. And each time she’d taken a bite of one, it had reminded her how less than gracious she’d been for his thoughtfulness. Not just over the strawberries but for other things he’d done since he found them stranded on the side of the road.

  Time to give him a proper thanks.

  The door opened, revealing Derek in a dark T-shirt, jeans, bare feet, and wet hair. Fresh out of the shower, if she wasn’t mistaken. For some reason, that realizat
ion made her blush.

  “We brought you dinner, Mr. Johnson,” Alycia said with her usual enthusiasm.

  His eyes widened, no doubt surprised by the gesture, but before he could say anything, he looked down and to the side, brushing at something with his right foot. “Back,” he said in a commanding voice.

  “You’ve got a dog?” Alycia leaned forward, trying to see. “Mom, look! He’s got a dog! I didn’t know you had a dog, Mr. Johnson. I didn’t see one when I was over the other day.”

  Brooklyn didn’t know what she expected to see, but it wasn’t the tiny canine Derek lifted into view. The dog sported one of those protective cones around its neck and head, and its right front leg was in a cast.

  “Come on in.” Derek stepped back and opened the door wide. “I don’t want Miss Trouble to get outside.”

  “Miss Trouble?” Brooklyn almost laughed aloud. How much trouble could a dog that size be? The animal couldn’t weigh more than five or six pounds, tops.

  “How’d she get hurt, Mr. Johnson? Is she gonna be okay?”

  Ignoring the girl’s questions, Derek kept his gaze on Brooklyn and the hot dish in her hands. “Come on in,” he repeated. Then he led the way to the back of the house.

  In the kitchen, Brooklyn set the casserole dish on the stovetop.

  Almost in unison, Derek put the dog on the floor. “Whatever you made, it smells good.”

  Brooklyn didn’t have a chance to answer.

  “What’d you say her name is?” Alycia dropped to her knees beside the dog.

  “Miss Trouble. Trouble, for short.”

  “How come?”

  “Because she isn’t my dog, and I didn’t plan on taking care of her. But somehow the vet talked me into keeping her here while she recovers from her injuries.” He shrugged. “That’s the trouble.”

  “Poor thing.” Alycia stroked the dog’s back. “What happened to her?”

  “Somebody shot her.”

  Alycia gasped. “No! Why would anybody do that?”

  Derek’s expression turned dark. “I’ve never figured out why anybody is cruel to animals, but if I ever find out who did this to Trouble, I’ll—” He stopped, perhaps realizing he shouldn’t express his full sentiments to the child.

  “Are you gonna keep her, Mr. Johnson?”

  Derek squatted on the opposite side of the dog, bringing himself to Alycia’s level. “I doubt it. She won’t make much of a farm dog. I mean, she’s so small. What would she do around here? And look at all that long hair on her tail. It’ll get full of foxtails and thistles and other weeds.”

  “What breed is she?” Brooklyn asked.

  “Ethan—he’s the local vet—says she’s a papillon.”

  Alycia frowned. “A what?”

  “A papillon. It means ‘butterfly’ in French. Or so I’m told. I don’t remember seeing one before. She’s not exactly a farmer’s breed of dog. Bigger dogs are better suited to the country. My last dog was an Irish setter.”

  Brooklyn smiled at once. “Do you mean Ben? I remember him. He was gorgeous. Followed you and Chad everywhere.” She regretted the words at once. She didn’t like to bring up Chad in front of Alycia, but now that she was back in Thunder Creek, reminders were everywhere and his name came easily to her lips.

  “Yeah, Ben did follow us everywhere.” Derek stood again. “He was a great dog. Ben and I more or less grew up together.” Sadness flickered in his eyes. “He died right about the time I bought this place, and I’ve never gotten around to getting a dog to replace him.”

  “He must have been really old.”

  Derek moved to the oven, took a dish towel, and lifted the lid off the casserole. “He was twelve. Almost thirteen. Old enough for a setter.”

  Alycia gave Trouble’s back one more stroke, then got to her feet. “Wish Mom would let me have a dog.” She didn’t whine the words, but a ten-year-old’s effort to manipulate her mother was there, all the same.

  Brooklyn reached out to tap her daughter’s head with the tips of her fingers. A light touch, but strong enough to get the message across.

  Derek met her gaze again. He seemed to weigh his thoughts for a long while before saying, “Why don’t you let Alycia help me take care of Miss Trouble?”

  Immediately, Brooklyn felt boxed into a corner. “I don’t know, Derek. I—”

  “Yes, Mom. Please say yes.”

  That made the trapped feeling worsen. As if it were two against one.

  Oblivious, Derek continued, “Maybe you’d find out that she’s responsible enough to have a dog of her own.”

  It was Derek’s head she would like to thump now. Hard. Didn’t he have enough sense not to say that in front of Alycia?

  “And to be honest,” he added, “I really could use the help. She could come over a few times a day to let her out and maybe feed her sometimes. No big deal.”

  Brooklyn reminded herself that he didn’t have kids of his own. She shouldn’t blame him for not knowing he should have talked to her privately before making his suggestions. “I suppose we could give it a try.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” Her daughter hugged her. “I’ll do everything Mr. Johnson tells me. I promise. And I’ll be . . . responsible, like he said. You’ll see.”

  Derek knew he’d put his foot in it. He could tell by the expression on Brooklyn’s face. Or more precisely, the look in her expressive eyes. Well, like Gran often said, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  “Brooklyn, can you spare a moment? I’d like to talk to you about something else.”

  She lifted an eyebrow, seeming to give him permission to continue.

  “But first, let me show Alycia what Trouble’s going to need. Is that all right?”

  Brooklyn nodded. “It’s your dinner that’s growing cold.”

  He laughed, hoping to lighten her mood, before turning toward the girl. “First thing I’ll do, kiddo, is write up a schedule for you. Two copies. One to post on the wall in the mudroom and one for you to take home with you. Then you and your mom will both know what’s expected. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Alycia answered.

  “Great. Now let me show you where I’ve got the dog’s food and water and how I carry her outside. She gets around well enough in the house in that cast and cone, but she can’t manage the steps on the back porch yet.”

  “So I don’t need to carry her in here. Just when we go out. Right?”

  “That’s right.”

  It surprised him, how much he liked this girl already. How comfortable he was around her. It was more than the way she reminded him of her dad, although he supposed that was part of it. There was an inner glow about her that even a bachelor like him would be hard-pressed to miss. He might not have kids of his own, but he understood a kid didn’t grow up this happy, good natured, and obedient without a decent parent in the picture. He had to give Brooklyn credit where credit was due.

  As he put Miss Trouble into Alycia’s arms so she could carry the dog outside, a memory of Brooklyn at about the same age popped into his head. It had been summer, the Fourth of July town celebration in the park. He remembered her standing beside an ancient tree. All alone. There’d been something so . . . forlorn about her.

  Forlorn. Not a word he used often. Not a word he’d thought of back then either. What thirteen-year-old boy would? But now that the word had entered his head, he couldn’t shake it. It made him feel almost guilty for the way he’d ignored her back then. After all, even as a kid he’d been somewhat aware of her difficult home life. A life bordering on poverty. No mother. A harsh, unsmiling, perhaps unloving father.

  Perhaps even worse than all of that.

  He scowled. Had it been something worse? He didn’t want to think so. Thunder Creek was a warm, welcoming community, full of good people, but no town was free of the sins that so easily entangled. He’d learned that in his years in law enforcement.

  And for the first time, he wondered if her elopement had come about for reasons besides teenage passions. Had there been o
ther reasons that had caused her to flee her hometown?

  He gave his head a shake. It wasn’t his business, and it had happened a long time ago. Better not to complicate things more than they were.

  To Alycia he said, “Why don’t you sit under the tree there and let Trouble move around a bit if she’s willing? I’m going to talk to your mom.”

  “Sure.”

  He pointed at her, stressing his instructions. “Don’t go anywhere else. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Derek turned and went back inside. In front of the oven, Brooklyn straightened as he entered the kitchen. The casserole was missing from the stovetop.

  “I couldn’t let your dinner get cold after all,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He motioned toward the table. “Let’s sit down.”

  He’d seen wariness in Brooklyn’s eyes before, and he saw it again now. Still, she complied with his request.

  He raked the fingers of one hand through his hair as he sat opposite her. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

  “Might as well be at the beginning.”

  Her wariness remained, but Derek saw courage too. As a teenager, she’d tried to appear brave through reckless behavior. What he saw now was the real deal.

  He drew a deep breath and puffed it out. “Chad wrote to me before he died. The attorney forwarded the letter to me back in April.” The room was so quiet he heard the ticking of the clock in the living room. “Did he write to you too?” Derek thought he knew the answer but still needed to ask.

  Although her eyes seemed to say it was none of his business, she shook her head. “I only got a letter from the attorney. Along with a lot of papers to do with the house.”

  “Did the lawyer mention that Chad agreed to sell his parents’ property to me a couple of years ago? I’ve been saving to make the down payment ever since.”

  “No,” she answered softly. “He didn’t mention that.”

  “No reason he should have, I guess.” He paused to clear his throat. “I understand why Chad left the place to you and Alycia. It was the right thing to do. And I don’t know what all went on between you two that caused you to break up years ago. Whatever it was, I believe that Chad felt he’d been in the wrong. I know leaving you the house was his way of trying to make up for some of that.”