That’s when a knock sounded on the back door. Her heart quickened, knowing who it had to be. As if her refusal to think about Derek had conjured him up for real. He knocked again, louder this time. She drew a breath, straightened her shoulders, and headed to the door.
Derek stood on the other side of the screen, dressed for church rather than farm chores. Which meant he’d come straight to her house after this morning’s service. Why did that make her heart quicken a second time?
He gave her a smile.
She attempted a small one of her own, although she couldn’t be sure she’d been successful.
Finally, he asked, “May I talk to you? And with Alycia?”
Conflicting desires warred in Brooklyn’s chest. She wanted him to go, and she wanted him to stay. How was it possible to want both?
“Come in.” Apparently she’d decided which she wanted most. She pushed open the screen door, then turned away. To give herself a moment, she went to the stove and turned down the burner.
“I’m sorry,” he said, having followed her into the kitchen. “I came at a bad time. I didn’t mean to interrupt your Sunday dinner.”
She faced him. “You’re not interrupting it. It has to simmer awhile.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. You said you wanted to talk to Alycia.”
“Yes. To you both. But to you first.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, aware of how defensive she looked, although not for the reasons he would probably think. “Okay.”
He looked toward the front of the house. “Where is she?”
“In the living room reading.”
He nodded. Gathering his thoughts, she supposed.
“Remember I told you Chad wrote to me before he died?” He spoke in a soft voice, one that wouldn’t carry to the living room.
She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but bringing up Chad hadn’t been it.
“It wasn’t just to tell me that he wasn’t selling the land to me. He also asked something of me. And he said it was up to me to tell you when and if I thought the time was right. That he didn’t intend to write to you about it himself.”
Nerves began to whirl in her belly.
Derek set a canvas bag on the table before he took a couple of steps toward her. “Chad asked me to be . . . to be a kind of father figure to Alycia.”
Brooklyn sucked in a breath. “What?”
“What he said was he wanted me to be the father to her that he’d never been.”
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. She didn’t mean to call him a liar. But what he’d said sounded impossible.
“I thought you might not believe it.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. He unfolded it before holding it toward her. “Go on. Read it.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
His gaze was kind and a little uncertain. “I don’t know, Brooklyn. Maybe I should have told you about Chad’s note the day I picked you up by the side of the highway. It just all caught me by surprise. And to tell you the truth, I didn’t know how I was supposed to go about honoring his request anyway.” He kept his arm outstretched, silently urging her to take the notepaper from his hand.
Somehow she made herself take a step toward him. Then another step. And another. Until she could reach out and take the paper as requested. She recognized the handwriting, even after so many years. Tears welled, blurring the words on the page.
“He should have written to Alycia,” she said.
“Yeah, he should have. But one day, when you think she’s ready, you’ll show her this. She’ll know her dad thought about her in the end. That he wanted even more than to leave a house for her to grow up in.”
Brooklyn moved away from Derek, found the box of tissues on the built-in kitchen desk, and wiped her eyes. The hurt over Chad’s leaving was nothing but a dull memory, but the pain she felt for Alycia had never dimmed. Not one iota.
Finally, control restored and eyes free of tears, she read the handwritten note Derek had given her. It was brief. But at least it was something. Why had Chad written to Derek but not to her? Why hadn’t he provided explanations along with a house? So many answers to so many questions had gone with him to his grave. She didn’t understand. She would never understand.
“You are not Alycia’s father, Derek,” she finally managed to say. “No one expects you to try to be.”
“I expect it of myself.”
Once again she faced him.
He continued, his expression intense. “I don’t know why Chad did the things he did. He never explained anything to me and . . . to my shame . . . I never asked him the hard questions that I should have asked. Not even when he was here for his parents’ funeral and definitely not after he agreed to sell me this property. But at the end”—he motioned toward the note in her hand—“Chad wanted to do right by his daughter. That’s what matters now. And he asked me to help him do that. So now I’m asking you to let me try.”
“Derek—”
“Look, I didn’t go about things right when Alycia got hurt. Once you were there, I shouldn’t have been the one to try to teach her a lesson, even if the accident did happen at my place. I overstepped, and I’m sorry. I’m the first to admit I’m new at this sort of thing. I’ll need your help if I’m to . . . to be someone important in Alycia’s life.”
What was she to say to that? To any of it?
Derek pointed at the stove. “Maybe you’d better turn that down a bit more.”
She whirled around. Steam rose around the lid of the skillet. She quickly moved to the stove and turned the dial, lowering the heat. Then she stopped and closed her eyes, trying to quiet the ping-ponging thoughts and questions in her head.
“Brooklyn.”
She drew another deep breath and slowly turned.
“One more thing. I . . .” He paused, cleared his throat. “I brought this for you and Alycia.” He took up the canvas bag from the table and offered it to her. “To say I’m sorry to you both.”
Derek figured it was a good sign when Brooklyn reached out and took the bag from his hand. She watched him with those pretty eyes of hers for what seemed an age before she lowered them to see what was inside. They widened when she recognized the box.
“Kitchner’s,” she said, almost too softly for him to hear.
“Yeah. I . . . I remembered you liked their fudge.”
Her gaze lifted again, and she passed the canvas bag back to him. “You should give this to Alycia yourself.”
The tension inside his chest eased. Unless he’d misread her, Brooklyn hadn’t rejected Chad’s request. Maybe she hadn’t accepted it either, but at least she’d left the door open to the possibility of letting Derek be there in some capacity for Alycia.
“Come on. You can give it to her now.” She turned and walked toward the living room. Derek followed right behind.
Alycia, reclining on the sofa, looked up when he entered the room. “Hey, Mr. Johnson.” She grinned as she sat up and put aside the tablet that had been in her hand.
“How’re you doing, kiddo? Your ankle getting better?”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“All better?”
“Almost.” She stuck out her leg and moved her foot in a circle, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. “See? Only hurts a little now.”
“That’s great.” Derek drew a quick breath. “Listen. I wanted to say I’m sorry for the way I scolded you.”
The girl raised her eyebrows.
“You shouldn’t have broken the rules, but I should have handled it differently too. Think we can be friends again?”
“We never stopped being friends. And I told Mom it wasn’t your fault.”
“You did? Thanks.” He glanced toward Brooklyn and back again. “Here. This is for you and your mom.” He handed her the bag.
Unlike her mother, Alycia didn’t just peer into it. She had the box out of the bag and the lid off in mere second
s.
“Hold it right there,” Brooklyn said before her daughter could grab a piece and pop it in her mouth. “Not until after lunch.”
“Aw, Mom.”
“Lunch first.”
Alycia sighed. “Okay.” She put the lid back on the box.
“Would you like to eat with us, Derek?” Brooklyn sounded as if she meant the invitation. “It’s kind of a stir-fry, only not really.”
As always, Derek had plenty of chores awaiting him, but he wasn’t about to leave when things were going better than he’d expected. Looking at Brooklyn, he answered, “I won’t turn it down. It’s starting to smell really good, by the way.”
Brooklyn smiled.
Derek liked that he’d been able to make that happen again. Another step forward. An apology plus fudge was the right combination. Good thing to know for the future.
The future . . . As neighbors? As a father figure for Alycia? Or as something more? As he wondered about what it was he wanted, Brooklyn returned to the kitchen.
“How’s Trouble doing?” Alycia asked.
Derek made himself focus on the here and now. “We’re managing, but we’ll be glad when you’re ready to help out again.” He settled onto a nearby chair. “You playing a video game?” He pointed at the device beside her.
“No. Reading a book.”
“That’s right. You told me some of the books you like to read when we painted your room.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’re you reading now?”
She picked up the tablet, and excitement filled her voice. “The City of Ember. I’ve read it three times already.”
“Wow. It must be good. I’ve never read any book more than once. Not counting my farming books when I’m looking to remember information.” He tried to appear serious as he asked, “Would you like to borrow one of them? You could learn all about when to plant tomatoes and peas and—”
“Uh . . . no thanks, Mr. Johnson.”
He laughed. “Want to tell me about your book, then?”
Alycia’s face lit up. “Well, there’s this girl named Lina and she lives in a place called Ember. And she’s got a friend named Doon . . .”
Derek wasn’t all that interested in the plot—but then, he rarely read novels, let alone what sounded like science fiction. He was more of a facts and dates kind of guy. However, he did enjoy watching Alycia as she explained the plot to him. It struck him again how well adjusted Alycia seemed. Maybe those statistics he’d read about girls who grew up without dads didn’t apply to her. Maybe she didn’t need Derek in her life as much as he’d thought she might. Maybe Brooklyn had already filled that spot where Chad should have been better than Derek ever could.
But the truth was he wanted Alycia to need him. Crazy, wasn’t it?
Even crazier, he was beginning to see himself answering that need. Maybe he could teach her to ride horses and to fish. Maybe he could help out when it was time for her to learn to drive. Maybe he could be the one who explained boys to her, from a guy’s point of view, when she got her first crush. He smiled as he envisioned himself standing on the front porch, his posture slightly threatening, when a date came to pick her up.
“What’s funny, Mr. Johnson?”
“Nothing, kiddo. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”
Before Alycia could respond, Brooklyn called to them from the kitchen. “All right, you two. Lunch is ready.”
Chapter 17
Derek was driving through town in the sheriff’s SUV when Ethan Walker waved him down. He pulled his vehicle to the curb, and Ethan stepped to the passenger-side window, leaning down after Derek lowered it.
The vet leaned his forearms in the opening. “How’s your little charge doing? Have you taken the cone off?”
“She’s good. Removed the cone this morning, as instructed.”
“Thought you’d like to know that I’ve come up empty on trying to find either her owner or the breeder she came from. She wasn’t microchipped.” He repositioned his sunglasses. “Probably not from around here. My guess is someone brought the dog out to the river to get rid of her. And if it was her owner who shot her and broke her leg, maybe it’s just as well I can’t locate him.”
Derek cocked an eyebrow. “Why? Because I’d want to do the same or worse to him if I knew who he was?”
“You’d have to get in line.” Ethan’s smile was grim. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with her once the cast is off?”
“No.” He looked down Main Street, then returned his gaze to Ethan. “I’m sure between the two of us we can find her a good home.”
It was Ethan’s turn to look away, then back again. “I’ve got somebody in mind.”
“I’m sure you do,” Derek answered dryly, reading the vet’s mind.
Ethan patted the door frame. “Well, I won’t keep you from your appointed rounds. Or does that only apply to the mailman?”
Derek put the SUV in gear. “You’re a regular riot, Ethan.”
“That’s what my wife tells me.” Ethan stepped back onto the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.”
Derek gave a brief wave. “See you tomorrow.” Then he pulled back onto the street and continued on his way.
Once on the highway, his thoughts turned to Brooklyn and Alycia, as they so often did anymore. Maybe this time was because he soon drove past the spot where he’d found them and their broken-down car. Surprising how his attitude about Brooklyn had changed in under a month.
Had her attitude toward him changed too? He thought so. He hoped so. A man could never have too many friends. Right? He grinned but didn’t let himself take the thought any further than that.
Smoke smudged the sky today. A range fire to the south in Owyhee County had been burning for a couple of days, and he’d heard a new fire had started in the Boise National Forest to the northeast of them. The valley would be affected by the sooty skies for a while unless the predicted winds blew in during the night. Hopefully the weatherman was right. It would make for a more pleasant Fourth of July celebration if the air was free of smoke.
He arrived at a bend in the road. To the left, he would have been on his way out of the county and toward Oregon and Nevada. He turned right, the highway carrying him north past a number of the area vineyards.
Derek wasn’t fond of wine. He had simply never cared for the taste. But there was something about the vineyards that appealed to him. Perhaps it was the stories from the Bible, first learned in Sunday school, about God’s vineyard and about Christ as the vine and His people as the branches. Or maybe it was simply the look of those grapevines in the summer, all of those neat rows following slopes and hillsides. Or the way those vines, carefully tended and pruned, produced fruit year after year.
As he passed Dubois Vineyards, he remembered Brooklyn mentioning the weddings often held at various vineyards in the area. Dubois was perhaps the most well known for such events. He’d attended several weddings there himself over the years. They also held concerts during the summer.
“Might be fun to go to one of those concerts again,” he said to himself before slowing to make a turn and continue his circle back toward Thunder Creek. “Just might be.”
Tracy Vinton smiled a warm greeting when she opened the door and saw Brooklyn and Alycia on the stoop. “You’re a lifesaver,” the pastor’s wife said, drawing the new arrivals into the house.
Brooklyn looked around the living and dining rooms. Women were everywhere, sewing and beading. One sat on the floor making a sign of some sort. They all looked up. Hellos echoed from around the rooms before the women returned to their tasks.
“We’re running so far behind,” Tracy said. “Thanks for answering my call for more help.”
“I’m glad I could come. After all the help you were to me when we got here . . .”
Tracy waved her hand as if to say her help had been nothing. Then she looked down at Alycia. “The other children are playing in the backyard if you want to join them.”
�
��Sure. Here, Mom.” She handed Brooklyn the book she’d brought along.
Tracy motioned with her head. “Come with me, and I’ll introduce you. You probably met most of them at Sunday school when you came to church, but I’ll make sure. And I’m glad your ankle is better.”
“Me too.”
Brooklyn felt more than a little awkward after Alycia was led away. She didn’t know what she should do. Stand there and wait?
The feeling wasn’t allowed to last long. From the dining-room table, Lucca Phillips called, “Brooklyn, come and help me with this bunting.”
With a nod, she hurried to fill the chair beside her fellow waitress from the diner.
“Did Tracy tell you a bunch of our decorations were lost in a storage-shed fire?” Lucca pushed a needle and spool of thread in Brooklyn’s direction. “And we didn’t find out about it until Saturday.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t ask what I think of that oversight. I might tell you.”
Brooklyn offered a quick smile before turning her attention to threading the needle.
Pauline Salmon, seated at the end of the table, said, “Everyone’s been working hard on the floats and never gave a thought to the other decorations. I mean, we’ve had the same ones for years and years.”
Pauline would know. She’d been around Thunder Creek even longer than Ruth Johnson.
Speaking of whom . . . “Isn’t Ruth here?” Brooklyn glanced quickly around the two rooms.
Lucca answered, “She was here earlier but had to leave. Her part-time waitress called in sick, so Ruth went back to help Camila in the shop.” She slid some red-white-and-blue material in Brooklyn’s direction. “Glad you and I weren’t scheduled to work today.”
“Me too.”
Tracy returned and sat on the only remaining available chair. “I’ve got the kids playing Lawn Twister. That should keep them busy until they’re all hungry again.”
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