She swallowed. “Remember why we’re going to see the Morgans.” She needed to prepare him for the eventual separation. Handlers went through the same thing every time they had to relinquish a dog they’d been training for months or even years. It was hard, but it was part of the job. “We’re going to offer Bogart to Dan.”
Elliott stared straight ahead without replying.
Oh boy.
This from a man who couldn’t stand dogs just a few weeks ago. She was used to the relinquishing part. Elliott was brand new to it.
When they pulled up along the curb in front of Morgan’s Market, the sunlight had all but disappeared. He killed the engine and reached into the back seat to retrieve the umbrella Dan had loaned them the morning she’d jogged into town. “I’ll return this while we’re here. Ready?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think I can do this.” She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say. After she offered Dan a potential service dog, she wasn’t sure she could tell them the reason she wanted to help.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I know you can do it.” He smoothed the backs of his fingers over her jaw. “Just start with Bogart, then go with your heart.”
She nibbled the inside corner of her mouth. “It’s now or never. Let’s go.”
They got out and waited for a car to pass, its high beams stabbing into her eyes. Then they trotted across the road to the market’s storefront where the lights lit the window. Elliott turned the old brass doorknob and opened the door, the bell overhead jingling.
When Rebel stepped inside, a teenage girl was checking out a customer at the register. The old-fashioned register beeped with each keystroke.
Elliott stepped over to her. “Are any of the Morgans here?”
The teenager smacked a wad of gum and blushed, obviously shy because Elliott was such a hottie.
Rebel couldn’t disagree.
The gum-smacking teenybopper pointed to the rear of the store. “Mr. Morgan is in the back.”
Elliott laced his fingers with Rebel’s. “Come on. You’re not alone, okay?”
She nodded, a burn starting in her stomach and spiraling outward to every limb.
Elliott led her down the center aisle. At the back of the store, he used a knuckle to rap against the door that was marked PRIVATE.
A whistling Mr. Morgan opened the door. Instead of aging ten years since she’d last seen him, he’d aged twenty-five.
Rebel couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was due to his son’s accident.
“Hi, Mr. Morgan,” Elliott said. “I don’t know if you remember us, but I’m Elliott Remington and this is Rebel Tate.”
“Yes, yes.” Recognition dawned in Mr. Morgan’s eyes. “You kids are all grown up now.”
“Yes, sir.” Elliott squeezed her hand. Then he held out the umbrella. “I need to return this. Do you have time to talk?”
Taking the umbrella, Mr. Morgan nodded and waved them into his small office. He sat at a tiny writing desk that was shoved up against the wall and cluttered with stacks of bills. He took the chair in front of the desk and swiveled it toward a small sofa. “Have a seat.”
She let go of Elliott’s hand and perched on the edge of the love seat. Elliott sat next to her, one elbow braced against his knee, the other arm resting behind her.
He gently stroked her lower back.
How did he know that was what she needed? Her racing pulse calmed at his touch.
“What can I do for you?” Mr. Morgan asked.
Rebel couldn’t untie her tongue.
“Sir,” Elliott started.
“It’s about Danny,” she finally blurted. “I, um, mean Dan.”
Mr. Morgan frowned. “I thought you might be here about your mom’s outstanding bill.” He scratched his balding head. “What could you possibly want with my son?”
She shot an uncertain look at Elliott. “Um, my mom has an outstanding bill?”
Mr. Morgan got up and shuffled through a metal ledger box that had to be from the sixties. He pulled out a tab and handed it to Rebel. “One of the biggest tabs I’ve ever let accumulate at the store.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “I allowed it because she had a daughter to feed.”
“Oh . . .” Rebel’s lungs locked.
Elliott extracted it from her fingertips. “We’ll make sure it’s paid as soon as we can.”
What she wouldn’t give for this visit to be as simple as an unpaid bill. “Um, Mr. Morgan, I understand Dan has a brain injury.” She laced her fingers in her lap, and one thumb furiously rubbed the other as she returned to the point of her unfortunate visit that had been a decade in the making.
Mr. Morgan’s curious expression turned grim, and he took off his reading glasses. “Yes, he does.”
“U-um . . .” she stammered, searching for the right words. “Well, I’m a dog whisperer who specializes in training and pairing service dogs with people who suffer from PTSD and traumatic brain injury.”
His expression turned back to curiosity again.
It wasn’t much, but she’d take it. She squared her shoulders. “I was wondering if Dan might be interested in a service dog. It’s a big commitment, but I’d be happy to get him started with a dog we got from—”
“Actually, the dog we have for him may not be a good match after all,” Elliott said like he was the expert. He gave her a knowing look. “I think Bogart might be better off paired with Rem.”
Of course he would. Why hadn’t she seen it? Rem hadn’t been jumpy or hard to manage since he’d bonded with Bogart. They were the perfect match.
And Mr. Dogs Hate Me who had zero experience until a few weeks ago had been the one to see it.
She gave him a smile that said she understood.
Then she returned her attention to Mr. Morgan. “We’re up to our elbows in a service dog camp at the resort. If you think Dan might be interested, bring him by the Remington this week to observe. When our camp is over, I’d be happy to help him find a dog”—she would love to train the pair herself, but she wouldn’t be around—“and a trainer close by who can work with them.”
Mr. Morgan breathed in, tapping his glasses against his knee. “We don’t have any pets. Mostly because we’ve got our hands full taking care of Dan and running the store.”
“There would be some responsibility involved, of course, but a service dog would relieve some of your load when it comes to looking after your son. And he could easily learn to feed and bathe the dog himself,” she said.
Mr. Morgan scrunched his lips like he was considering the proposal. “Sounds interesting. Let me talk to my wife.” He tilted his head. “But why? What made you think of Dan?”
Her heart hammered against her chest so hard and fast that she was sure Elliott and Mr. Morgan could hear it.
She went to tuck a strand of hair behind an ear, only to realize her hand was trembling.
She clamped it to her thigh, and Elliott covered it with his. His touch steadied her nerves just like Rem did.
She took a deep, calming breath.
“Because I . . . I . . .” I know who did this to your son. I’ve known all along and was too chicken to say anything. And I still am. “I saw him not long ago when he was cleaning the front window. That’s when he loaned us the umbrella. I just thought a service dog might help with his . . . condition . . .”
Elliott’s hand tightened around hers.
“Think about it, and let us know what you and Mrs. Morgan decide,” Rebel said, losing her nerve to go any further. “It couldn’t hurt to bring Dan by the camp to check it out.”
She stood, which cued Elliott to do the same.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Morgan.” Elliott rubbed his chin. “I know it’s probably hard to talk about, but do you mind if I ask a question about Dan’s accident?”
What? Rebel stiffened.
Mr. Morgan’s face fell, his expression going grim again. “Go ahead.”
“Where did Dan’s accident happen?”
Elliott asked.
Mr. Morgan’s brows bunched. “On Sunrise Road.”
Rebel froze.
“It was Sunrise Road and not Sunset Road?” Elliott pressed.
“Yes, why?” Mr. Morgan asked.
“Oh, just curious.” Elliott waved a hand in the air. “I heard someone talking about it the other day, and I thought they might have the details mixed up. And if it’s not too painful for you to talk about, can I ask what time Dan’s accident occurred?”
Mr. Morgan scratched his temple. “We found him in the evening. Because the bruising hadn’t fully formed, the doctors estimated he was hit sometime that afternoon.”
Rebel’s mind raced. Not only had her mom woken up in a ditch on Sunset Road, but she’d come home before noon that day. There was no way her mom could’ve hit Dan.
“I’m sorry.” She put one hand on her stomach and covered her mouth with the other. “I’m not feeling well. I need some air.”
She didn’t wait for Elliott. Didn’t say goodbye before rushing from the room. As soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk, she sagged against the brick storefront and bent over, putting her hands against her knees to gasp for air.
The doorbell tinkled again, and Elliott’s shoes appeared on the sidewalk directly in front of her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she wheezed. “All this time—” She choked.
“Hey.” Elliott pulled her upright and into his arms. “Now you know. It’s over.”
She let out a sob, pouring out the years of pent-up misery. “How did you know to ask?”
“It was just a hunch.” He stroked her hair. “When you told me your mom’s story, it didn’t make sense. Dan was little and on a bike. I wanted to find out why he would’ve been on Sunset Road because it’s so far from where he lives.”
“But my mom’s car was dented,” she said, still unable to process that she’d believed the worst for so long. And her mother had gone to her grave thinking she was responsible for Dan Morgan’s accident.
“Maybe she hit an animal.” He shrugged. “At least we know she didn’t hit Dan. Today didn’t give the Morgans any closure, but it helped you. I’m thankful for that.”
She framed his face with her hands. “I’ll still help Dan, because that’s what I do. It might be over for me, but it will never be over for him.”
He smiled down at her with the warmest smile. “That’s why I . . . I . . .”
Her breath hitched as she waited for him to finish. To say the three little words that she wouldn’t likely be able to walk away from again.
He glanced down the street. “That’s why I think what you do is so special.”
Her chest deflated when she let out the breath she was holding. She should be relieved.
Instead, she was disappointed.
“I don’t want to go back to the resort yet,” she said. “I’ve been avoiding this town because of my mother, but I don’t have to do that anymore. We’ve got the night off. Let’s enjoy it.”
“The stacks of unpaid bills on Mr. Morgan’s desk gave me an idea.” He brushed her hair back, changing the subject. “Want to tag along while I try to plant a seed that will help the island?” He glanced around the boulevard like maybe he was taking it in for the last time. “It’ll be my way of contributing to Angel Fire Falls before I leave.”
“Sure,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. Her relief from finding out her mother hadn’t caused Dan’s brain injury evaporated like mist. Her time with Elliott was drawing ever closer to the end, and she still didn’t have any more to offer him than she had the day she’d sailed away on the ferry.
When they left the island, they’d still be on the same coast. Unfortunately, the lives they were each going back to might as well be on separate continents, and Rebel didn’t see any way to bridge that gap.
For the first time in her adult life, she was finally free to fully open herself up and build relationships, friendships. Free to open herself up to love.
Yet she felt more isolated and alone than ever.
Standing on the sidewalk outside of Morgan’s Market, Elliott typed in an SOS text to both of his brothers and Charley. He couldn’t tell them why, but Rebel needed family to rally around her, and the ragtag bunch of Remington yahoos was all she had.
She’d just been released from ten years of hellish agony and needed people around her to share the moment.
He’d been so caught up in the moment that he’d almost told Rebel how he felt about her. But her eyes had widened in fear, so he’d backed off.
His phone dinged three times in quick succession, and he smiled at the screen. His family always came through.
“The fam is meeting us at the Fallen Angel.” He stuffed his phone into his pocket and laced his fingers with Rebel’s. “They’ll be here shortly. Let’s celebrate your victory, and I can do a little community outreach of my own for the island at the same time.”
“Why is your family joining us?” Rebel asked as they crossed the street.
“Because that’s what families do.” Too bad he wasn’t going to be as reliable as they were once he moved away.
Heartburn gurgled in his chest.
“Oh.” Her chin quivered.
They ducked into the Fallen Angel, entering through the glass door on Marina Boulevard. The door led to a set of dark wood stairs that descended into a basement, and retro rock-and-roll music played in the background as they occupied two barstools at the corner of the long bar.
Elliott draped his arm around the back of her stool.
It was still early evening, so the place was virtually empty.
“Hey.” Mason, a friend from high school and the most recent owner of the Fallen Angel, came out of the storage room and took up his usual position behind the bar. “Rebel Tate?” He looked surprised when his eyes landed on her.
“That would be me.” She fiddled with a napkin, folding and unfolding it. “Good to see you again. You don’t look a day older than you did in high school.”
Elliott hadn’t thought about it, but she was right. Mason’s black hair and gray eyes still gave him a boyish look.
“What brings you back to the island after all these years?” Mason asked.
“Work,” she blurted.
Mason’s stare volleyed from her to Elliott, then back again. “Welcome to my establishment. Beer?”
“Water for me.” She kept folding the napkin.
“I’ll take a beer,” Elliott said.
When Mason stepped away to fill their order, Elliott leaned over to Rebel and said, “What’s wrong?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I . . . This was my mom’s regular hangout. She came home drunk every single night from here.”
Elliott swallowed hard. He hadn’t considered what this place represented to Rebel and had delivered her from one hell right into another. “I’m sorry. Let’s go.” He started to get up.
“No.” Rebel grabbed his arm and pulled him back down onto the stool. “I’m done running because of my mother’s mistakes. Let’s stay. It’s a different place now with new owners.”
He slid his arm around the back of her seat again and caressed her shoulder. “You’re amazing.” He’d spent most of his life avoiding the cove because of the horrible memories. But Rebel didn’t just face her fears. She barreled through them like a charging bull.
They shot the breeze with Mason until the rest of the Remington clan arrived. Trace slapped Elliott on the back as he and Lily took a seat to his left. Spence took the barstool on the corner next to Rebel.
Charley finally sat next to Spence. “I dragged Briley along. Since we’re business partners, she might as well be family too.” Briley stayed quiet and took the seat on the end.
“What are we celebrating?” Spence held up a finger, code for Mason to pour him a beer.
Mason hadn’t looked away from Charley since she stepped inside.
To get Mason’s attention in the most smart-ass way possible, Spence sna
pped his fingers. “Keep ’em coming, because asshat over there is paying.” He hitched a thumb at Elliott.
“Gladly, because we’re celebrating Rebel.” He lifted his glass.
Her eyes grew wide.
“And all the great things that have happened since she’s been home,” Elliott finished.
Charley raised her glass. “Congratulations, Rebel. It’s good to have you back home again.”
If that wasn’t proof that the Remingtons had welcomed Rebel back into their lives, Elliott didn’t know what was.
Briley and Mason toasted her too. So did Trace and Spence, but they did with the biggest smart-ass grins on their faces as they both stared at Elliott and gave the code for You’re whipped.
He ignored them and focused on Rebel. Her incessant napkin-folding had stopped, but she was still stiff as a two-by-four. He smoothed a comforting thumb against her back.
She seemed to relax a little more but stayed quiet while the rest of them chatted and drank, Mason joining in the conversation mostly when Charley was doing the talking.
When the conversation lulled, Elliott decided to bring up his idea. “We’re all in business here on the island.” He may not be staying much longer, but he could make as many strides toward prosperity as possible for the island before he left.
He angled his chair toward Rebel so his knee pressed into her thigh. He needed a comforting touch as much as she did.
“And, Thing One?” Trace prompted him to continue.
“I . . . I . . .” Fuck. He pushed aside his guilty conscience and kept going. “Well, I have a couple of ideas.”
Spence drummed his fingers against the bar. “Hit us with them. As much as it pains me to admit it, your business ideas are usually good.”
“Well.” Elliott rubbed his chin. “What if the resort, every restaurant, and every establishment that serves food on the island collected up their leftovers and Trace delivered them to the homeless shelter on the Cape during his first morning run each day?”
Slowly, Rebel turned an awed look on him. The wetness shimmering in her eyes made him want to hold her. Kiss her.
“That’s a fantastic idea,” Charley said. “We spend so much more having our food supplies shipped to the island than restaurants on the mainland, and it bothers me when our leftovers go to waste.”
Dare Me Again Page 23
