The Family He Didn't Expect

by Shirley Jump

  Abby.

  Every time he’d looked at her, he lost his concentration. She had this way of knitting her brows when she was struggling to understand something. He thought it was...

  Cute.

  Okay, so he really was becoming a softie. It had to be being back in this town. Being around all these kids. Even now, several hours after he’d brought Abby and her boys back home, and he’d returned to run the center for the rest of the day, he found his mind straying to her. Wondering what she was doing.

  At six, he said goodbye to the last of the teens as they left, shut the doors and turned off most of the lights. He spent an hour laying the new tile in the bathroom, then picked up his phone. No texts from Abby. No contact at all.

  He didn’t know why he was disappointed. After all, they weren’t dating, weren’t even really friends. She was a woman he’d met a couple days ago who’d helped him tear down a wall. Nothing more. And either way, he wasn’t the kind of man who settled down with a dog—as soon as Jake wore Abby down—and kids. He wasn’t even remotely cut out for that. He needed to remind himself of that.

  He locked the building and headed out to the parking lot. And saw his older brother, Sam, waiting for him.

  Sam hadn’t aged much in the years they’d been apart. His hair was a little shorter, his frame a little heavier, and the scowl Dylan had come to know well still sat on Sam’s face.

  “When were you going to tell me you were in town?” Sam asked.

  Dylan rolled his eyes. Why was he surprised Sam had started with criticism? “Hello to you, too.”

  “I would have said hello if I didn’t have to find out from Sadie at the grocery store, who found out from Mavis Beacham, that my long-lost brother has returned to Stone Gap. And is staying at the Stone Gap Inn, but apparently forgot to call and let his older brother know.”

  As usual, Sam had attacked first, assuming the worst. When had their relationship turned into this adversarial clash of swords? It seemed like one day they’d been normal brothers, the next, antagonists from different planets.

  “I didn’t call you because I’m pretty sure the last words you said to me were don’t bother calling me, I won’t pick up. Forgive me if I didn’t want to rush into a confrontation with you.” Dylan shook his head. Every time he and Sam got together, it was an argument.

  Sam let out a gust. “It’s the same old thing with you, isn’t it? Blame everyone but yourself.”

  Dylan threw up his hands. “I don’t have time for this conversation.”

  Sam looked away. He stood there for a long moment, as if mulling his next words. His gaze swung back to Dylan. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  Dylan debated not answering. He thought about just getting in his Jeep and leaving. His relationship with Sam had been rocky for years, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Sam still saw him as the family screwup, while Sam was the one who did it all right. Settled down, got married, had kids. Even after his wife died, Sam had stayed here, juggling kids and work and now, a new fiancée. The storybook life—the same one Dylan had stayed away from. Because he’d learned years ago that family could let you down. Family could hurt you. And family could turn away when you needed them most.

  His older brother was the one who was supposed to support and protect him. Be there, no matter what. But Sam’s love had limits, it turned out. The last time Dylan had gotten in trouble and Sam had gone to the Stone Gap Police Department to pick him up, Sam had been by his brother’s side. But when it was all over, Sam stood in the driveway and shook his head in disgust. “I give up. Nothing gets through to you,” Sam had said. The words had hurt then, and still did.

  Yet, there was a part of Dylan that remembered the older brother who had given his little brother a hoisting hand up into their tree house. The older brother who had skipped math to sneak out to the playground and confront a bully preying on Dylan at recess. The same older brother shielded him from their father’s anger, who had tucked Dylan in on the nights when the house reverberated with shouting and anger. Was any of that still there, in Sam? Or was it a lost cause? Was Dylan an idiot for hoping again?

  “I’m working at the center,” Dylan said. Maybe if he told Sam about that, his brother would offer to pitch in. The two of them, working together, like when they were young. “Helping Uncle Ty out. He’s not up to running it since he lost Aunt Virginia.”

  Sam arched a brow. “Ty put you in charge?”

  “Yeah.” Dylan bristled. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because you’re not going to be here in five minutes, Dylan. I know you, and I know you have all the sticking power of wet tape.”

  Dylan let out a gust. Why had he let himself get sentimental? “Same old Sam. Telling me all the ways I screw up my life. Thanks for the reminder, big brother, that I’m not as perfect as you.”

  “I’m not saying that.” Sam took a step closer. “I just don’t want to see Uncle Ty left in a bind when you leave.”

  The implication was clear—that Dylan would let the family down again. He’d had a long day and didn’t need to deal with this. Not now, not ever. Sam had been here to deliver a lecture, not a reunion.

  Dylan thumbed the remote for his Jeep and unlocked the doors. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. See you around, Sam.”

  Then he climbed in the truck and left, before he said something he’d regret. In the rearview mirror, he saw Sam, still standing in the parking lot and watching him leave. For a second, Dylan debated turning around. Then he caught a green light and the urge disappeared.

  Chapter Five

  Dusk had fallen over Stone Gap, broken by porch lights flicking on and streetlights that dropped yellow pools on the road. Dylan stopped at the intersection in the center of downtown. Left took him back to the Stone Gap Inn. Right took him to Abby’s house. After the conversation with Sam, a part of Dylan just wanted to go to a bar and forget it all with a few beers. But all that would give him was a headache and a few more regrets. He hesitated and then turned right.

  He made one stop before he got there and pulled into Abby’s driveway a little before eight. The lights were still on, and he could hear the sound of a radio. He climbed the porch steps and through the large front windows, he saw Abby.

  Dancing. With Jake.

  She swung back and forth, laughing, while Jake kept time with his mother, the two of them holding hands and stepping together. The radio was playing an old seventies song, one of those catchy one-hit wonders that struck a familiar chord.

  What hit him hardest, though, was how...homey the whole scene was. How warm. Just a mom and her son, dancing in the living room on a Saturday night. It was a world so foreign to him, something he didn’t think really existed. If he’d been a different man, maybe he would have dreamed of such a scene. But he wasn’t, and he shouldn’t.

  He almost hated to ring the doorbell. Came close to turning around and leaving, because he didn’t want to intrude on Abby and her sons. Then he remembered the stop he’d made and figured he had a good enough reason for being here.

  Dylan pressed the doorbell. Abby flicked off the music and peeked through the window, her face narrow with suspicion. By the time she opened the door to him, the suspicion had been replaced by a smile. “Dylan. What are you doing here?”

  It was the second time he’d been asked that question in the space of twenty minutes. But coming from Abby, the words sounded sweet, genuine. “I, uh, wanted to thank you guys for your hard work today. So I brought ice cream.” He held up the bag in his hand.

  “Ice cream!” Jake raced to the door and poked his head outside. “What kind? I love ice cream! I love chocolate the best. Or maybe cookie dough. I love that one, too.”

  Abby blushed and put a calming hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Sorry. You just happen to have brought over Jake’s favorite dessert.”

  Was it also her favorite des
sert? He wanted to ask but figured that would show interest, and Dylan wasn’t interested in Abby.

  Uh-huh. That’s why he was on her doorstep with three melting quarts of ice cream instead of back at the bed-and-breakfast, getting a good night’s sleep after a very long day.

  “I did get cookie dough, Jake,” Dylan said. “And chocolate. And vanilla. Just in case.”

  Abby smiled. “Something to make everyone happy.”

  “As long as I grabbed your favorite, that is.” Then he caught himself and added, “and, uh, Cody’s.”

  “Cody is out with his friends. And I’m a chocolate kind of girl.” She hesitated a second, then opened the door wider. “Come on in, Dylan.”

  Abby’s house was just as welcoming as he’d expected it to be. Wide wood floors, pale cream walls, and a dark brown leather couch that looked as soft as a marshmallow. Framed photos of her boys filled the walls of the hallway, and dominated the fireplace mantel. A pile of clean, folded shirts sat on the second step, with a basket of toys on the first. The house was organized but comfortable.

  He felt both at home and out of place, following her down the hall to the sunny yellow kitchen with a bright spray of flowers in the center of the round maple table. Before they reached the kitchen, Abby’s doorbell rang again. Jake spun on his heel and barreled for the door.

  “I get the door, Jake, not you.” Abby put a hand on his shoulder, then opened the door. “Besides, buddy, it’s past your bedtime.”

  An elderly woman stood on the other side, holding the same puppy Dylan had seen before. “I thought I’d bring this little guy by for Jake to play with.”

  “Mrs. Reynolds, it’s late and Jake has to get to bed. Besides, we can’t get a dog. I work so many hours—”

  “I know, dear.” The older woman had a kind face behind cat’s-eye glasses. She put a hand on Abby’s and gave her a soft smile. “But Jake loves these dogs so much, and if he can play with them a little, it wears the little guys out and gives Jake his puppy fix.”

  “Can I, Mommy? Can I? Please?” Jake bounced up and down, all but lunging for the dog.

  “Okay, but only for a few minutes. Bedtime, remember?” Jake leaned forward, took the dog from Mrs. Reynolds, then spun around. “And keep him in the kitchen. I don’t want any accidents on the carpet.”

  “I’ll be back in a little bit,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

  “Thanks.” Abby shut the door, then let out a long sigh. “How can I keep telling him no? He’s going to get attached.”

  “That might not be such a bad thing,” Dylan said. “Dogs teach kids responsibility.”

  “He’s four years old, so let’s not pretend most of the responsibility would fall on him. I have my hands full, Mr. Single and Unattached to So Much as a Potted Plant. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed and clean up after.” Abby shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  She was right about him. He had no attachments. But as he watched Jake love on that puppy with tight hugs and hundreds of kisses, he wondered if that was such a good thing. Jake talked to the dog nonstop for a solid five minutes, clearly attached despite Abby’s wishes, before Abby said it was time to bring Dudley—the dog’s name, according to Jake—home. “He needs to go to bed early,” Abby said. “And then you can come back and have ice cream.”

  “Okay.” Jake frowned. He plodded behind his mother, and the two of them returned the dog while Dylan waited in the kitchen. By the time they returned, Abby must have said something because Jake was back to his usual bouncy self. He spied the tubs of ice cream melting on the counter and reached for one of the containers. “I want a lot of ice cream,” Jake said. “Please, Mommy?”

  She grabbed three bowls out of the cabinet and set them on the counter. “First, wash your hands.”

  Jake rose on his tiptoes and rubbed his hands under the water from the kitchen faucet. Abby dished up the ice cream, chocolate in one bowl, cookie dough in another. She hesitated over the third bowl. “Which is your favorite, Dylan?”

  “Oh, I...” He looked at the sunflower-printed dish towel hanging off the stove. The refrigerator peppered with Jake’s drawings and candid photos of the boys. The carved wooden sign above the window that read simply Family. “I wasn’t planning on staying. I just wanted to drop that off as a thank-you.”

  “You’re not staying?” Jake pouted. “But I wanted to show you my dinosaurs.”

  Dylan arched a brow. “Dinosaurs?”

  “Jake’s favorite thing in the whole world, besides a P-U-P-P-Y, is dinosaurs.” Abby ignored his answer about not staying and put a bowl of half chocolate and half vanilla in front of him. “I’ll warn you, though, once you get him started talking about them, it’s hard to get him to stop.”

  Dinosaurs.

  Dylan saw another kitchen in his mind, heard another boy’s voice. The memory slid through him, crystal clear and just as biting all these years later. His father, coming home after a long day at the office. He could still see Dad setting his briefcase in its customary place by the front door with one hand while he loosened his tie with the other. Dylan had been four or five, still caught in that world where he believed his father would one day just come home and be a dad like the ones on TV. With piggyback rides and baseball lessons and campfire stories. Dad, look at my dinosaur! Mom bought it for me today. Because I was good in the store. It’s a T. rex and he’s mean! Rrrr!

  His dad had given the toy a half a glance, then told Dylan to go outside to play. I need a moment to breathe when I get home, not a kid and a bunch of toys all over me. Where’s Sam? I want to see his book report.

  Maybe that was when Dylan had started to pull away. When he’d stopped believing in happy homes and loving parents. When he’d realized that, beside his brother, there wasn’t going to be a male role model there to make a big deal about his new dinosaur or teach him how to pop a fly ball or tell him a ghost story on a camping trip.

  As Dylan ate his ice cream, he looked over at Jake, who was sitting at the bar, a ring of ice cream around his mouth, his eyes wide and waiting. And hopeful.

  How could Dylan let him down? The kid had just had to give back a puppy, for Pete’s sake. Dylan couldn’t say no to this request. Even if Dylan was far from father material, he could at least do this.

  “Sure, I’d love to see your dinosaurs. They’re my favorite, too,” Dylan said. “I used to have some when I was your age.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. “You did? Did you have a bron-o-saurus?”

  “I did. My favorite was Tyrannosaurus rex. Do you have one of those?”

  “I do! Lemme go get him!” Jake scrambled off the chair, the last of his ice cream forgotten. He barreled out of the room, then ran back in five seconds later, his arms stuffed with plastic dinosaurs of all shapes, sizes and colors. He stopped in the center of the kitchen and let the pile tumble to the floor. “Look at all my dinosaurs, Dylan.”

  Dylan gave Abby a grin. “You weren’t kidding about the collection.”

  “Makes birthday gifts pretty easy.” She nodded toward her son. “Jake, why don’t you show Dylan your triceratops?”

  Jake dug through the pile of plastic toys until he found the three-horned dinosaur. “I named him Joe.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Joe’s a great name.”

  “And this one is Mack and this one is...” Jake went through every single dinosaur—maybe three dozen in all—and told Dylan their names and explained what he knew about what they ate. Kid clearly knew his dinosaurs. Maybe better than Dylan had at that age. Jake then started going on about movies with dinosaurs—apparently there was one with many sequels—and scientists who studied dinosaurs, and books that had dinosaurs in them, until his mother put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Jakester, why don’t you take the dinosaurs back up to your room and get ready for bed? I’m going to talk to Dylan for a minute, then I’ll come tuck you in.�
��

  Jake pouted, but did as he was told and gathered up his toys. “Do I have to brush my teeth?”

  Abby smiled. “Always.”

  Jake trudged out of the room and up the stairs. A second later, they heard the clatter of the dinosaurs hitting the floor, followed by the sound of running water.

  “Thank you for indulging him.” Abby said. “I’m sorry he ran on so much.”

  Dylan waved that off. “I was just like him when I was young. My dad didn’t really care all that much, and I always wanted him to. Uncle Ty was the one who would listen to my stories about dinosaurs or ask me to draw a picture and hang it in his office.”

  “Your uncle is such a great guy. Everyone needs an Uncle Ty.”

  He nodded. “They do indeed.” As far as he could tell, Abby’s boys didn’t have a close male relative. And given how depressed Ty had been lately, he probably wasn’t being much of a surrogate relative to Abby’s kids, either. If listening to Jake talk about dinosaurs for a little while could help with that, Dylan would do it.

  “Also, thank you for the ice cream,” Abby said. She was leaning against the counter, her empty bowl beside her hand. “It was a nice thing to do.”

  He shrugged. “It was no big deal. I wanted to thank you all for helping me so much.” And have a chance to see her again, though he didn’t say that out loud. Because that would mean admitting he was interested in her, that he was thinking about her—and wishing he wasn’t leaving at the end of his two weeks.

  Abby had changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a soft coral sweater with an enticing V-neck. Her feet were bare, bright red toenails a contrast to the light tile.

  There was something both innocent and sexy about her standing there barefooted. That drew him to her, like a chain coiling into a winch. He got to his feet, grabbed his empty bowl, then closed the distance between them. Abby raised her gaze to Dylan’s, her eyes wide. Her lips parted and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t move.