by Megan Kelly
SCOTT STARED AT THE SCHEMATICS on his desk, not seeing a word or line in front of him.
“What’s going on?” Dylan asked at his side.
Scott jerked upright on hearing his boss’s voice. “Nothing. Just thinking things through.”
Dylan perched on the desk nearby. “But not about work.”
Scott started to deny it, but the lack of progress today spoke the truth of the matter. “I’m sorry.”
“If there’s something wrong with your daughters, something you need to take care of, just say so. No one expects you to finish moving in and get settled in a month.” Dylan grimaced. “I just moved across town and there are things Tara and I can’t find. You moved halfway across the country.”
“The girls are fine. We’re moved in. If something’s not where it should be, we lost it in transit.”
“Ah. Is it a woman from back home?”
Scott looked around at the other desks. Empty.
“You missed break,” Dylan said. “That’s how I figured out something’s bothering you.”
Scott ran a hand around the back of his neck. “Am I that obvious?”
“Nah, I’m just a genius. So what’s going on? If you need a friend to talk to, and it looks like you do, I’m available.”
“It’s my boss,” Scott joked. “He’s a real loser.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell Joe you think that about him.”
Scott grinned. He respected Dylan a great deal and could see them being friends. Except for that one thing. “You know her.”
“Well, if she’s from here, that’s not surprising.”
“Ginger Winchester.” Scott watched Dylan’s face for clues to their past.
His broad smile was less than reassuring.
“Terrific lady. So, you’re seeing her?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Dylan’s face hardened. “She’s been through a lot lately. Her jerk of a husband walked out on her. I don’t know much of that story, but I’m sure it’s his fault. She’s best friends with Joe’s wife, Lisa. So tread carefully.”
“Understood.”
“Well, shoot.” Dylan gave a half smile. “That’s not the way I wanted to start our friendship.”
“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your honesty.” Scott cleared his throat. “Can I ask you one thing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Did you go out with Ginger before you met Tara?”
Dylan shook his head. “I considered it, but she was too close to Joe for me to entangle myself.”
“That’s subtle.”
“Just the way it is. Something for you to think about.”
Scott stretched his neck as Dylan walked away. Thinking about Ginger, in one capacity or another, occupied most of his time these days.
THE PET STORE WAS HOSTING an animal adoption day with the animal shelter early Saturday morning, and the place was crowded when Scott arrived with the girls. Ginger stood out, not only because of her bright hair, but because of her bright smile. He’d thought before that she looked natural behind a teacher’s desk, but this was her true element. Working with and caring for animals. She glowed as she remarked on each animal to admirers, gave every furry ear a rub as she passed, cuddled and baby-talked to a couple dogs and cats that had to be her favorites, before noticing him and the girls.
“Hi,” she called as she neared. Her yellow shirt set her face aglow, as if she needed the additional shine. The gloss on her lips drew his attention more than it should, which was not at all. She was his daughter’s teacher. She was becoming his friend, but she’d been his lover, and his body wouldn’t let him forget.
“Does everyone get to take home a pet?” Serena asked, eyeing the crowd.
“No,” Scott insisted. “Some families are like us, just here to look. Just here to get an idea of what they want, of what’s available.”
“Right,” Ginger said with a smile crinkling her eyes, laughing at him.
He didn’t mind. Not when her smile and their shared humor warmed him. Not when the connection between them caught at his throat. Not when it made him want to place his hand behind her neck and bring her mouth to his.
Scott had vowed they’d come home without a dog, and he’d gotten that much right.
Horace was a monstrous, big-footed, big-hearted, floppy-eared, long-haired, five-month-old slobber machine. Already the size of a coffee table and as black as regret, the puppy was of no discernable breed.
Except maybe Shetland pony.
Many families milled around, and Horace had been admired by several different people, including his daughters. But no one else had chosen him. Probably because he looked so indefinable, a mop of all hair.
The dog had huge brown eyes that filled with love for his girls. He took to them like a long-lost brother, grateful to be located and brought home again. And the girls had latched on to him with the same fervor.
“He’s a boy,” Scott pointed out, futilely fighting the tide sweeping him into pet-ownership. “You want a girl dog. A little girl dog. Remember?”
“He’s cute,” Rena countered as though that settled the matter.
“We changed our minds.” Shelby eyed him. “Now we’ll have two girls and two boys in the house.” She turned to Ginger. “Can we change his name? Will he come if we call him something else?”
“Give him a name with two syllables,” Ginger suggested. “He’ll get used to it, especially if you call his new name and have a treat in your hand.”
“How about Floppy?” Scott offered. Or Secretariat.
“That’s not dig, digger—digneriflied?” Shelby looked to Ginger.
“Dignified. And you’re right. He needs a real name.”
“Like a people name?” Rena asked.
“Maybe. That’s up to you three.”
“Us and Horace?” Shelby asked.
Ginger laughed. “Well, I meant you and Serena and your dad, but yeah. You should see if Horace likes his new name, too.”
Serena screwed up her nose as she had all afternoon upon hearing the dog’s name. “Why would anyone call him Horace?”
“I’ve been busy with school and haven’t been here very often lately. I’ve only seen him once. Shall we ask?”
She called over Rob, an enthusiastic volunteer in his early twenties. His dyed neon-green hair and gawky manners made him more comfortable around animals than humans. His hunched shoulders and lack of eye contact spoke volumes.
“The people who brought him here said his former owner was a student of the classics,” Rob explained. “He thought Horace sounded cool.”
Ginger’s jaw firmed as though she knew this story all too well.
“Unfortunately,” Rob continued, “he didn’t think about what would happen at the end of the school term when he returned home. According to the apartment manager, he dumped poor Horace outside his apartment before Christmas and left town.”
The girls gave horrified cries and buried their faces in the puppy’s fur. Horace wiggled with delight, his wet black button nose nudging their cheeks.
“I think we should go ahead and call him Horace,” Shelby said after cooing for another minute. “Then he’d know we love him just like he is.”
“Oh, I do, too,” Rena agreed, nodding emphatically. “I love him just like he is, even with his icky name.”
Scott shook his head while the three females adored the dog, rubbing its ears and neck. With the size of those feet, Horace was going to look more like “horse” before long. Forget a crate; they’d need a barn.
When Scott asked what breed or mix of breeds the shelter worker thought Horace might have in him, the other man dodged the subject. Assured of the puppy’s good health, Scott thought to leave it at that.
“With those floppy ears,” Rena said, “he looks like Lady in Lady and the Tramp, except he’s all black.”
“And bigger,” Shelby said.
“Oh, he’ll get even bigger,” Rob said before clamping his mouth
shut.
Scott eyed him sardonically. “I’m well aware. I saw the size of his feet. Don’t worry, I’m adjusting to the idea of a big dog.”
The man shifted. “He’ll be an excellent guard dog. He’s not like the dog from Lady and the Tramp. He’s more like Nana in Peter Pan.”
“He’s soft like a poodle.” Ginger stroked him. “But not yappy.”
“We can braid his hair,” Rena said. “That’ll make it pretty.”
Scott rubbed the dog’s ear. “Sorry, Horace. If you come home with us, your macho days are over.”
Ginger placed her hand on Scott’s arm, and for a moment he wished he didn’t have on his peacoat so he could feel her warm touch. Her gaze stayed on the young shelter attendant.
“What else do you know about this dog, Rob?” Ginger asked. “How serious are you about him being like Nana?”
“You, uh, said you noticed the size of his feet, right? Well.” He coughed. “Did you notice they’re webbed?”
“No.” Ginger dragged out the word in a disbelieving tone. Her wide eyes as she reached for the dog’s foot made Scott nervous.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. Her gaze skewered Rob. “You were just going to let them leave here, not knowing? That’s irresponsible, and not fair to the family or the animal.”
“Not knowing what?” Scott asked as the man shuffled his feet. “Does he need surgery?”
“Is our puppy sick?” Shelby asked.
Our puppy. Scott closed his eyes and only hoped whatever the dog had wasn’t serious. For the first time in his life, he’d be eager to hear “just tapeworms.”
“He’s no doubt a mixed breed,” Rob hedged, “but the webbed feet indicate he’s at least partly a Newfoundland.”
Panic hit Scott. Those dogs stood half as high as he did. “I take it you don’t mean he’s Canadian?”
“Well, historically—” Rob started.
“No, that’s not what he means,” Ginger cut in. “This is going to be a big dog. Almost as tall as you are now, Serena. He’ll be powerful.” She glared at Rob. “And too much for two little girls to handle.”
“We’ll handle him.” Shelby turned her pleading face to Scott. “Please don’t let Ms. Winchester make us not get Horace.”
Rena’s face crumpled. “We’re not getting Horace? Why not?”
“Ms. Winchester ruined it all.” Shelby glared.
“Shelby.” Scott laid his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You’re being rude. Ms. Winchester is only pointing out that Horace will be a huge dog. Hard for you to control. Hard to walk. He’ll weigh almost as much as I do, and he’ll be really strong.”
“They’re a gentle breed,” Rob said.
“You stay out of this,” Ginger instructed. The boy hung his head as she turned back to Scott. “We don’t always know the breed of a rescued animal, and most dogs here are mixtures. Horace probably isn’t a pure Newfie so there’s a chance he won’t grow as large as one.”
“What’s a Newfie?” Rena asked.
“It’s the nickname for this kind of dog,” Ginger said. “They’re originally from Newfoundland, up on the east coast of Canada.”
“Aww, that’s cute.” Rena rubbed the puppy’s cheek, not seeming to notice the slobber.
Shelby didn’t ease up on her scowl, although she didn’t say anything else disrespectful. Scott got the lowdown on the breed from Rob and figured Horace was everything he could have asked for, except that he came supersized. Gentle and loyal, a guard dog, good with children. Since his girls had already fallen for the beast, he didn’t see the point in denying them.
“What do you say, girls? Shall we take him home?”
Despite a superior glance at Ginger, Shelby only voiced positive comments.
The adoption went smoothly, although the agency’s eagerness to have Horace sent to a good home made Scott wary. “Is something else wrong with the dog?” he asked Ginger. “Why is everyone relieved to see him go?”
“I double-checked. Don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong with Horace, except that he’s supercute and lovable. And big.” She shrugged. “They’ve all been tempted to adopt him. Dogs this large don’t always find a home.”
The pet store clerk loaded them up with bowls, rawhide chew bones, and a leash and collar. The special brush for long-haired dogs made Scott grit his teeth at his own stupidity—couldn’t they adopt a dog that wouldn’t be as much work? The clerk pointed out other items the family might need and Horace might want, and the shopping cart filled.
“No crate,” was Scott’s only stipulation. What was the point? A stable maybe, but a crate? Not so useful. This overgrown bundle of yarn would most likely be in someone’s bed tonight anyway, taking up the majority of space. He’d have to train the girls as well as the dog. He turned to them. “How about a big pillow on the floor for his bed?”
“He should sleep in my room,” Shelby claimed, “because I’m older.”
“That’s not fair,” Rena countered. “I’m littler and I don’t like to sleep by myself. Horace would keep me from being lonely.”
“His bed should be downstairs,” Scott told them as Ginger’s lips twitched. “He needs to be near the door.” Closer to the outdoors for his nature calls. If nothing else, the dog’s body would block an intruder from entering the house. Horace was too friendly to guard anything, unless he lunged at someone for a hello kiss.
Rena’s eyes filled with worry. “But he’ll be scared all by himself.”
“He needs alone time,” Scott said, although he had to admit the dog looked like a big sissy who would probably whine all night. “A place to call his own. You know when you want to play dolls by yourself and not be bothered? He’ll need someplace to go when he doesn’t want to play.”
“We could give him his own room, Dad,” Shelby said. “Where your office is.”
Ginger laughed. “That’s not a bad idea. Horace would have a room to escape to. During the day when you’re gone, he wouldn’t expect you to be where he sleeps. His pallet, or pillow, would be out of the way.”
“Out of whose way?” Scott countered, making her laugh again. Even in the crowded pet store, in front of his daughters, she made him want her. Just by being herself. Her shining smile, lilting laughter and breathtaking body made him yearn to pull her close, take her someplace private, and lose himself in her.
“Can I call Grandma Baxter when we get home?” Shelby asked.
Like a shower of glacier water, Scott was jolted back to reality. The girls argued about getting to tell Samantha’s mom the news while he struggled to curb his libido. He couldn’t have Ginger. Not while the girls mourned their mother’s absence. Not while they still missed her so much. Not now.
Not…yet?
Chapter Six
“The coach did what?” Ginger glanced around the otherwise unoccupied copy room Monday morning, thankful no one else had entered. She hated to encourage Cindy Grady to gossip, but she knew Mike Reynolds, the high school basketball coach, and couldn’t believe this “news.” Surely someone had embellished the tale or just gotten it wrong in the first place. She’d like to curb the rumor before Cindy spread it farther than their school, for she doubted she was the first person Cindy had sought out to tell. A rumor like that could kill a teacher’s career. “I don’t believe it.”
Cindy pursed her lips, obviously unused to being doubted. Her crossed arms communicated her stern displeasure. “I’m only telling you what I heard. After the team won the regional play-offs, Coach Reynolds gave his players an open curfew, then invited them to his motel room and provided them with beer.”
Although she didn’t want to antagonize Cindy, Ginger couldn’t let this go unchallenged. “Where did you hear this story?”
“It’s all over. One of the boys was hungover when he got home and his parents found out where he’d gotten the beer.”
“So one kid, thinking to avoid trouble and shift the blame, tells this outrageous tale, and you’re spreading the slander?”
Cindy’s face turned red with the anger shooting from her eyes. “Some of his friends backed him up.”
“Sure they did. The boys think Mike’s being a coach will get him off the hook.”
“Or they’re telling the truth.”
“That’s so unlike him.” Ginger had dated Mike as a teenager. He’d been a young jock, full of himself and liking to have a good time. But through the years, he had matured into a respected man. As an educator, he would know better. An idiotic move like that would cost him his job, if not put him in jail.
“How well do you know Coach Reynolds?” Cindy asked.
Ginger didn’t have to see the speculative gleam in the older teacher’s eyes to read her thoughts. She was tired of walking a tightrope. “Mike and I attended high school together, that’s all.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“Of course. I’ve seen him around town, at the games, times like that. I’m sure you’ve seen him, too.” Ginger couldn’t resist the dig.
“Because he’s married, you know.”
Ginger set her teeth, holding back a snarl and sharp comment. As soon as she could, she found an excuse to leave the copy room. No teacher would be so reckless with his career, but especially not Mike, with a wife who worked as a nurse at the middle school and two young children to consider. The ramifications would be severe.
As it turned out, the ramifications were severe for Ginger also: she had to sit through another of principal Bushfield’s speeches. Within a day of the accusations and Mike Reynolds’s temporary suspension “while the matter was under investigation,” the district issued strict reminders to the teachers to review their Code of Conduct clause. Bushfield felt it necessary to read the statement in an “emergency” teacher assembly. So she sat crammed in the small library on a child’s hard chair, feeling lucky to have a seat and not be standing along the back wall.
As the meeting dragged on, she revised that opinion. Teachers in the back were spared the sharp accusing eye of Bushfield and his pointed stare as he talked about ethics and being a role model for the children.
