Ashlyn ignored her and slowly approached the stray, hand extended. The dog’s growl rumbled over the whisper of sea oats and the gently lapping waves. Haylie held her breath.
Ashlyn reached within a few inches of the dog’s snout, offering her hand to be sniffed. The animal lunged. Haylie sprang forward in her friend’s defense, but too late. Blood flowed from Ashlyn’s fingers, and the renegade romped off over the dunes, his gait uneven in the deep sand.
“Oh, he’s so scared,” Ashlyn moaned as blood dripped into the white sand at her feet.
“Forget about him, look at you.” Haylie held her hand and examined the open wounds. “We’ve got to get you to the hospital. You probably need stitches, and what if that beast has rabies?”
“He’s just scared,” Ashlyn said, “I could see it in his eyes. It’s the same look you get every time you say Blake’s name.” She rotated her wrist and checked out the bleeding punctures along two of her fingers. “I guess I should get this looked at.”
* * * *
Haylie wrapped a dishcloth over Ashlyn’s hand and retrieved her car keys from a hook by the door. Grady lifted his head off the sofa and blinked the grog from his eyes. “I’m taking Ashlyn to the hospital. She got bitten by a dog.”
In one swift move, Grady swung his feet to the floor and hurried to Ashlyn’s side. “Is it bad?”
The tenderness in his voice sent a maternal wave of warmth through Haylie’s chest. All the abuse he’d been through hadn’t hardened him, or given him a violent streak like she’d seen with so many of the kids from similar circumstances. He could stand up for himself when he needed to, but his heart was as big as his appetite.
“I’ll be fine,” Ashlyn assured him. “Haylie’s making a big deal out of nothing.”
“She’s good at that.” Grady softened his verbal jab with a smile and a wink.
“Save your charms for somebody they’ll work on, Mister.” Haylie couldn’t help but smile. He could charm the socks off her and he knew it. She reached around him to lift Ashlyn’s arm. “Hold your hand up higher than your heart and come on before you bleed all over my floor.”
“What’d the dog look like?” Grady asked.
“A mangy black Lab.” Haylie grabbed Ashlyn by her good arm and led her toward the front door. “Call animal control. He was headed down the beach toward the Florida line.”
Grady peeled his socks off and pushed open the sliding glass door. “I’ll see if I can find him.”
Ashlyn freed herself from Haylie’s grasp and tossed him the leash. “He’s starving,” she said. “Take some food.”
“Leave the monster alone before you get your arm taken off!” Haylie warned him.
“You worry too much, Homma.” Homma was Grady-speak for Hot Momma, a term he’d coined when he first told her she was the best mama he’d ever had. And not just because she was so easy to look at. He didn’t throw the word around often, but when he said it, it warmed her to the core. He doubled back to the kitchen then trotted out the door with a package of hotdogs in one hand and the leash in the other. “Some dude named Blake called,” he yelled over his shoulder.
* * * *
Ashlyn winced as the doctor injected a rabies shot into her deltoid. Her bandaged hand rested across her thigh. No stitches, just a precautionary dose of antibiotics and an abbreviated round of rabies immunizations since her position as director of the local animal shelter kept her up to date on her shots.
“You’re all set,” the doctor said. “We’ll need to take a look at that bite in forty-eight hours and if you don’t get records on the animal, you’ll need to come back three days from now for another inoculation.”
Haylie put down the tattered six month old magazine she’d been reading and followed Ashlyn out. The emergency room doors slid open, and a warm breeze swept away the hospital chill. She keyed her cell phone on and dropped it back into her purse.
“When are you going to call him back?” Ashlyn asked.
“When hell freezes over. Maybe. If I ever run out of ice.” Haylie didn’t have to ask who. She hadn’t been able to shake Blake from her mind, and for him to call so early in the morning spiked her curiosity more than a little.
“Uh huh.” Ashlyn smoothed her caramel hair, still tied back in a ponytail and walked toward Haylie’s car parked near the back of the lot. “Have you invited him to the luncheon?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because he’d be a great mentor for the kids you’re trying to help, and he could possibly offer internships or summer jobs for any of them interested in law.”
Haylie bit her bottom lip. AL.F.A.A. or Alabama Fostering Adult Advocacy, the non-profit organization she founded, could definitely use the support of as many area professionals as she could find. She had planned the luncheon and a black-tie cocktail auction for that very purpose.
The luncheon was aimed at garnering support from the movers and shakers in Mandido Beach, Hope’s Crossing and Velma, and the cocktail auction targeted the Mobile elite. Blake would fit in with either crowd, but being indebted to him didn’t sound appealing. She had purposely left his name off the invitation list, but those invitations had gone out before she ran into him.
“Maybe he’s changed,” Ashlyn said. “And you looked a little cozy at Banana Bob’s Saturday night before you ran off to Grady’s rescue.”
“He hasn’t changed. If you’d heard our conversation just before I left, you’d know how right I am.” Heaviness seeped into her chest. He hadn’t changed. And no matter how much she might still be attracted to him, she couldn’t let herself forget why she wasn’t married to him now.
“Did he try to take you to bed after coffee?” Ashlyn pulled open the passenger door of Haylie’s car.
“He threw the offer on the table, but he didn’t push it.”
“I think you should call him.”
Haylie slid into the driver seat. “I think the rabies has affected your brain.”
“I don’t have rabies.”
“And I’m not calling Blake Sheridan. Ever. For anything.” Now, if she could just get the man off her mind for thirty consecutive seconds, life would be good again.
* * * *
Haylie drummed her fingers along the bottom of her keyboard and looked over the RSVP list for the AL.F.A.A. luncheon. Only half as many people as she hoped to have in attendance had committed, and the event was less than two weeks away. She needed a plan. She could rush invitations out to handful of people she hadn’t originally invited, but not enough to significantly sway the numbers.
She drafted an email to the presidents of the Rotary Club and the Junior League, then addressed an official invitation to each one and dropped it in her outgoing mail bin.
She had hoped to keep the occasion more individualized, to give the invitees a sense of personal importance, but not everything could work out the way it was intended.
She stared at the lemon yellow concrete block walls of her tiny office in the former Mobile YMCA building and mentally went down her to do list. She needed to sit down with Grady and go over the high points of his presentation. She needed to confirm that everything was on schedule with the florist and the head chef at the restaurant.
Stacked in boxes next to her wilted philodendron donation envelopes waited to be stuffed with the generosity of local business people. She dumped the last half of her water bottle into the plant and pounded her brain for any forgotten detail. Her own presentation could use a little polish, but she could speak passionately about AL.F.A.A. in her sleep.
She needed to get enough people to care about the organization and enough money to make it work. After all the standard operating costs, she couldn’t even afford a part-time assistant this year, and she wouldn’t get paid at all. She only had two more years to bring AL.F.A.A. around to a position in which it could both fund the programs she planned to offer and pay her a minimal salary. After that, she’d have to go back to work doing something not nearly as important or rewarding. Unti
l then she had enough money socked away to get by, provided she didn’t run into any unexpected catastrophic expenses.
A stampede of feet and playground cadence traveled down the hall outside her office. The Boys and Girls Club had opened the doors of the gym. The high-pitched squeak of tennis shoes slid across the basketball court and a chorus of voices echoed off the raftered ceilings.
Grady would be outside refereeing the U-10 soccer matches, if he hadn’t lost his arm to that rabid dog he went after for Ashlyn. He’d do anything for Ashlyn. His crush on her had bloomed when he was fourteen and though he wouldn’t admit it for the world, he’d never completely shaken his enamor of her. Not many men ever did. None of them had shackled her down for long though.
Be it curse or fortune, Belles seemed to be perpetually single or in short-term relationships. And they liked it that way. Haylie tucked her hair behind her ears and leaned back in her chair. She did like being alone. It had its moments anyway. Being single was better than dealing with the nasty breakups that always followed relationships like the one between her and Blake all those years ago. She unburdened her heavy chest with a sigh. Yes, being single was definitely better.
A knock sounded at the door just before it began to creep open. John Lawrence, the sports coordinator, stuck his head in the room. “Just checking to see if Grady was in here with you. The kids are waiting for him.”
Haylie snatched the phone and punched in Grady’s number. He had never missed a volunteer day with the kids, and if he knew he was going to be late he would call. She never should have let him go after that dog. Her heart pounded as she waited for him to answer. Something was wrong. She could feel it. His voicemail prompt solidified her fears.
“Grady!” she all but yelled into the phone. “Call me as soon as you get this!” She grabbed her keys and a stack of file folders off her desk and started for the door.
“Is everything ok?” John asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just not like him…and there was this dog…”
The phone rang and she snatched it off her desk. “Grady?”
“No…not Grady.” The smooth Alabama drawl spread through her like a slow burn.
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk,” She slapped the phone down with a trembling hand. Blake would have to wait. Ten years of almost not thinking about him every day, and now the man knew where she lived and had tracked down both her home and office numbers. He would drag her straight back to hell if she let him.
* * * *
The gulf breeze whipped through the open sliders and into Haylie’s condo. Evidence of Grady’s presence littered the place: potato chip bags, empty soda cans, and a package of hotdogs left open on the kitchen counter. At least he’d eaten after he went after the dog. He couldn’t have gotten hurt too bad.
“Grady?” A shadow moved across the patio, but Grady didn’t answer. She stepped out onto the lanai and called him again. “Grady?”
No one was on the wooden path that ran behind the condos and trailed down to the beach or on any of the neighboring lanais. The shadow had probably been a bird flying by, or maybe one of the neighbors who had already disappeared inside.
Despite the warm wind blowing in from the gulf, icy fingers crept down her spine. She shook off the nerves. Paranoia kept trying to creep in, but she refused to let it take hold. Her father’s release from prison put her on high alert, but his probation prohibited him from coming near her.
She called Grady’s phone again and left another message, then picked up his shoes and carried them to the guest room. His duffle bag lay in the corner between the treadmill and a queen-sized bed. The room had all the modern comforts, but he refused to sleep anywhere but the sofa when he stayed over. One of his foster families had complained that he wouldn’t sleep in his bedroom at their house, but he didn’t know Haylie knew that. It was just one of those things she didn’t push him to explain.
After dropping his shoes next to his open bag, she turned to leave, but a roll of cash tucked next to a pair of wadded up jeans caught her eye. She picked up the money and thumbed through the bills. It looked like close to a thousand dollars, mostly in twenties, and to Grady that was more than a small fortune to be carrying around. She would be surprised if he had that much in his bank account.
She tucked the money back where she found it and stood to leave, but stopped dead in her tracks. Grady towered over her blocking the door.
“You snoopin’?” he asked.
“No…I…” Heat rose to her cheeks. She shouldn’t be the one who felt the need to explain, but she fully understood how delicate trust could be. “I picked your shoes up off the floor and saw it there. Where did you get all that money?”
“Where do you think I got it?” His voice remained calm, but when he got upset with her he swallowed his anger and buried it deep. She’d learned that just because his feelings didn’t surface, didn’t mean they weren’t there. His posture wasn’t threatening, but the challenge was clear in his eyes.
“I don’t know where you got it. I didn’t think you had that kind of money saved up. Shouldn’t it be in the bank?”
He shrugged and looked away.
She recognized the signs of him shutting down, shutting her out, and who knew how long it would take to get him to open up again. “The kids missed you today.”
“Oh, shit. It’s Monday?”
“I tried to call, but you didn’t answer your phone.”
“I caught Ashlyn’s dog and took him over to the shelter.”
Haylie quickly assessed his hands and arms but didn’t see any broken skin. “He didn’t bite you?”
“Nah. He liked the hotdogs too much. His leg was busted up pretty bad though.”
“Do they take in vicious animals at the shelter?”
“He’s in quarantine for a couple of weeks to make sure he’s not rabid, but then as long as he doesn’t try to bite anybody else he can be adopted to a home without kids.”
Haylie shook her head, and struggled with whether or not to let the issue of the bank roll in his duffle bag drop so easily. “Did you really forget about the kids?”
“I got busy,” he said without meeting her eyes. The chime of the doorbell stopped her from pushing for more. Grady loped off to answer it.
She took a deep breath and walked back to the living room. Blake’s smile stopped her heart. Still wearing his suit jacket, his tie loosened at the neck, he could’ve stopped any woman’s heart. “Sounded like you could use a drink.” He held up a bottle of gin in one hand and Tom Collins mix in the other.
He remembered. Haylie’s reservations floundered.
Tequila might be “te kill ya,” but Tom Collins always cut the rotten taste of the Mexican medicine her membership in the Belles forced her to drink. Tom Collins tasted sweet on the devil’s tongue, and made her believe in fairytales. Tom Collins had been there the night she ended her relationship with Blake so many years ago, the night he lost her in a drunken fraternity house bet.
Fairytales were a crock. Tom Collins was a liar. And Blake Sheridan was a jerk no matter how hard he tried to disguise himself. Then and now. Like the former vice-president once said, a zebra can’t change his spots.
“You always leave your doors wide open?” Blake asked.
“No. Grady does.”
“I locked up when I left. You’re the one always airing the place out.”
Haylie started to argue. She might have left the front door open when she rushed in looking for him, but the sliders had been open before she got home. She glanced back and forth at the two of them, not sure who exasperated her more at the moment.
“Come on,” Blake said, reading her. “Just have a drink with me. On your turf. Your terms. And with Grady here to run interference if I get out of line.”
“It was nice to bump into you the other night. I really appreciate the pancakes and the ride home, but really… What do you want from me?”
“I want you to have a drink with me.”
“He�
�s sweatin’ you hard. Give the man a chance,” Grady chimed in from his perch on the sofa, the remote in his hand.
“No input from the rabid dog chasing peanut gallery,” Haylie warned him.
“I don’t even know what a peanut gallery is.”
She spun around, her arms raised in exasperation. Blake took advantage of the distraction and pushed his way past her. He made himself at home in the kitchen opening cabinets until he found a couple of glasses and a pitcher. He filled the pitcher with ice, measured in the drink mix and the gin, and stirred it all with the handle of a wooden spoon he pulled from her utensil jar next to the stove.
“I see your bartending skills haven’t improved.”
“It’ll get the job done,” he said, filling a glass and handing it to her. She stared at the drink and then back at Blake.
“It doesn’t mean anything if you drink it,” he said softly, “other than you’re willing to sit out back and have a drink with me.”
“That’s all it means? You just chose this particular drink because they stocked it closest to the register at the liquor store?”
“No. Because I knew you liked it. And I don’t know much about you anymore, but I figure your taste buds haven’t completely changed. And…” He grinned sheepishly. “Like you said, I’m not much of a bartender, but you always tolerated the way I mixed these.”
He raised his glass to hers.
“One drink,” she said and led the way outside.
“Good luck, man. She’s tough,” Grady aimed the remote at the television as they walked past.
Side by side in Adirondack chairs with their feet propped on the patio railing, Haylie took a long sideways glance at Blake and savored the tart taste on her tongue. “You would have taken me to bed the other night if I gave you half a chance.”
Devil's Advocate Page 4
