by Cate Lawley
“Maybe.” Bedivere’s evasive answer and troubled tone pointed to a potentially larger or more complex problem.
Once he’d sorted out his supposed retirement, he could lend Tara a sympathetic ear. She was so young; it had to be an especially difficult transition for her. But he had to put his own house in order before he could be of any real help. “What information do you need from me?”
“Let me grab a pen. All right, are you planning to practice law?” Bedivere proceeded to quiz him on a variety of topics, many of which included plans that he wasn’t yet certain of.
After twenty minutes of question and answer, Bedivere declared he had enough information to get started, and that he’d be in touch if he had further questions.
An hour later, he got a text: Temp history complete. John Devlin Parker
Devlin hopped on his computer and did a quick search. All he found under his own name was his current address, but when he searched for John D. Parker and John Devlin Parker, he got some basic facts. Bedivere had given him a history similar to his own yet slightly altered in significant ways. He’d still attended the same high school—the graduating class was over a thousand, so easy to get lost in the crowd—but he’d faded him into the background. Where he’d been a debate champ, a chess geek, and a member of the tennis and golf teams, the new John D. Parker hadn’t participated in any clubs, sports, or competitions that he could find.
College was much the same, and Bedivere had given him a law degree but from a foreign university. He’d then created a licensing history for Devlin in Alabama. Jumping through those hoops, Devlin would qualify to sit the Texas Bar if he wanted to practice law again. On occasion, Bedivere showed a creative brilliance that would be disturbing in a different, less ethical, man.
He couldn’t imagine studying for the bar again without a very compelling reason, but he could do it. He wasn’t so old he couldn’t still memorize some facts, contrary to whatever his daughter might think. And he appreciated all of Bedivere’s effort just to give him more options in his retirement.
After clicking around and following a few trails, he figured that the newly created John D. Parker was as uninterested in social media as the real guy and wasn’t up to much to get him in the news, blogged about, or generally noticed within the online world.
Now, to find some way to figure out how much damage had already been done. He couldn’t just call Felicity—he’d forgotten to get her number. After considering the dilemma for a few minutes, he grinned. He’d kill two birds with one stone. It was time to start his hunt for a new canine companion.
Four days later and he hadn’t heard from Felicity about their supposed dinner date. But he was ready to put the next part of his plan into action. And he was really excited to get some company around the house. He’d been reading up on house-training, crate-training, puppy training, rescues versus breeders, adults versus puppies, hazards around the house and about a dozen other things he hadn’t even known were important before he’d started looking for a dog. He’d also spent a fortune at the little boutique pet supply store around the corner. Just picking out an appropriate food had taken half an hour.
After some consideration and chatting with a local dog trainer about the best options for his situation, as well as characteristics that fit his lifestyle, energy-level, and personality, he’d landed on what he hoped was the right choice for his new canine buddy. His home visit from the rescue group happened in record time—though he still couldn’t believe they’d come to inspect his house.
His newly adopted dog was due to arrive about now. His doorbell rang, proving his new puppy’s foster family was quite prompt. They said it was no problem to drop him by, and since Devlin got the impression they also wanted to see his house, he’d agreed.
He answered the door to a young couple. The man was holding the leash of a ten-month old Tasmanian devil. He blinked in surprise. He thought it was the same dog he’d met two days previous—but he’d been so much calmer before.
The man gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. One of your neighbors has an outdoor cat that made an appearance. He’s a little excited.”
Devlin opened the door wider and ushered them in, closing the door behind them quickly. After they all shook hands, the man let Spot off his leash.
His new ten-month-old German Shorthaired Pointer puppy stood completely still except for his short little tail that practically vibrated with excitement, and then he was off.
The woman said, “He’ll just do a victory lap…or three. Then he’ll be fine.”
Devlin blinked again. Good thing he had some time on his hands. This dog was looking like a project. Not that the trainer he’d consulted with had said otherwise—but seeing the bubbling enthusiasm of his new dog in full force was a little different. “Let’s just go outside for a few minutes.”
But the couple had met him, seen his house, and dropped off the dog. That’s all they’d come for, a quick look at the dog’s new home. Probably to reassure them that Devlin wasn’t completely unprepared. And then he was left with a whirling ball of happy, furry energy.
As the liver and white flurry of fur rushed around his small house in fits and starts, Devlin read the dog’s list of commands that the foster home had left. It was pretty short.
As the little furry beast started to sniff a little too much around the edge of his couch, he called, “Spot.”
Since that elicited no response from the dog, he figured it was probably okay to change his name. He whistled to get his attention and headed to the fridge.
By the time he dug out a few smelly treats, Spot had lapped the kitchen twice. On the second run through, he must have caught a whiff of the food because he came to a screeching halt and planted his butt firmly on the ground. Head tilted, floppy liver-colored ears perked and his short little docked tail rubbing the floor furiously, he waited for his goody.
Devlin sighed. “You’re going to be a project, aren’t you, kid?”
Spot grabbed the cookie from his fingers and then jumped up and planted his front paws right in Devlin’s crotch.
He gasped. Yeah. Definitely a project.
Chapter 9
Felicity hadn’t exactly forgotten about Devlin, she just hadn’t let herself think much about their unplanned date. She’d seen him a few times walking an energetic pointer around the neighborhood. Actually, he walked that dog quite a lot.
At least one point in his favor: he seemed like a good pet owner. She shook her head. The man was a ghost, maybe a criminal. She shouldn’t get involved.
And that had been the plan. But when she practically ran into him while she was fetching her mail from the box at the end of her drive, she could hardly ignore him. It certainly had nothing to do with his bright, engaging smile that made his pleasure at seeing her clear. No. And nothing to do with the fact the man had excellent legs. Not at all. It would simply be rude not to speak to him.
“Hi.” She waved. “New dog?”
Up close, she could tell the vibrating bundle of energy on the leash wasn’t very old. He had that puppy-like bounce and curiosity that most older dogs lost.
“Hey, Felicity. Yes, I adopted him about a week ago.” Devlin threw a handful of treats on the ground. “Watch out. He really likes to jump when you least expect it. And he has unfortunate aim.”
“Tricky. Although that seems to work.” She pointed to the treats on the ground.
“Yeah, we’re working on it.” Devlin gave her a sheepish grin. “I knew he would be a lot of work, but nothing prepares you for the reality.”
“Regretting it?”
“Not at all. Anything worth having is worth working for, right?”
She felt like his answer held more than one layer of meaning—but he barely knew her. He couldn’t be talking about their date…could he?
He reached into his back pocket and pulled a card out of his wallet. “My number, just in case.”
Felicity looked at it, more as a reflex than anything else, but when
she saw the name on the card she did a double-take. “Your first name is John?”
He shrugged. “There are a lot more John Parkers out there than Devlin Parkers.”
“Right.” She looked down at the card in her fingers again. And all she could think was: oops.
“Hey, I’ve got to run. I think I’ve reached the end of Spot’s patience.”
Sure enough, the dog was pulling in the direction they’d been headed before she’d interrupted their walk.
“Spot?” She cocked her head and gave him an amused look.
“Yeah, that’s the name he came with. He doesn’t actually know it, so I’m considering other options. Let me know if you have any thoughts.” He paused until the dog stopped pulling, and then he headed down the street, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “Call me.”
She waved, but she didn’t make any promises.
Felicity didn’t know what she’d expected when she sat down to look up John Devlin Parker—but certainly not that he’d attended her high school. She didn’t remember him, though she occasionally felt a sense of familiarity. But as hard as she tried to recall anyone named Devlin or a John Parker, she couldn’t. She even interrupted her internet research long enough to dig around in her attic for an old yearbook. She found one from junior high that yielded no results, but she’d apparently not kept her high school yearbooks. Not surprising with as many moves and major life changes as she’d gone through. Her parents might have them along with some other items from her childhood that she’d never bothered to pick up—but she wasn’t about to phone her mother and ask her to look for an old high school yearbook. She was barely on speaking terms with her mother.
She rubbed at a dusty cobweb that clung to her cheek, evidence of her dirt-encrusted adventure in the attic, and laughed. This was ridiculous. She was going to extreme measures to prove what? Was she trying to eliminate Devlin from consideration? She didn’t really need an excuse for that. Her experience with men over the past twenty years was reason enough.
Or did she want to go out with him, maybe give him an honest chance to get to know her, but was just too scared to go through with it? Dating was so disappointing. Either she liked a man well enough to maybe consider a second date—and then never heard another word from him. That always made her feel ten inches tall. Or she regretted spending the time, energy, and effort once she was actually on the date. And that made her feel even smaller.
Felicity resolved to spend fifteen more minutes digging up dirt on J. Devlin Parker, and then she was going to call the man up and set the time and place for their date.
She went through all of the reasons that was a good idea—he was attractive, she’d enjoyed what little time she had spent with him, and he seemed taken with her—and then blocked out as best she could all of the reasons it was a terrible idea. She told herself that she didn’t know that he would turn out to be a massive disappointment or that he would lose interest in a few days.
She placed the backs of her hands against her warm cheeks. Already she was twisting herself up in knots. She wanted to pinch herself. Instead, she focused on searching for dirt for a good twenty minutes. When she finished, she was satisfied. It seemed unlikely Devlin had a criminal past or a secret wife—the rest she’d have to gamble on. She steeled herself, and then she picked up her cell and called him.
Chapter 10
Devlin couldn’t believe it: Zelda and Bedivere had both been right. Not more than three hours after Devlin passed along a card with his new fake name to Felicity, she’d called and asked him if he’d like to grab that dinner with her.
And here they were, a day later, ordering burgers at a casually chic neighborhood joint. He’d definitely been cyber-stalked. He supposed it was flattering, in a modern and bizarre kind of way.
“What do you think about your burger?” Zelda asked.
Devlin wiped at a dribble of burger juice that was making its way down his chin before he answered. “Juicy. These are great. And I noticed they also have a broad beer menu.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Ah. I’ve been found out. I hadn’t actually tried the burgers before today, just the beer. But I did hear the food was supposed to be good. Is that terrible?” She wrinkled her nose, and he couldn’t help notice that the fine wrinkles around her hazel eyes crinkled in an appealing way. She had a face that looked youthful without looking young, as if time had recorded the happy memories on her face and left the others behind.
“Not at all. Especially since the food really is good.”
“Oh, I’m not sure if you noticed: there’s a dog-friendly patio area. So when the weather’s decent, you can walk here with…Spot?”
“Yeah, about that—who names a dog Spot? And I don’t suppose you had any ideas? I didn’t realize naming him would be so difficult.”
She’d just taken a bite, so he had a second to watch her while she chewed and considered her answer. She was so similar to the girl he’d fallen in love with, and yet the differences were notable. Her face reflected the happiness she’d found—in her work and her art. But there were more sharp edges to her personality now than when she’d been young. The contempt she’d displayed for newcomers to the neighborhood who bought old homes as tear-downs, walking away from her family’s expectations, even her mixed reaction to his overtures of friendship, all pointed to a woman who wasn’t afraid to make hard choices and stand alone.
“Fred. Or Bob. Maybe Sam?”
“Sorry?” He needed to make an effort not to lose the conversational thread. He could hardly explain that he was mentally reminiscing over their shared history.
“Names for your dog. I like human names for dogs, though I know some people find that off-putting.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t help laughing at her choices. “Fred, huh? I’ll think about it. It has a certain—I don’t know—plainness that’s appealing. I’ll definitely think on it. And thanks.”
“No problem.” She took another bite, hardly a dainty one, but somehow she managed not to dribble hamburger juice down her shirtfront. She’d left the burger mostly wrapped in paper and was folding it lower as she ate, which made the whole process so much neater than his attempts.
As he watched her fold a bit of wax paper, he saw the ring. It was a 1930s art deco ring. White gold with three tiny stones, two sapphires and a diamond. He remembered picking it out for her. She’d loved vintage jewelry, long before it was fashionable.
It had been a promise ring of sorts, though neither of them had called it that. She’d worn it on her left ring finger when they’d been dating. At least she had until he’d proposed and she’d worn her engagement ring instead. But she’d simply switched the art deco ring to her right hand. She’d said as much as she loved her engagement ring, the vintage ring was truly her favorite.
He remembered being annoyed, because the engagement ring had cost him a fortune at a time when he hadn’t had that much cash to spare. His younger self could really be a jerk.
Felicity lifted her right hand, giving him a better look at the ring. “It’s vintage, art deco.”
He tried to swallow but his throat felt frozen. “Yes. I’m familiar with the style.”
“You’re a fan of old jewelry?”
He wanted to brush it off—but he couldn’t lie. He didn’t want to lie. “Actually, I dated a girl when I was younger who had a knack for finding beautiful vintage pieces in the most unexpected places. Where did you get that one?”
He held his breath, waiting for the answer.
A small crease appeared between her eyes. “You know, I’m not really sure. I’ve always been ridiculously attached to it, though. I thought I’d lost it, oh, maybe seven or eight years ago. I had a conniption, and my roommate at the time helped me hunt for it all night long.” She laughed, but in a self-deprecating way. “It’s silly to be so attached when it doesn’t have any sentimental value; I could just replace it. But I’d had it for so long…” She shook her head. “Anyway, I found it in between the sofa cushions
the next morning. Crazy. We’d both looked there at least twice. You know how that happens? You’ve checked everywhere, and then there it is?”
“Yeah. I know exactly how that is.” Magic, that’s how it was. “It’s very pretty.”
“Thank you.” She absently twisted the ring around on her finger. “I don’t wear it every day any more, now that I’m working with solvents and other materials that can damage it. But I bring it out for special occasions.”
“Ah, I’m a special occasion?” He gave her a cheeky grin.
“Well, Bubba’s Burgers is definitely a special occasion. You’re just a part of the package.” A little half smile tugged at her lips as she said it.
“Ouch. You do know how to wound a guy.”
They spent the next hour chatting about nothing and everything, and Felicity even let him buy her another half-pint. It was the most enjoyable evening he’d had with anyone besides his daughter in longer than he could remember.
And as he drove home, all he could think was that some part of her remembered him. Why else would she be so attached to the ring he gave her the first time he told her he loved her?
As she drove home, Felicity wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel. Something was wrong with him. No one was that charming, that good-looking, that smart, and that single. No one in her world. She had firsthand experience with a variety of types, and Devlin wasn’t fitting into any of her “denied” categories. That could be dangerous.
Maybe it would be better if she didn’t spend any more time with him. It was one thing to crush on an attractive stranger, to flirt with someone who would never reciprocate on any meaningful level. It was something else entirely to actually get to know him—and to be bamboozled into thinking he might be a nice guy. That path was littered with emotional baggage. No, that path was strewn with self-esteem crushing land mines.
Chapter 11
