Placing the length of wood with the others she’d cut, she turned to the two-by-two lengths she’d selected for the spindles. After arranging them in the order they would fit into the headboard, she prepared to form them with the lathe.
Before she could begin, she heard the faint sound of a dog barking. Switching off the stereo, she listened again, and the barking grew louder. Coming closer.
It was Fluffy, the dog she’d hit with her truck last Friday. She’d been setting food out in the garage for him, and it had disappeared, but she hadn’t seen him since that night. She’d hoped he was the one eating it, that he wasn’t lying injured in the woods somewhere.
She hadn’t put the dog food out yet this morning.
Wiping sawdust from her face with a bandanna, she shut down the lathe and hurried to the front of the barn. She scooped a cupful of kibble from the bucket she kept beside the door, and stepped outside into the chilly air.
The thermometer had crept above freezing, and melting snow ran in twisting rivulets across her driveway. Fluffy was barking in the woods as she stepped over a puddle and punched the keypad numbers to open the garage door.
She’d barely gotten the food into his dish when the short black dog limped into the garage. Fluffy lifted his head into her hand, and as she petted him, she examined his leg. He stuck his nose in the food, ignoring her.
A jagged, dirty-looking scab ran along the outside of his thigh, but she didn’t see any other injuries. She wondered if she could get him into her truck and take him to the vet.
“You doing okay, big guy?” she murmured as she slid her hand along his leg. She nudged the bowl closer to the truck with her foot, and the dog followed. Encouraged, she pushed it again.
She’d reached the truck door when she heard a high-pitched voice call, “Doggy. Where are you?”
It sounded like a child. Frowning, Delaney left the dog to eat and headed toward the woods. There were no young children living close by. The neighbors on either side of her had teenagers.
“Hello?” she called. “Who’s there?”
The sound of branches breaking and snow crunching stopped. “I want to see the dog,” a voice called.
“He’s here. Would you like to pet him?”
“Yes!”
A flash of yellow-and-blue burst through the bushes that bordered her property. The little girl wore a long-sleeved, blue-and-yellow-striped shirt and a pink polka-dotted skirt. Her skirt and legs were muddy, and as she got closer, Delaney saw red scratches crisscrossing her shins.
A tangled mop of red hair curled wildly around her face. She had no gloves, and her shoes looked like ballet slippers.
She must be freezing.
“Hey.” Delaney crouched on the ground to equal the child’s height.
“Where’s the dog?” The girl’s mouth trembled as she looked over Delaney’s shoulder.
Delaney waited for her to come closer. “He’s in the garage. What’s your name?”
The child shied away like a spooked horse, and Delaney’s heart contracted. “The dog is eating his lunch,” she added quickly. “Would you like to see him?”
The girl slowly nodded.
“We have to go around the corner.” Delaney stood up and held out her hand. “I’ll show you, okay?”
The child came closer, but wouldn’t take her outstretched hand. Instead, she watched Delaney carefully as they headed around the garage.
Fluffy appeared suddenly and barked at the girl. She lunged toward him, and Fluffy allowed himself to be caught. He sat patiently while the child wrapped her arms around his belly and hugged him.
Delaney positioned herself between the dog’s head and the girl, in case he tried to snap. His former owners, the Ryersons, had children, and Fluffy had always been a friendly, sweet animal, but the little girl was squeezing him hard. “His name is Fluffy,” Delaney said, petting his head. “What’s your name?” she asked for the second time.
“Rennie.”
Her voice was muffled by the dog’s fur, and Delaney thought she’d misheard. “Rennie? Is that your name?”
The child stared up at Delaney with Diesel’s eyes.
Oh, my God. That was Diesel’s flaming red hair, too. “Are you Rennie Adams?” she whispered.
The girl nodded. “I found him.”
Diesel’s daughter, running through the woods behind Delaney’s house. Sam had said he was renting a place. It must be the Ryersons’. It was the only vacant one in the area.
She cleared her throat. “It’s good you found Fluffy….” She paused. “He was lost for a while.”
Rennie’s arms wrapped tighter around the dog’s belly. “How did he get lost? Did his mother go away?”
Oh, God. This poor baby. “Yes,” Delaney said, trying to keep her voice steady. “His family went away. He’s been looking for them ever since.” She reached out a shaking hand, hesitated, then brushed the child’s hair away from her face. “You look as if you’re lost, too.”
The girl glanced around, as if realizing she was with a stranger. “I have to find Uncle Sam.”
“Was he with you?”
She shook her head. “He’s working, and Leo’s watching TV.”
“So you ran after Fluffy by yourself?”
“I had to save him.”
Blinking furiously, Delaney said, “My name is Delaney.” She stood up and pretended to shiver. “I’m a little cold. How about you, Rennie?”
“Fluffy’s cold, too.”
“He probably is. How about we go into my house? I’ll make us some hot chocolate and Fluffy can get warm.”
“All right.” Rennie stood, staggering as she tried to lift the dog.
“Why don’t you let me carry him?” Delaney said. “You can open the door for us.”
Delaney hoisted the dog into her arms, trying to avoid his injured leg. Rennie held the dog’s front paw in her hand and didn’t let go as they walked toward the back of the house.
“Can you open that door?” Delaney asked, struggling to hold the squirming animal.
“Fluffy is scared,” Rennie said.
“That’s probably because he’s never been inside my house before. He might want to run away again. Maybe you can tell him he’s safe.”
She lowered the dog to Rennie’s level, and the girl whispered something against the flap of his ear. Fluffy stopped squirming and his pink tongue swiped Rennie’s cheek.
“Is he good now?” Delaney asked.
“He says he wants some hot chocolate.”
“Then let’s go make him some.”
Rennie opened the door, watching over her shoulder as if afraid the dog would vanish. Once inside, Delaney set Fluffy down. She kept one hand on his back, worried that he might freak out at being indoors. But he flopped onto the floor next to Rennie and allowed the girl to pull him into her lap.
“Wow.” Delaney stared at the pair, stunned. This was the dog who’d outsmarted every animal control officer in the county. “Rennie, are you cold? Would you like one of my sweatshirts?”
“Fluffy needs a sweatshirt, too.”
“Then I’ll get him one. Do you think he’d like that?”
The girl’s hair had fallen forward to cover her face, and she didn’t look up. But she nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” Delaney raced into her bedroom and tossed sweatshirts out of the dresser drawer until she found the two smallest. One said Hot Stuff. A gift from Emma, her friend in rehab. The sweatshirt was too small now, but Delaney refused to get rid of it.
The other one was sleeveless—she’d chopped the sleeves off and wore it for work. Half afraid the dog and the girl would be gone, she hurried back to the kitchen.
They were still on the floor, Fluffy lying in Rennie’s lap. Asleep.
“Here you go.” She crouched down and slid the Hot Stuff shirt over Rennie’s head. The sleeves hung past her wrists, and the hem would probably be at her knees when she stood up. But it would keep her warm.
“We’ll j
ust lay this one over Fluffy. He looks like he’s tired.”
“Okay.”
Delaney poured some milk into a pan, squirted in chocolate syrup and began heating it on the stove. “We need to call your uncle Sam and tell him where you are. He’ll be worried about you.”
“I don’t like Uncle Sam.”
Delaney’s hand faltered, then she began stirring again. “How come, honey?”
“He’s mean.”
Her heart constricted. “How is he mean?”
“He made us come here and it’s cold. And he makes us eat stuff we don’t like. Broccoli and carrots. He says it’s good for us.”
“Yeah?” Delaney’s grip on the wooden spoon loosened a little. “What else does he do?”
“He doesn’t read to us at night. One of Mommy’s friends always reads to us. Uncle Sam just tells us to go to bed.” Rennie’s lip quivered. “He doesn’t play with us.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “And he has mean eyes.”
Delaney wanted to scoop the child into her arms and hold her tight. “Mean eyes?”
“He looks like our next-door neighbor when we play on his grass.”
“He definitely should read to you at night,” Delaney said. “And we’ll talk to him about those mean eyes.” She tested the milk to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then poured some into a mug. “Here you go.” She handed it to Rennie, steadying it until she let go of the dog and held on with both hands. Her fingernails were chewed off and ragged.
“Where’s Fluffy’s drink?”
“We’ll give him a treat when he wakes up. Hot chocolate isn’t good for dogs.”
“Okay.” Rennie drank from the mug, then looked up at Delaney with a brown milk mustache. “Uncle Sam doesn’t make hot chocolate.”
“We’ll have to straighten him out about that.” Delaney sat down on the floor next to Rennie, hesitated for a moment, then slowly pulled the girl against her side. The child tensed, then her small body relaxed against Delaney. She smelled like chocolate and baby shampoo.
“Do you know your uncle Sam’s phone number?” Delaney asked softly.
Rennie shook her head. “Leo does.”
They sat quietly as Rennie finished her drink. After a while, Delaney felt the girl slump against her. When she eased away, she saw that Rennie had fallen asleep.
She lowered her to the floor, slipped a pillow under her head and tucked an afghan around her. Then she reached for her phone and headed into the living room.
Myrtle answered on the second ring. “Bide-a-Wee Motel.”
“Myrtle, it’s Delaney. Do you still have Sam McCabe’s phone number?”
“I should. Let me find it.” Pages turned. “Yeah, here it is.” She read off the number, and Delaney wrote it down.
“He’s a fine looking man,” the motel owner said.
“Maybe. But that’s not why I need his number. I found…something that belongs to him.”
“Good luck,” Myrtle said. “He checked out last weekend.”
He hadn’t gone far. “Thanks for the number, Myrtle.”
“You playing at the Harp this Friday? I’ll see you then.”
“Sounds good.”
Delaney glanced in the kitchen and saw that Rennie was still asleep. Then she dialed Sam’s number.
He answered after two rings. “What?” He sounded out of breath.
“Sam? This is Delaney. Rennie is asleep on my kitchen floor. Where the hell are you?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAM STAGGERED TO A STOP and leaned against a tree, gasping for air. “We’re in the woods, about a hundred yards behind a pole barn and a garage. Hold on.”
He put his hand over the phone. “Leo,” he yelled. “I’ve found her.”Sam bent over to ease the pain in his side. “Is she all right?”
“She’s cold and she’s muddy, but seems fine otherwise.” Delaney’s voice was as icy as the snow beneath his feet. “That’s my pole barn you’re looking at. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” The line went dead.
Leo crashed through the bushes on his left, his long blond hair whipping around his face as he looked for his sister. “Where is she? You said you found her.”
“A…neighbor has her. She’s fine. Let’s go get her.”
Sam reached for Leo’s hand, but the boy ignored him and ran ahead, his jacket flapping open. Sam curled his fingers into his palm and followed.
By the time he reached the house, Leo was pounding on the front door. Delaney opened it.
She wore baggy overalls with a tank top beneath. The overalls were dusty, and her hair was tousled, as if she’d been wearing a hat. She stared at the boy hopping from one foot to another on the porch.
“You must be Leo,” she said, her face pale.
How did Delaney feel, looking at Diesel’s kids? Knowing she’d contributed to their father’s death?
“Where’s my sister?” the boy demanded.
Delaney stepped aside, then put a hand out as he charged in. “She’s in the kitchen, but she’s sleeping, so let’s be quiet. She had hot chocolate. Would you like some?”
The boy studied her suspiciously. “Maybe. Are you sure she’s okay?”
“I’ll show you.”
They disappeared into the house, and Sam stepped through the door, feeling like an outsider. He stared around Delaney’s living room as he slipped out of his muddy boots.
The bookcases and tables were stunning, but the upholstered furniture was worn and a little shabby. The couch was blue denim, faded along the back cushions, with a coffee table in front. There was a red plaid chair flanked by end tables, and a small television on a wooden stand. Bookshelves lined one wall, and watercolors of trees and lakes were spaced haphazardly on another, along with a few framed photographs of furniture.
There were no pictures of people, no mementos. Nothing remotely personal, except for the books. The wooden pieces of furniture were beautiful, but everything else was unmemorable. It didn’t look like a home. It was a place to stay. Nothing more.
He heard Leo’s voice in the next room, then Delaney’s, and he hurried toward them. He should have sent Leo home as soon as he knew Rennie was safe. He’d never intended for either of the kids to meet Delaney.
Who was he kidding about sending Leo home? The kid wouldn’t have listened to him. His nephew tolerated him, at best.
Delaney appeared in the doorway. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Her voice was a harsh whisper as she glanced over her shoulder.
Time to be polite and grateful and get the kids out of her house. “Delaney,” he began, but she put her hand on his chest and shoved him backward. Then again.
“Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.” She herded him toward the corner of the living room farthest from the kitchen. “She’s five years old, Sam. She was running through the woods without a jacket, a hat or gloves. Without shoes, for God’s sake. What were you thinking?” Delaney’s hand curled into a fist. “And didn’t anyone ever tell her about stranger danger? She walked right into the house with me.”
“I didn’t know she’d run away.” He stopped, realizing what he’d just admitted. “I mean, she sneaked out of the house. I went after her as soon as I realized she was gone.”
“It took you a hell of a long time.” Delaney glared at him, hands on her hips. “Why weren’t you watching her?”
“I was working. I thought she was in front of the television.”
“You were working. Writing that article for Rolling Stone?”
“No, damn it. I have a book due in a month. I was…” He shoved his hand through his hair. She made him feel like a complete failure. Someone who shouldn’t be trusted with kids. Which was exactly what he’d been trying to tell her. “Fine. You’re right. I screwed up. Now can I have my niece back?”
“She says you’re mean to her.”
“What?” He reached for the bookcase to steady himself. “Mean? How am I mean?”
“You don’t read to her or play with her. You have mean eyes,
like her neighbor when she plays on his grass.”
“Mean eyes?” Did the kids know he didn’t want them? His stomach churned with shame.
“It’s none of my business how you raise those kids,” she began.
“Damn right, it isn’t,” he muttered.
Delaney paid no attention to him. “Do you have any idea what to do with them? What they need?”
“Of course I do. They need a safe place to live, some structure in their lives. Healthy food.”
“That’s it?” She stared at him, and he wished she’d rip into him again. Her silent perusal brought every one of his inadequacies roaring to life. Every one of his failures. “When did you become an expert on raising kids?” he asked.
“My parents were just like you, Sam. They thought that if they threw enough money at me, they were doing their job. I had a beautiful place to live, plenty of food and all the toys I could ever want. Beyond that, they couldn’t be bothered. So I know exactly how not to raise a kid.”
“I’m doing the best I can. I’ve never spent any time with them, but there’s no one else to take care of them while Heather is in rehab.” Fear and frustration boiled over, and he shoved past her to stare blindly out the window. “I don’t know the first thing about kids. I don’t want to.”
More silence. Then Delaney asked, “Are they seeing a therapist?”
“They were. Child protective services mandated it.”
“Are you going to be in Otter Tail for a while?”
“Until I get what I came for.”
“Then you’re going to be here a long time. You’d better get a therapist up here.”
“My God, stop jabbing at me. This isn’t my proudest moment.”
He wanted to snatch back the words. They’d just slipped out, along with the anxiety roiling inside him. He turned toward the kitchen, intending to take the kids and go.
She put her hand on his arm. “Wait.”
He froze, and her hand dropped away. The instant flare of heat made him close his eyes. This was about the kids. That’s all.
“I know a social worker who would be good for them.” Her voice was softer. There was even a hint of sympathy. “She has experience with substance abuse issues and how they affect families. Emma Sloane. She’s in Green Bay, a half hour away.”
Life Rewritten Page 6
