by EMILIE ROSE
She needs help with a project.
What kind of project?
His mother had been a schoolteacher until she’d quit at the end of the last school year to help his father around the orchard, and she understood kids better than anyone he knew. He would like her advice. He debated filling her in. But that was a face-to-face conversation. Not a texted one.
Home maintenance.
Truth, just not the whole truth.
You could bring her and the children to the cookout. They are welcome and we would love to see them.
Given Rick had practically grown up at their house, the sentiment was no surprise.
I’ll relay message. When’s dinner?
Saturday night. Come early. Your father will need assistance, but don’t let on that you’re helping.
Will do.
He put down the phone. It immediately vibrated again, but this time “Hannah Leith” flashed on the screen, sending a jolt through him.
Need u 2 come over. NOW.
A freefalling sensation hit him, not unlike what he’d experienced the one time he’d stupidly let Rick convince him to try skydiving. He grabbed the phone and hit her number. This wasn’t texting material, either.
“Hello?” The whispered response was almost inaudible.
Adrenaline pulsed through him. People whispered on the phone when they were in danger. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“It’s me. Mason. Mom doesn’t know I swiped her phone. There’s water all over the kitchen floor. Something busted. She wants to call a plumber, but she told her friend Lucy we can’t afford it this month. She’s kinda upset. I think she might cry.”
Relief doused panic. Water and tears he could handle. “The cutoff valve is in the pantry. Bottom left corner. Turn off the water. I’m on my way.”
He grabbed the file he’d been working on and shoved it into his briefcase. Thankful the rest of the team had already left to begin whatever their Friday night entailed, he signed out and headed for Hannah’s. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the driveway. Mason was waiting for him on the porch.
Brandon grabbed the toolbox he kept in his truck. “Did you turn off the water?”
“Yeah. I umm...didn’t tell Mom I called you. She might be mad.”
“If she is, I’ll handle it. You did the right thing. Let’s see what we have.” The kitchen floor resembled a soggy quilt of multicolored, saturated towels. Hannah stood over the sink wringing out one. Her drooping shoulders screamed defeat. Her lavender scrub suit was wet at the bottom and down the front. The thin fabric clung to her—
“Occifer Brandon,” Belle cried out when she spotted him. Brandon welcomed the distraction.
Hannah stiffened and turned. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you needed help.”
Hannah shot Mason a scolding look then nodded. “Clearly, I do.”
Oblivious to the tension in the air, the little ballerina sprang from her stool and splashed across the wet floor to wrap her arms around Brandon’s hips. He set his tools on the counter and hugged her back. She was, of course, dressed in the same hue as her mother. He liked that. But he couldn’t see his sisters ever doing it.
He crossed to the sink, squelching on wet towels with each step, and stopped beside Hannah. Her breath caught, her head tipped back and her lips parted. Standing only inches from her, her scent infiltrated his nostrils, addled his brain. He mentally shook himself. “I need to check under the sink.”
“Oh. Right.” She jumped out of the way, landing with a splash on a wet towel.
He opened the cabinet. “Dry here. That leaves the dishwasher and the refrigerator as water sources.”
He straightened and addressed Mason. “My dad taught me to check the easy fixes first. Since fixing the dishwasher means pulling it out from under the counter, I’m going to start with the fridge.”
“I’ll help.”
“First, try this.” Brandon cupped his hand beneath the water-in-the-door spout and pushed. It clicked but didn’t dispense anything. “This looks like the guilty party. Now I need your help, Mason.”
He didn’t really, but including the boy was a calculated move. Mason sprang forward, and together they rolled the fridge away from the wall. Brandon spotted the problem immediately, but instead of reacting, he asked, “What do you see?”
It took Mason a quarter minute. “The icemaker thingy is on the floor.”
“Bingo. Hoses don’t usually detach by themselves, but this one did.”
Hannah groaned quietly. “It might not have been by itself. I dropped Mason’s field trip permission form between the counter and fridge this morning. I pushed the fridge aside to retrieve the paper.”
“You might have jiggled the waterline loose. Grab my tools, Mason. I’ll show you how to fix it.”
Five minutes later the job was done. “Kids, carry the towels to the washing machine for your mom. Then Mason, you can turn the water back on.”
They hustled into action. Hannah stood with her hands wrapped around her middle. The gratitude in her eyes hit Brandon square in the solar plexus. She made him feel like a rock star when he was only a guy with a wrench. “Thank you for finding the leak. But more than that, thanks for making it a teachable moment and letting Mason fix it.”
“No problem. It’s what my dad would have done. He put tools in our hands as soon as we were able to carry them and taught us how to repair rather than replace. Besides, if the hose came loose once, it might again. He’ll know what to do next time.”
“We both will.” She shifted on her feet. “I’m sorry he called you. I hope he didn’t interrupt a date or something.”
Brandon stifled a wince over his lack of a social life and ducked into the closet to turn on the water without waiting for Mason. “I’m glad he did. It was past time for me to leave the office, and it’s important that Mason knows he can ask for help. I want to help, Hannah. But like Mason, you have to be willing to ask. Mind reading isn’t one of my skills.”
She ducked her head and plucked at her damp shirt. “I’m not very good at asking. My father raised me to be independent.”
“With him deployed as often as he was, I’m sure you had to be. Good thing you’re not too old to learn new tricks. Although you are pushing thirty-one. That’s cutting it close,” he teased.
Her gaze snapped back to his, surprised at first, then filling with amusement. A self-deprecating smile twisted her lips. “Thanks for making me feel ancient. My birthday isn’t for a few more weeks, and I’m still younger than you.”
He laughed. That was the old Hannah—quick with the comeback.
“Can Occifer Brandon stay for dinner?” Belle asked.
Hannah’s expression filled with dismay. “We’re only having hot dogs, sweetie, and I’m sure Officer Brandon has other plans.”
A smart man would go home. He, apparently, wasn’t that man. “I love hot dogs, and somebody needs to man the grill.”
He waited to see how Hannah would get out of that one. “The grill probably won’t work. I haven’t used it since Rick... Cooking outside was his domain.”
“Do you have propane?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mason’s old enough to take over. We’ll check it out.”
“Okay, then,” she replied with a noticeable lack of excitement. “Brandon, I need to pay you for what you’ve done and for the boards and whatever else you bought to repair the gutter.”
After hearing she couldn’t afford a plumber, the last thing he would do was take her money. “I had extra supplies laying around from fixing my rental houses.”
She shook her head. “They still cost you something, and your time is definitely worth—”
“Hannah, I don’t want your money.”
“I insist—”
Once again, opportu
nity knocked loud and clear. “There’s a way you can repay me. My parents are having a cookout tomorrow. I want you and the kids to come.”
He knew her answer before she opened her mouth. Refusal was stamped all over her from her puckered brows to her folded arms and even the curling toes of her bare feet. “No. I... I wouldn’t be comfortable.”
He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I told you my dad has Parkinson’s. He needs help. But he refuses to admit it. He’s losing ground, but he hates the physical therapist his doctor recommended. That means he doesn’t go. I want your professional opinion on his status. If you could evaluate him without him knowing what you’re doing and give me suggestions for managing the changes overtaking his body, it would be a great help.”
Compassion filled her eyes. She bit her lip. “Denial of the diagnosis is common. I guess we could drop by for a bit.”
* * *
EVEN THOUGH SHE’D been a guest at Rebecca and Thomas Martin’s home more than a dozen times, Hannah didn’t want to be here. She didn’t know how to act without Rick. But she followed Brandon’s instructions and circled the backyard, trying to keep up with her eager children.
A white board fence enclosed the large grass area. Beyond that border row upon row of peach trees, laden with fruit, stretched as far as she could see. Off to one side outbuildings, including a barn and a chicken coop, blocked her view.
“Ponies!” Belle squealed and tugged on Hannah’s hand. But Hannah held tight.
“Four-wheelers,” Mason called out with equal enthusiasm.
“We’ll pet the horses later. Mason, you are not getting on the four-wheelers.”
A chorus of “Awwws” greeted her.
Most of the faces in the Martins’ backyard were familiar, but Rick had been the honorary family member. That left Hannah feeling like an outsider without him here. She spotted Brandon in the back corner of the yard, tossing a tennis ball for a golden retriever. The dog sprinted after it. A boy and a girl about four chased the dog. The boy tumbled down and rolled around in the grass. The little girl did the same. Doggie kisses and peals of laughter ensued.
“Can I go play with them, Mommy?” Belle asked, tugging again.
The dog returned the ball to Brandon and dropped it at his feet, dancing in anticipation of another throw. Then the pooch stilled and lifted his nose. His head swiveled in their direction. Brandon turned, spotted them and waved. Hannah’s already rapid pulse pounded faster. Then suddenly they were the focus of his entire family. The last time she’d seen the Martin clan had been at Rick’s funeral. They’d silently stood by during her outburst.
Brandon headed toward her. Simultaneously, his mother broke away from the group on the patio and did the same. The children and dog galloped after their uncle. All were smiling, even the dog who went straight for Mason. Panting happily, the animal sat at her son’s feet and lifted a paw.
“Boomer wants to shake,” Brandon explained.
“Neat.” Mason shook hands with the dog and patted him on the head. Then Boomer lay down and rolled over. Mason laughed. “How many tricks does he know?”
“A lot. He’s asking for a belly rub. But let me warn you, Mason, if you show him any attention he’ll follow you around for the rest of the day. He’s a sucker for it,” he said with an affectionate smile. Clearly he didn’t mind the dog’s demands.
Her son dropped to his knees and rubbed the dog. “Is he yours?”
“No. He’s my dad’s. It wouldn’t be fair for me to have a dog with the crazy hours I work. Out here he has all this.” His gesture encompassed the acreage. “My yard’s a lot smaller.”
“I want a dog. But Mom won’t let us have one.” Mason’s resentment came through loud and clear.
All eyes swung to Hannah, making her feel like the world’s meanest mom. Then Brandon crouched beside Mason. “Did you know that one dog visit to the vet cost about the same amount as a month’s groceries?”
Mason’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Around two hundred and fifty bucks. And that’s if he’s healthy and all he needs is a checkup. If he’s sick it’s worse. Then there’s the food, the flea and heartworm medicines and a bunch of other stuff. Dogs aren’t cheap. There’s a lot more to being a responsible dog owner than just playing with him. So until you’re old enough to get a job and help pay for a pet, you need to respect your mom’s decision.”
Mason’s shoulders and mouth drooped. “Yeah, I guess.”
Hannah marveled at the way Brandon had handled Mason’s whining, and how well her son had accepted his explanation. She had explained that they couldn’t afford a dog until she was blue in the face and all Mason did was argue with her.
Brandon’s mother swept forward and enveloped Hannah in a hug. “Hannah, we are so glad you and the children are here. We’ve missed you and your little darlings.”
She turned to Belle and offered her hand. “Hello, Belle, I’m Ms. Rebecca. The last time you were here you hadn’t yet learned to walk.”
“I can walk now. And I can do this.” Belle displayed her best pirouette.
“That is lovely.” Rebecca shook Belle’s hand as if they were at a formal party, then crossed to Mason, greeting him with the same handshake. “Mason, I know you probably don’t remember me, but I remember you. You were always so smart and so polite and a joy to have around. Now, children, I think I made too much chocolate ice cream. After supper I’ll need some volunteers to help me eat it. Are either of you willing to do your part if I add sprinkles?”
“Yes!” the pair shouted in unison.
“Wonderful. Let me introduce you to Eva and Evan. They’re only four so they’re not quite in your league yet, but if you’d play soccer with them until the food is ready it would make me very happy, and it would give me time to duck inside and find those sprinkles.”
She led the children away, leaving Hannah alone with Brandon. “Your mother’s very good with kids.”
“She misses teaching. But she’s needed here.”
“FYI, Mason’s already asking about the ATVs. The answer’s no.”
Brandon grinned so boyishly her stomach fluttered. “It’s a guy thing. I’ll respect your wishes, but if you change your mind, know that I’d be careful and make him wear protective equipment.”
“Excuse me? A guy thing?” one of his sisters called out as she approached. “Do I need to show you how much better I can handle the ATV than you?”
“In your dreams,” Brandon grumbled good-naturedly.
The blonde faced Hannah. “In case you don’t remember me, I’m Leah—the one in charge of keeping this guy’s ego in check. And those are my rug rats your kids are playing with.” Turning to the woman beside her, Leah said, “This is Jessamine. She and her husband are newlyweds and the reason for our get-together.”
“Not that we’ve ever needed an excuse to eat,” Jessamine replied. “Welcome back, Hannah.”
None of them acted as if they remembered the funeral or the accusations she’d shouted at their brother. Hannah said her hellos, then Brandon touched her arm to draw her attention. “Let me reacquaint you with the rest of the crew and introduce you to Jessamine’s husband. How he puts up with my mouthy sister, I’ll never know.”
The sister in question punched his arm. “Because he’s smart and can carry his end of the conversation unlike a certain knuckle-dragging Neanderthal cop,” she sassed back.
As an only child, Hannah had no experience with their gentle teasing and even envied it a little.
The women pivoted and walked toward the patio. When the doubts returned and Hannah hesitated, Brandon added, “I’ll get you a glass of sweet tea, then you can kick back on the patio and observe my dad.”
The reminder of why she was here prompted her forward. She had a job to do, and she was very confident in her professional abilities. Not only could she could handle this, she al
so wanted to help Brandon’s father because Mr. Martin had been so good to Rick. And Rick would want her to repay him for his kindness.
“By the way, I rode through the streets surrounding your house this morning and I checked the incident reports,” Brandon said. “Crime is minimal.”
“That sounds good, but from your tone, I gather it’s not?”
“I was hoping to see signs of a kid or two that might give us a clue where Mason was headed when he snuck out, or at the very least, to have a troublemaker to finger as a likely conspirator. Finding neither means we’re back to nothing.”
When they reached the others he dropped the subject and made the introductions. And she actually had some nice conversations. Leah offered her a glass of tea and a plate of jalapeño hush puppies then went off to chase children after asking permission to give Belle a pony ride once they’d all had dinner. And Mr. Martin asked about Hannah’s work and progress on the house. No one mentioned Rick.
Brandon steered her toward a chair with views of the lawn and the orchard but also of his father. He pulled his chair closer, so close she wanted to protest that he was in her personal space. “See what I mean about Dad? He stutter steps. What do you think?”
Happy for the distraction, she pried her attention from the man beside her to the one at the grill. “Definitely stage two. He’s affected bilaterally and is having trouble initiating movement. I’m assuming he’s taking his medications?”
“Yes. But like I said, he’s refusing physical therapy.”
She recalled an article she’d read recently. “Do you still have speakers out here?”
Brandon’s eyebrows dipped. “Yes. Why?”
“There are some studies that support the idea of music helping with movement. I haven’t used that modality, but you could try it on your father, and see if it helps. I doubt he’ll suspect what you’re doing if you turn on the radio.”
He nodded. “Mom and Dad used to love to dance.”
Brandon rose and went into the house. Moments later country music filled the air. His father tilted his head to listen, then resumed turning the chicken, but Hannah noticed his foot tapping. When he crossed to the table to retrieve his sauce bottle his movements were more fluid. Music therapy worked.
