by Judy Duarte
“What did he say?”
“Among other things, he told me that I couldn’t change the past. But I could change the way I perceived it. And that I could choose a better future for myself. One that would put me on the right side of the law and lead me to the family I deserved.”
“And you took his advice to heart?” she asked.
“Yeah. I guess I did.” Mac looked off into the horizon, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t share any more about the epiphany the homeless man had provided him. But he turned, caught her gaze, and reconnected. “Jesse gave me an interesting lecture about doing the right thing, even though it took a lot more effort than doing the wrong thing. ‘Sometimes it’s easier to concoct a lie than to brave the truth,’ he said. ‘And a weak person will find it easier to take what someone else has earned rather than risk working hard and achieving something on his own.’”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said.
“Neither had I. He went on to say that doing the right thing, even when it seems like the hardest thing in the world to do, is a reward in and of itself. And that the biggest reward was reaping the kind of life I deserved.” Mac uncrossed his ankles and stretched his legs out in front of him. “So, on a whim, I decided to give it a try. Instead of going out with my friends that night, I just went home. I learned later that it was a good thing I did. My friends had been arrested for vandalism, breaking and entering, and burglary.”
“You lucked out.”
“Yep. But it felt like the kind of reward he’d been telling me about.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him again, but I always figured he had some kind of psychic ability. Then again, maybe I’d just decided to make sure his prophecy came true. Either way, I hit the books and ended up with a college degree in criminal justice. And six months after that, I became a police officer. The guys in my department are my family now.”
“Mommy!” Megan’s voice shattered the conversation Jillian had been having with Mac. She turned to the child, who was stooped over a filthy, shaggy mutt. When she looked up, she grinned from ear to ear. “Look, Mommy! It’s a dog.”
“Don’t touch him, Meggie. You don’t know where he’s been.”
“That’s because he’s lost and doesn’t have an owner,” the girl said.
“You don’t know that.” Jillian glanced up at the sky, which had grown darker while they’d been at the park. The air had become colder, too.
Megan ran her hands along the dog’s ribcage. “I can feel his bones. He’s starving. We have to give him something to eat.”
Tommy joined his sister. “Hey, boy. What’s your name, huh?”
Jillian again looked overhead, noting a storm moving in from the northwest. Then she turned to Mac. “We really ought to be going home. I think it’s going to rain.”
Mac stood and made his way toward her.
“But we can’t leave the dog here,” Tommy said, looking up and pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “He’ll get sick.”
He was probably already sick. And flea-bitten. The closer Jillian got to the animal, the more neglected it appeared. Its fur was matted and filthy. Brown, soulful eyes peered at her through shaggy bangs, as if pleading for sympathy and help.
“Can we keep him?” Tommy asked. “Please?”
Jillian certainly didn’t need to take in a stray dog, and she opened her mouth to tell the boy no. But the word wouldn’t form.
Maybe the kids needed a new focus. Maybe they needed that poor little stray more than it needed a home. And maybe a new pet would make up for the Christmas presents she wanted to buy them and couldn’t afford.
She approached Mac. “Do you mind if that dog rides in your car? If so, I can come back for it in mine.”
Mac studied the mangy critter, then crossed his arms. “Sure. Why not? I owe a lot to a homeless man. Maybe finding this mutt a new home is a way to pay it forward.”
Chapter Five
The rain began as a light sprinkle, dotting the pavement and plumping the dust in the air with moisture.
As Mac, Jillian, and the kids entered the crosswalk on their way back to where the Ford Expedition was parked, the kids used words of encouragement, kissing sounds, and pats on their thighs to coax the stray dog to follow. Apparently, the shaggy little mutt realized it was in his best interest to keep up with the children, because even though it favored its left hind foot, it managed to hobble across the street at a pretty good lick.
“What are we going to name him?” Megan asked her brother.
Mac’s first thought was “Lucky,” but he didn’t offer any suggestions. He’d already gotten more involved with the little family than he ought to.
“He looks like a Wookiee,” Tommy said. “So how about Chewbacca? We can call him Chewie.”
“I don’t want to call him that. Besides, he’s not going to look like a Wookiee forever. After he gets a bath, I’m going to use one of my barrettes to keep the hair out of his eyes. I don’t think he can see very good.”
“He’s not going to wear girl stuff. We’ll just give him a haircut.” Tommy opened the passenger door, then bent to pick up the dog.
“I’ll do it,” Mac said, reaching for the animal and getting more involved by the minute. “You get in first and buckle your seat belt. Then I’ll pick him up and give him to you.”
If Mac had any qualms about getting sucked in deeper, they disappeared the moment Jillian placed her hand on his forearm, her fingertips pressing gently into his flesh and throwing his pulse out of whack.
Her pretty green gaze reached deep inside of him. “Mac, I really appreciate you being a good sport about this.”
Yeah, it definitely wasn’t his usual MO, but he decided not to think about why that might be. He picked up the filthy mutt and grimaced. “Oh, man. This dog smells like it’s been Dumpster diving.”
The boy opened his arms, ready to take the four-legged Wookiee on his lap.
“Be careful, Mac. He has a sore foot.” Jillian stood at Mac’s side, watching the transfer of the dog to the boy. “I hope it’s nothing serious. If it is, we’ll have to take him to the pound. I can’t afford a vet bill right now.”
“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” Tommy said. “He’ll be fine. Besides, we don’t mind if he’s crippled. Everyone needs love and a family.”
Maybe so, but they didn’t always have one.
Mac certainly hadn’t.
He’d always wanted a dog, too, but his old man had never let him have one. There’d been a Labrador mix that had hung out at the apartment complex for a while, and Mac used to feed him and talk to him every chance he got. He’d even pretended the dog was his—until it was hit by a car. When Mac had spotted that big black dog lying on the side of the road, he’d cried for a week.
Weird how that dumb mutt had become so important in a matter of days.
After closing Tommy’s door, Mac told Jillian, “I’ll pay for any treatment the dog might need.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. And you don’t have to.” He shrugged, then reached for the handle of the passenger door. “Having a dog will probably help the kids through the holiday.”
“You read my mind.” She offered him a wry grin. “And that’s the only reason I agreed to let that stray come home with us.”
Mac opened the door for her, and as she climbed into the vehicle, he glanced first at his grungy hands, then at a dirty smudge on the front of his rain-splattered shirt. The dog wasn’t the only one in need of a bath. Great. He closed Jillian’s door, circled the vehicle, and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“It reeks in here,” Jillian said. “We’d better roll down the windows.”
“Good idea.” Mac started the ignition, then turned on the windshield wipers, letting them make a few swipes to clear his vision.
Jillian glanced over her shoulder and into the backseat. “The first thing we’re g
oing to do when we get home is to give that dog a bath.”
“But Mommy,” Megan objected, “can’t we feed him before that? He’s awful hungry.”
“Okay. But just a snack. We’ve got to get him in the tub before we can turn him loose in the house.”
“He sure is cold and shaky,” Tommy said. “We’d better get him home in a hurry.”
“Yeah,” his sister chimed in. “We don’t want him to get sick.”
She was probably thinking about the dog catching a cold, but Mac sure hoped it didn’t get carsick. Then he’d have to call a mobile auto detailing company, which he might have to do anyway to get the doggy stench out of the upholstery.
“I’m going to owe you for this,” Jillian told him. “But the best I can offer is dinner. We’re having tacos tonight, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”
The peanut butter and jelly sandwich had worn off an hour ago, and Mac would have to fill up on something soon. He usually just drove through a burger place or called out for pizza, so there were plenty of options. But in spite of having several reasons why he ought to thank Jillian and decline, none of them seemed to matter. “Tacos sound good.”
Mac backed out of the parking space, then pulled into the street. Other than the slow swishing of the windshield wipers and a few groans and complaints about Chewie’s smell, they returned to Sugar Plum Lane in silence.
As Mac parked in front of Jillian’s house and climbed out of the vehicle, the rain was still a light drizzle. But he suspected it would start coming down harder before too long.
He began to circle the car while Jillian slid out of the passenger seat.
“I’ll carry the dog in the house,” he told her. “There’s no need for all of us to be stinky and dirty.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s give him a chance to go potty first. I have a feeling he isn’t housebroken.”
“You’re probably right.” Mac opened Tommy’s door and took the dog from him. Then he carried it to the grass in front of Jillian’s house.
He expected the little dog to sniff around and gain its bearings or maybe lift its leg to mark its territory, but instead, it trotted over to Charlie’s yard, its left hind leg bobbing behind it.
Uh-oh. Don’t pee over there, Mac thought. Before he could chase after the mutt, Charlie’s front door swung open, and the old man stepped out on the porch, that silly Santa hat still on his head, a cane in his hand, and a frown on his craggy face.
Great. Talk about radar. Charlie must have been sitting by the window when they drove up.
“Hey!” the elderly man hollered from his stoop. “Where did that mutt come from?”
Tommy stood tall and lifted his chin. “He’s our new dog. And his name is Chewie.”
“Well, get him off my property. I don’t want you or your pets here.”
“See what I mean?” Jillian whispered to Mac. “For a man who went all out with his Christmas decorations this year, he sure is an old Scrooge. He doesn’t make it easy for the kids and me to get along with him.”
Who knew what Charlie was thinking? Either way, Mac supposed he’d have to mediate. Maybe, if the aging widower knew what the kids had been through this past year, what they’d lost, he’d be a little more understanding.
As Megan and Tommy tried their best to shepherd the collarless dog back to their own yard, Mac called out, “Hey, Charlie. Did you get a chance to see that San Diego/Denver game on TV? I’m afraid I missed it.”
“Yep. Sure did.” Charlie leaned against his cane. “The Chargers lost in overtime. That new rookie, Grady Chathers, got a chance to show his stuff today. But they should have left him on injured reserve.”
“If you don’t mind a visitor,” Mac said, “I’ll come over to your house in a minute or two and have you give me a rundown on what happened.”
“Be glad to. They’re still showing some highlights on ESPN.”
The dog, which seemed intent upon staying in Charlie’s yard and adding to the drama in an otherwise quiet neighborhood, finally pulled away from the kids and dashed back to no kid’s land. It barked several times, then hobbled up the steps and jumped up on Charlie, apparently forgetting about the sore leg it had been favoring.
Charlie brushed the mutt aside. “Get off me.”
The dog didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the scolding, and jumped up on the old man again.
Charlie grimaced. “That fool critter stinks to high heaven.” He glanced down at his dirt-stained slacks and clucked his tongue. “Its feet are all muddy. Just look what it did to my good trousers!” He shot Tommy a frown and shook his head. “Now I gotta take them to the dry cleaners, and that isn’t cheap.”
Mac strode to Charlie’s stoop. “I’ve got a few things that have to go to the cleaners, Charlie. So I’ll take your pants for you. And it’ll be my treat.”
“I’ve got some spot remover I can try first,” the old man said.
“All right. Just let me know if that doesn’t work.” Mac picked up the dog and carried it back where it belonged. With a possible vet bill and the charge for cleaning Charlie’s pants, Mac suspected being Jillian’s neighbor might get expensive.
But hey. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Jillian met him halfway and, reaching out her arms, took her new pet from him. “Thanks, Mac.” A breezy smile didn’t last long, and she scrunched her nose at the mangy little mutt. “I’m going to take him inside and bathe him.”
“Good idea.”
She glanced down at the squirmy critter, who seemed determined to wiggle out of her arms and dash back to Charlie’s yard. “I sure hope I didn’t make a big mistake in bringing this dog home with us.”
Mac feared he’d made a few mistakes today, too. In San Diego, he usually kept to himself and didn’t get involved with the people who lived in his building. But for some reason, he was letting himself get in deeper and deeper with his Sugar Plum Lane neighbors.
“Dinner will be ready at six,” she told him.
He nodded, hoping dinner with Jillian and the kids wasn’t the biggest mistake of all.
Chapter Six
After his visit with Charlie, Mac took a shower, then finished working on the drain under the kitchen sink. As he’d planned to do earlier, he also replaced the garbage disposal and changed out the hot water valve.
Now, at a few minutes before six, he stood at Jillian’s door, wearing faded Levis, a black jacket, and a white button-down shirt. The wind had really kicked up during the past half hour, and the light rain that had continued to drizzle had dampened his hair and clothes. He probably should have looked for an umbrella so he didn’t get drenched on his return home, but it was too late now.
He knocked at the door, and moments later, Jillian answered wearing a crisply pressed lime-green blouse, a pair of black slacks, and a smile. She’d also curled her hair and applied some lipstick, which suggested that she might have wanted to look nice for him. But he wouldn’t take that assumption to heart. The dinner invitation had been a neighborly response, and so had his acceptance.
Still, he couldn’t downplay his interest in the way her outfit complemented each womanly curve, the way her glossy hair curled at the shoulder, the way her eyes lit up when their gazes met.
“Hi, Mac.” She stepped aside so he could enter. “Come on in.”
Megan and Tommy, who sat on an area rug in the living room playing with the dog, glanced up at him and smiled.
“Look at Princess Leia,” Tommy said.
The stray, while still thin and scraggly, had completely morphed into a poodle/terrier mix. Its fur, which had appeared dark when they’d found her, had lightened considerably with soap and water.
“Can you believe how cute she turned out to be?” the boy asked. “She’s practically a brand new dog.”
“So now that she no longer looks like a Wookiee,” Mac said, “I guess the name Chewie is out.”
Jillian laughed. “Actua
lly, we made a critical discovery at bath time. And as long as we stuck with a Star Wars character, Tommy agreed to a more appropriate name.”
Mac shook his head and chuckled. “She certainly doesn’t look like that same pitiful creature we found in the park.”
Jillian crossed her arms and blessed everyone in the room with a dimpled grin. “Isn’t it amazing what a haircut, three shampoos, and some conditioner will do?”
“Yeah.” Tommy laughed. “For a while, Mom smelled like a dog. Now our dog smells like our mom.”
“Very funny,” Jillian said.
“Princess Leia isn’t limping anymore,” Megan added. “At least, not very much. We found a thorn in her foot, and Mommy pulled it out with tweezers.”
“We put medicine on it,” Tommy explained. “But not the kind that stings.”
“That’s great.” Mac crossed his arms and studied the former stray that had gotten a new lease on life. He hoped having a pet helped the kids adjust to all the changes they’d gone through.
Jillian pointed to the beige, overstuffed sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat? Dinner will be ready as soon as I fry the tortillas.”
“Want some help?” he asked.
“I’ve got everything under control, but I’d love to have some company.”
“All right. You lead the way.”
Mac followed Jillian into the kitchen, where a pan simmering on the stove provided the warm aroma of beef, tomatoes, and spices. He scanned the bright, cheery room, noticing lemon-yellow walls and white café-style curtains that trimmed the window over the sink.
The appliances appeared to be fairly new.
A couple of rooster pictures adorned the walls, and a few ceramic hens dotted the white tile countertops.
“I see you like chickens,” he said, taking a seat at the polished oak table and watching as she reached for a black, cast-iron skillet from the cupboard nearest the stove.
“Well, I used to. I brought them from the old house, but I’ll be replacing them when I can.”
“Trying to reinvent yourself?” he asked.
She reached inside the pantry and pulled out a bottle of vegetable oil that was almost full. “Yes, I suppose you could say that, but I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before I’m able to do everything I’d like to do to this house.”
