Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “After you finish your oatmeal and juice.”

  “Aww, Mom.”

  “Eat.”

  He sighed—but began shoveling in the contents of his bowl and gulping down the juice at warp speed.

  “Hey! Slow down. I don’t want to have to practice the Heimlich maneuver this morning.”

  “What’s the Heim—”

  A car door banged.

  Matt vaulted out of his chair and raced toward the living room.

  Breakfast was over.

  “We’ll make it up with a midmorning snack and hearty lunch.” Her mom patted her arm and sipped her own coffee. “Never try to suppress the enthusiasm of youth. It’s a blessing.”

  “Ya think?”

  “From the perspective of grandmotherhood . . . yes.” She winked.

  “He’s coming! He’s coming!” Matt’s pitch rose to a squeal.

  “I better do a fast refresher on the ground rules.” Lexie set her cup on the table and joined her son at the front window. “You remember what we talked about last night, right? Clyde got hurt and doesn’t feel too good. He needs to rest and stay quiet today. Mr. Stone said he’s shy too, so you have to give him some space until he gets used to you.”

  “I ’member.” He started hopping from one foot to the other again, excitement pinging off him.

  Oh, brother.

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a bright idea after all.

  “And those folks in Washington claim we have an energy crisis.” Her mother strolled in and smiled at her grandson.

  “Not in this house.”

  Lexie leaned over her son’s head and peeked out the window. Stone was walking up the path to the front door, Clyde cradled in his arms. Only one of the dog’s ears was visible among the folds of the blanket wrapped around him.

  “I’ll get the door.” Her mother detoured that direction.

  By the time Stone arrived at the threshold, all three of them were waiting in the foyer.

  He hesitated, his gaze shifting from Lexie to her mother and son, recognition dawning in his eyes.

  “Nice to see you, Stone.” Her mother swept a hand toward the foyer, ushering him in.

  “We’ve met at church.”

  “Yes. Annette and Matt. We’re happy to welcome you to our home.”

  “I didn’t realize you all were . . . that you were related to Annette and Matt.” Stone directed the last part of the comment to Lexie as he entered.

  “I guess I should have mentioned it last night.” Frowning, she flicked a speck of lint off her knife-creased uniform slacks. Of course she should have mentioned it. Stone would have felt more comfortable knowing his dog would be spending the day with people he’d already met.

  But once she’d reached into his pocket to retrieve those keys and encountered solid muscle a layer of denim couldn’t disguise, the left side of her brain had short-circuited.

  And that moment when she’d touched his strong, lean fingers to reassure him Clyde would be safe with a rambunctious youngster?

  Whew.

  Her own fingers had tingled all the way home.

  All of which was nuts.

  This man was not her type. He was a felon, for pity’s sake. On top of that, the dark, brooding, shaggy-haired look wasn’t her style. Give her a clean-cut, spit-and-polish guy any day.

  Like Joe.

  So what was with the unnerving vibes she got whenever she saw—or thought about—the man standing in their foyer?

  “Mom!”

  A tug on her hand, and the frustration in her son’s voice, pulled her back to the present.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Stone asked you where he should put Clyde.”

  “Oh.” Everyone was watching her, and heat rose on her cheeks. “The kitchen might be best. Mom’s in there a lot and can keep tabs on him. Does that work for you?” She angled toward her mother.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Lexie ignored the subtle twinkle in the older woman’s eyes and led the group back to the kitchen, stopping en route to pull a small throw rug out of the coat closet in the foyer.

  Once in the kitchen, she set the rug in the corner of the bright room, out of the path of traffic but close to the action. Then she moved aside.

  Stone took her place, lowered himself to one knee, and gently set down his blanket-wrapped bundle.

  Clyde poked his head out and surveyed his audience.

  “Oh, wow!” Matt squatted down beside Stone, his voice hushed. “What a great dog.” He reached out to pet the pooch.

  Clyde whined and burrowed back under the blanket.

  Her son’s face fell.

  “Honey . . . remember what I told you.” Lexie dropped down next to him on the other side. “He’s very shy. You have to give him a chance to get used to you before you can make friends.”

  “This should help.” Stone pulled a dog biscuit from his pocket. “He likes these a lot. I have a few more in the car I’ll bring in. If you give him three or four over the next couple of hours, you’ll be friends forever. Want me to show you how to do it so he doesn’t get scared?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Hang on to this for a second.”

  Her son took the biscuit and clutched it tight.

  “Clyde . . . come on out, boy. You’re among friends. Let us see that handsome face again. I have a treat for you.”

  At the word treat, the dog peeked out and sniffed.

  “It’s right here, boy. Matt, hold it out a little bit farther.”

  Her son complied . . . and the dog retreated under the blanket.

  “I don’t think he likes me.” Matt’s lower lip quivered.

  “He’s going to like you fine after he gets to know you. He’s just scared. His last owner wasn’t very nice to him, and when he meets new people, he’s afraid they might be mean too.”

  Lexie gave the man a surreptitious scan over her son’s head. He might be talking about Clyde, but she had a feeling that summed up his own mind-set too.

  “He doesn’t have to be ’fraid. I won’t be mean to him.”

  “I know. Let’s try it again. This time, hold it here”—Stone positioned her son’s hand—“and let him come to you. He’ll probably sniff your fingers first. Stay real still while he does that. If he takes the treat, don’t try to pet him unless he comes close to you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Stone sat cross-legged on the floor. Matt followed the man’s example, imitating him move for move.

  Lexie rose and eased back. No need to hover. Stone had this under control.

  “Come on, boy. We’ve got a treat for you.”

  The blanket twitched—and once again Clyde nosed aside the folds.

  “Good boy. Come on out.”

  Clyde inspected the treat Matt was holding . . . looked at Stone . . . and stayed where he was.

  “I don’t think he’s gonna come out.” Matt’s whisper was laced with disappointment.

  “Give him another minute.”

  Ten seconds dragged by.

  Fifteen.

  Twenty.

  Uh-oh.

  Lexie knew her son’s patience threshold—and it was about to be breached.

  But much to her surprise, he remained motionless, emulating the man beside him.

  Half a minute in, their persistence paid off.

  Belly to the ground, Clyde crept toward the treat inch by inch, the off-center dressing on his head giving him an endearing, rakish appearance.

  He blinked at Matt.

  Stretched his neck to sniff her son’s hand.

  Snatched the treat from his fingers.

  Matt didn’t flex a muscle . . . and Clyde didn’t retreat. They just watched each other while the dog chomped down the biscuit.

  Either her son had a lot more self-restraint than she’d given him credit for, or the example of the stock-still man beside him had made a deep impression.

  Clyde finished chewing, scooched closer to Matt—and licked his fingers.
>
  A sharp, indrawn breath . . . followed by an ear-to-ear smile . . . were the only reactions from her son.

  “You did great, Matt.” Stone scratched behind Clyde’s ear. “See what I’m doing? He likes this. Lift your hand slow and take my place.”

  He did as Stone directed. With a blissful sigh, the dog rested his chin on Matt’s knee and closed his eyes.

  “Is he my friend now?”

  “Yep. All you have to do is watch him for cues. If he’s tired and wants to sleep, leave him alone. If he comes over to you and wants to be petted, pet him. Move slow so he doesn’t get scared. And feed him a few more of those treats.” Stone stood. “I’ll run out and get them, along with his other stuff.”

  “Do you need some help?” Lexie stepped forward.

  “I can manage. Thanks.”

  With one last glance at boy and dog, he strode out of the room.

  “Impressive.” Her mother watched him leave.

  Instead of responding, Lexie took a sip of her coffee. Grimaced. It had grown cold while the little drama played out in her kitchen.

  “Need a refill?” Her mother lifted the pot.

  “Yeah.” She crossed the room and held out her cup.

  “That man has a way with kids.”

  “Seems to.”

  “And dogs.”

  “Yeah.” Could her mother pour the coffee any slower?

  “Does he have younger brothers or sisters?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Mmm. Could just be natural ability.” Her mother dropped her voice as she finishing topping off the mug. “Did you notice how Matt took to him right off?”

  Yes, she had.

  But she had no intention of following where her mother was leading.

  “He wanted to make friends with the dog.” She backed away. “Stone was his ticket to do that.”

  “No. There’s more to that man than meets the eye. Anyone who rescues dogs, knows how to deal with children, volunteers to help shore up our crumbling lighthouse, and pitches in to repair planters destroyed by vandals is worth getting to know better.”

  Ignoring her mom’s less-than-subtle implication, she homed in on her last comment.

  “What’s the story on the planters?”

  “Stone’s name came up at our garden club meeting. Apparently he’s a very skilled carpenter. Rose called and asked him if he’d help us out, and he said yes. I think he’s planning to tackle the job this weekend or next. BJ’s going to donate the lumber from job-site scraps. He’s done a lot of under-the-radar good deeds like that since he’s been here, according to Reverend Baker.”

  The man was full of surprises.

  She turned as he reentered the room toting a small corrugated box, a water bowl balanced on top.

  “Why don’t you put that over there and give me a rundown on what I need to do today?” Her mother motioned toward a spot near the back door.

  While the two of them sorted through the contents, Lexie returned to her son’s side.

  As she dropped down on one knee, Clyde lifted his eyelids and watched her.

  “Hey, boy. Welcome to our house.” She started to reach for him, but Matt grabbed her hand.

  “Remember, you have to go real slow till he gets used to you. Like Mr. Stone said.”

  “Right.” She moderated her pace.

  Clyde sniffed her fingers, gave her a doggy grin, and licked her hand.

  “I think he likes us, don’t you, Mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe after he’s all better, I can play with him.”

  “That won’t be today.”

  “I know. But Mr. Stone could bring him back sometime, couldn’t he?”

  “We’ll see.” She wasn’t about to make any promises she might not be able to keep. Stone was a loner. He needed them today . . . but once he got past this crisis, he might retreat back into his protective shell.

  “I bet he’d come again if we asked him.”

  “Maybe. For now, let’s be happy Clyde’s here today.”

  The mutinous set of her son’s chin told her he wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

  Stone and her mother finished their discussion, and she rose as they crossed the room toward her.

  “I need to get going.” Stone hunkered down beside Matt again and gave the dog a pat. “Be polite, Clyde. I’ll be back tonight.”

  “Me and Mamaw will take real good care of him, Mr. Stone.”

  At Matt’s earnest expression, one corner of Stone’s mouth twitched. “I know you will. I gave your grandma my cell number, and you can call me if you have any questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you at dinnertime.”

  “Okay. Hey . . .” Matt’s face lit up. “Why don’t you eat with us? We always have a bunch of food.”

  Before Lexie could step in, her mother spoke. “I already asked, honey. He says he can’t stay tonight.”

  Lexie had no trouble interpreting the pointed look her mom directed at her—or the message behind it.

  If you ask too, we might convince him.

  But the notion of Stone joining them for a cozy supper in the home that had always been her safe haven kind of . . . scared her for some reason.

  When the silence lengthened, Stone rose. “Thanks again for doing this.”

  “It’s our pleasure.” Her mom scowled her direction. “And if you change your mind, the invitation is open. I’m making stew, and we always have a lot left over.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Lexie—walk him out, would you, while I fill up Clyde’s water bowl?” She pivoted on her heel and marched toward the sink.

  Sheesh.

  It seemed Clyde wasn’t the only one in the doghouse today—metaphorically speaking.

  She led the way to the foyer, Stone following close behind.

  At the door, she turned to find he had his wallet in hand. “I need to settle up for last night.”

  “For what?”

  “The pizza and soda.” He extracted a ten-dollar bill and held it out. “Is this enough to cover my share?”

  He wanted to pay for his dinner?

  She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You paid for the pizza and sodas. I don’t take charity.”

  “It wasn’t charity. It was a . . . a business expense. A working dinner.”

  “I ate most of the pizza.”

  “I needed food. The town budget has an allowance for meals if we work overtime.”

  That was true—though she wasn’t planning to tap into it. Her choice to extend the evening had been based on personal as well as professional reasons.

  But Stone didn’t need to know that.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He hesitated . . . then put the ten back in his wallet. “Are you going out to my place?”

  “First item on my agenda. It will be a lot easier to search in daylight than it was last night.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  He moved past her, leaving a faint, woodsy scent in his wake that was masculine . . . rugged . . . and very appealing.

  Clamping her lips together, she closed the door behind him.

  She was not going there.

  Maybe she couldn’t control the unsettling attraction that had sprung up between them—on her end, anyway.

  Maybe she couldn’t completely erase thoughts of the tall, dark loner from her mind.

  Maybe she couldn’t figure out why she was intrigued by a man who should be off-limits—for a lot of reasons.

  But she could carry on as if everything was normal. That was one skill she’d perfected over the past few years. No one would ever suspect that under the cool, composed, in-control façade she presented to the world, her heart was like a broken-winged bird that would never soar again.

  “Well?” Her mother appeared in the doorway to the foyer, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

  She shoved her melancholy reflection aside. “Wel
l what?”

  “Did you ask him?”

  “No.” Why pretend she didn’t understand the question?

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t have time for riddles this morning.” She edged past her mother and escaped down the hall.

  “It’s not a riddle when you know the answer.”

  She kept walking . . . but that didn’t deter her mom.

  “He’s a kind, decent man. Remember—never judge a book by its cover.”

  The same sentiment Stone had expressed to her last night about Frank.

  It had bothered her then.

  It bothered her now.

  Because she’d been guilty of doing that with him—until her visit on Monday began chipping away at the motorcycle-gang image she’d formed of him.

  But even if he was more than he seemed, the whole notion that they might have enough in common to sustain any kind of relationship was ludicrous.

  An ex-con and a police chief were like oil and water. There was no possibility of anything developing between them.

  Period.

  No matter what her mother might think—or hope.

  5

  “Brian! You’re gonna miss the bus!”

  Brenda Hutton yelled the warning to her son from her bedroom as she finished buttoning her uniform shirt. If she didn’t hurry herself, she’d be late for her breakfast shift at the diner—especially if fog played hide-and-seek with the road again, like it had last night after her three-to-eleven stint.

  She secured her salt-sprinkled brown hair at her nape with a barrette, grimacing at the image in the mirror. Forty-seven was too young to have this much gray—but life hadn’t exactly been easy.

  And raising a fifteen-year-old alone wasn’t making it any easier.

  “Brian!” She toed a fraying edge of the mobile home’s carpet back under the cheap baseboard, crossed the narrow hall outside her room, and knocked on his door. “You’re gonna miss the bus!”

  Silence.

  The boy was getting harder to deal with every day.

  “Brian! Answer me!”

  “I’m not going to school today.”

  His voice was muffled, his words distorted. Like he had his head under the blanket.

  She stood up straighter. “Yes, you are. You’re finishing high school and you’re going to college. You’re not making the same mistakes I did.”