by Irene Hannon
“He’s in trouble, yes. Whether it becomes serious is up to him. The counselor will emphasize that too.”
“I hope he listens better to him or her than he listens to me. Ever since his dad walked out, he’s been one angry kid. I can’t blame him. Neither of us have been great parents—or role models.”
“You seem to be doing your best to keep things together now.”
“Too little too late.”
“It’s never too late.”
“I hope that’s true.” Her eyes moistened, and she swiped the back of her hand across them. “But I wish I could turn back the clock ten years.”
Lexie could relate.
Except she’d settle for six.
“Expect a call from the juvenile counselor. In the meantime, tell Brian to keep his nose clean. I’ll do what I can to help him, but any further incidents will exacerbate his problems.”
“I’ll pass that on.”
The woman remained where she was while Lexie returned to her car, climbed behind the wheel, and retraced her route down the bumpy road.
She was still there when the road curved and Lexie lost sight of the trailer. As if she didn’t want to go back in and deal with the difficulties waiting for her on the other side of the door.
No surprise there.
The task that lay before her wasn’t an easy one. Dealing with rebellious teens—especially angry ones—wasn’t a chore for the fainthearted. And while Brian’s mother might be trying her best now, the woman didn’t strike her as bold or brave.
But the counselor might be able to talk some sense into the boy. There were also options she could suggest that might help him get his life back on track—in particular the one that had popped into her mind as her meeting with the boy and his mother wound down. It was a bit off the wall . . . and none of the parties involved might go for it . . . but it had the potential to have a huge impact.
She couldn’t propose it, though, until she talked to one of the key players.
Adam Stone.
She tightened her grip on the wheel. Was she nuts to consider involving him?
The counselor might think so.
Stone might think so.
Yet her gut said it was an inspired idea.
Who better to dissuade a kid from a life of crime than a man who’d been there? Who’d taken the hard knocks and was now trying to rebuild his life with the odds stacked against him? There could be no more credible voice in this debate . . . if he was willing to take this on.
She had only an hour to come up with a convincing argument—unless she bought herself some time by persuading him to stay for dinner.
Pressing on the accelerator, she watched the speedometer needle rise. She needed to contact the juvenile department, deal with any issues at the office, and make a few phone calls first—and Stone wasn’t likely to hang around the house once he came to retrieve Clyde. She needed to be there when he arrived.
And if her instincts were correct . . . if he was hiding a tender heart beneath the taciturn, reclusive façade he presented to the world . . . perhaps he’d be willing to help a young man who was hovering on the edge of disaster avoid the same mistakes he’d made.
6
Man.
Adam slowly inhaled another lungful of the savory aroma wafting through the air as he approached Lexie’s front door.
If that had been coming from a restaurant, patrons would be lined up halfway down the block.
But he wasn’t going to get even a taste.
Yeah, Annette had invited him for dinner. So had Matt. But they’d already gone above and beyond by watching Clyde all day. He couldn’t eat their food too.
Especially since Lexie hadn’t seemed all that keen on him staying, despite the obvious prompt from her mother to endorse the invitation.
He stepped onto the porch, brushed off his jeans to dislodge any clinging sawdust, and pressed the bell. Maybe he should have swung by his cabin and cleaned up . . . but why bother for such a fast visit? It wouldn’t take him more than three minutes to collect Clyde, thank Annette and Matt, and be on his way.
The door opened—and Lexie gave him a warm smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He managed to croak out the return greeting as he tried to regroup. What was she doing home from work already? Given the kind of hours she’d referenced last night, he hadn’t expected to meet up with her tonight. “I . . . uh . . . came to pick up Clyde.”
Real smooth, Stone. Like she doesn’t know why you’re here.
Heat crept up his neck.
“He’s in the family room with Matt. You have to see this.” She motioned him in. If she thought his comment was dumb, she kept it to herself.
“What are they doing?” He crossed the threshold.
“Follow me.”
She tiptoed down the hall, and he fell in behind her. Funny. Even though she was in her official cop attire, she seemed somehow . . . different . . . tonight. More approachable. Softer. More feminine.
Before he could figure out what had changed, she arrived at the doorway to the family room and motioned toward the far side.
On the rug in front of the fireplace, where flickering gas logs were taking the chill off the forty-nine-degree afternoon, Matt and Clyde were out for the count. The little boy was curled on his side, one arm over his new friend as they slept almost nose-to-nose.
Any worries he’d had about leaving his dog in the care of a rambunctious almost-five-year-old had obviously been unwarranted.
But touching as the hearth scene was, the woman beside him had a bigger impact on his heart.
Lexie was in profile as she watched boy and dog, her generous lips bowed into a gentle curve, the tenderness in her face giving her complexion a glow no cosmetic could ever achieve.
This was Lexie, the loving mother.
It was also Lexie, the alluring woman. At this proximity, inches from her silky dark hair, that same fresh, dewy fragrance he’d noticed at the vet’s office tickled his nose again—putting ideas in his head that didn’t belong there.
“Mom says they’ve been inseparable all day.” Her soft words were little more than a puff of warmth against his cheek.
He tried to respond.
Failed.
She tipped her chin up a fraction, lifting those sinfully long eyelashes. Her smile wavered, and an emotion that read as longing flashed through her eyes. But it came and went so fast . . . had he misinterpreted it?
Of course he had. A smart, accomplished woman like Lexie could have her pick of first-class men. She’d never give the likes of him a second look.
“I think they’ve bonded.” Her statement came out husky—as if she was as much affected by their closeness as he was.
In your dreams, Stone.
“Yeah.” Somehow he convinced his vocal cords to kick back in. “Looks like they also wore each other out.”
Faint parallel creases dented her brow. “Don’t worry . . . Mom kept tabs on the situation. She wouldn’t have let Matt get carried away or do—”
“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “I wasn’t being critical. I’m glad they had fun together—and that Clyde felt safe enough here to go to sleep.”
“Oh.” The tension faded from her features. “Well, I’m glad too. As for wearing each other out . . . Matt always takes a nap. Mom says he’s been conked out for close to two hours, which doesn’t surprise me. He was so excited about having a dog in the house he didn’t drift off until close to midnight last night, and he was up at the crack of dawn.”
Meaning she had been too.
“I’m sorry the dog-sitting gig disrupted everyone’s sleep.”
“Not an issue.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I get up early every day.”
“After a full night’s sleep.”
“I’ll catch up tonight. So . . . do you have plans for this evening?”
He did a double take. “Why?”
“I wondered if you’d reconsider staying for dinner. I have something I’d like to di
scuss with you.”
“About the vandalism?” When she’d answered the door, he’d had a fleeting thought to ask about her trip to his place—until the right side of his brain shut down.
“Yes.”
“Did you find some clues?”
“Yes, and they were very helpful. I talked with one of the perpetrators today, and I had an idea I wanted to run by you. It’s a bit . . .”
“Did you ask him?” Her mother poked her head into the room.
“Yes—but I don’t have an answer yet.” Lexie angled toward him.
He hesitated. Sharing a meal with the three people who called this cozy place home would be a treat. But breaking bread with this close, loving family, making small talk, would also be like visiting a foreign country where you didn’t know the language or the customs. He’d surely commit a gaffe.
“I’m not, uh, dressed for dinner.” He swept a hand down his work jeans.
“Don’t be silly.” Annette waved a spatula at him. “You should see what we wear to the table sometimes. This isn’t a formal affair. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’m putting the food out now. Clyde did great all day, in case you’re wondering. He appears to be making a rapid recovery.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Mom is a force to be reckoned with.” One side of Lexie’s mouth lifted. “Don’t let her steamroll you if you don’t want to stay . . . but I’d appreciate it if you would. Otherwise dinner will have to wait while we have our conversation—and Mom isn’t too happy with people who let food she works hard to prepare get cold.”
Put like that . . .
“Since I don’t want to find myself in your mother’s bad graces, I accept.”
“Good. Shall we wake up the new buddies?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she crossed the room and knelt beside her son.
He dropped down on the balls of his feet next to her.
“Matt . . . dinner’s ready.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shake.
Her son blinked his eyes open, oriented himself, and felt around for Clyde.
The pup lifted his head, licked her son’s hand, gave his owner a quick scan—and stayed where he was.
“I guess that puts me in my place.” Adam scratched behind the dog’s ear.
“We had a real fun day, Mr. Stone.” Matt sat up, and Clyde scooted closer to him.
“I can tell.”
“Come on. Let’s eat.” Lexie rose, held out her hand for Matt, and led him to the table.
“Is Mr. Stone staying?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Awesome!”
Adam followed, Clyde at his heels—but on the threshold of the kitchen, he came to an abrupt halt.
If Annette considered this a casual dinner, they weren’t operating from the same dictionary.
Sunny yellow placemats were topped with matching blue plates. Ceramic, not paper. Gleaming silverware flanked the plates. Metal, not plastic. Beside the knife and fork, crisp yellow napkins stood at attention. Cloth, not paper. The water at each place was in crystal goblets. Glass, not plastic. And the table was laden with food—a huge tureen of stew, a basket of what appeared to be homemade rolls, a bowl of salad.
This was a close runner-up to the Thanksgiving dinner BJ had insisted he attend at Seabird Inn last fall, where her fiancé’s father had served up a fabulous meal with a view to match from a bluff overlooking Hope Harbor.
“You can sit here, Mr. Stone.” Matt jogged over to a chair at one end of the table and pulled it out.
“I’m not taking anyone’s place, am I?”
“Nah. This chair’s almost always empty.”
Brushing at his jeans again, he entered the room and slid onto the seat.
“Stone, would you like to lead us in a blessing?” Annette shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap. “We always invite our guests to do that if they’re churchgoing people.”
“Um . . . I don’t do formal prayers, like at church.”
“We don’t either. We just praise from the heart.”
They all bowed their heads.
Apparently the matter was settled.
He took a deep breath. Reverend Baker had often asked him to lead the prayers for the prison Bible study group, but for whatever reason, this was scarier.
Best to begin with a silent entreaty.
Please give me the proper words for this occasion, God.
Folding his hands, he dived in.
“Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to eat. It smells great, and we ask your blessing on the hands that prepared it. We also thank you for the gifts of generosity and kindness—and for Clyde’s recovery. I know he’s only a dog, but friends come in all shapes and sizes. Please keep us all safe, and help us remember that even when clouds hide the sun, it keeps on shining—just like your light. Amen.”
He lifted his head to find the two women watching him as Matt snagged a roll from the basket on the table.
“That was beautiful, Stone.” Annette beamed at him from the other end of the table.
His cheeks warmed. “It wasn’t very fancy.”
“Neither was Jesus.” She gestured to the tureen in the middle of the table. “Help yourself.”
Lexie was still watching him with an expression he couldn’t read . . . but the instant he looked her way she transferred her attention to the bowl of salad.
“You have to try these, Mr. Stone. Mamaw makes awesome rolls.” Matt set the basket next to him.
“I plan to do that, buddy. I haven’t had homemade bread in . . . well, maybe never.”
“Never?” The boy’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Mamaw makes a lot of homemade stuff. Mom does too when she’s not working. She made brownies last night. Do you like brownies?”
“They’re one of my favorites.”
“Mine too. We’re having them for dessert.”
Clyde wandered over to his chair and dropped down between him and Lexie. If he was at home, he’d pet the dog . . . but that might not be the best idea here. A lot of people didn’t think animals and food mixed. It was hard to know what to do in polite society after growing up in a . . .
“Hey, Clyde. You’re much more chipper tonight.” Lexie ruffled his fur.
O-kay. Petting an animal at the table must be acceptable—in this house, anyway.
Maybe he’d get through this dinner unscathed . . . as long as he held up his end of the conversation.
As it happened, that wasn’t difficult. Between Annette and Matt, there was never a lag in the chitchat. Lexie didn’t say a lot, but she did her part to draw him into the lively discussion.
By the end of the meal, he’d not only eaten two helpings of stew, a heaping plate of salad, and three rolls, he was actually relaxed.
“Let’s get those brownies going.” Annette stood and removed his wiped-clean plate.
Lexie rose too and picked up Matt’s plate as well as her own. “We like to heat them up and serve them with vanilla ice cream, but you can have yours plain if you prefer.”
“They’re better hot with ice cream,” Matt offered. “They get kind of gooey inside and the ice cream melts into little puddles.”
“I’ll go with that recommendation.” He gave the chatty tyke a high five.
“Coffee?” Annette hefted a mug.
“Yes. Thank you. Black.”
Matt propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. “What’s a biker dude?”
“Biker dude?” Lexie stopped cutting the brownies and frowned at her son from the counter. “Where in the world did you pick up that term?”
“Did I say a bad word?” Matt stopped playing with his spoon.
“No. I just . . . where did you hear it?”
“From Daniel in Sunday school. He said Mr. Stone is a biker dude.”
The two women sent their visitor a quick, embarrassed look.
Adam shifted in his seat, the subtle tension that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember
creeping back.
Matt’s only saying what everyone in town probably thinks, Stone. Get over it and try to put these gracious people at ease.
Forcing up the corners of his lips, he tried to keep his posture relaxed. “A biker dude is a guy who rides a motorcycle. Usually they wear black leather jackets. A lot of them have longer hair and wear bandanas.” He touched the one covering his own dark locks, which hadn’t seen a barber in far too long. “Most wear boots. Some have tattoos.”
“Awesome!” Matt tucked his legs under him and leaned close, elbows on the table as he spoke in a hushed tone. “Do you have a tattoo?”
“Matt!” Lexie zoomed over and resettled her son in his chair. “That’s a personal question.” She refocused on him, her expression contrite. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. And I don’t mind answering. No, I don’t have a tattoo—or a motorcycle.”
“Maybe you could get one.” Matt poked his spoon into the ice cream Lexie set in front of him.
“I don’t see that happening. Motorcycles cost a lot of money.”
“Oh.” Matt’s face fell. “I thought if you got one you might take me for a ride sometime. I’ve never been on a motorcycle. Have you, Mom?”
Lexie finished distributing the dessert and retook her seat. “Yes.”
“Yeah? When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Did my dad have one?”
“Yes.” She focused on scooping up some ice cream and a bite of brownie from her plate. “Mom, did you add a different seasoning to the stew tonight? It had an extra zing.”
She didn’t want to talk about her late husband—at least not in front of strangers.
Too bad. He’d like to learn more than the few scraps he’d picked up here and there about her history. All he knew was that she’d married while she was overseas and her husband had died not long afterward. No one in town seemed to have a clue about what had happened to him.
Given the exchange taking place between mother and daughter about seasoning and spices, however, his curiosity wasn’t going to be satisfied tonight.
Matt was too busy devouring his dessert to add much to the conversation, so Adam followed his example and gave the warm, tender brownie covered in melting ice cream the attention it deserved.
