by Teri Wilson
But Ryan would have given his left arm for a story to cover—a real story with some meat on its bones. A story that didn’t involve a bake sale or the removal of a stop sign or new uniforms for the high school marching band. The only thing truly newsworthy he’d covered recently had been the tornado that swept through town.
He could have done without that particular news item. The twister had scared Dillon so badly that he’d slept in the bathtub for three straight nights afterward. Ryan had stretched out on the bathroom floor in his sleeping bag alongside the tub, unwilling to leave his frightened son alone. His lower back was a mess.
But at least he’d been there.
For once.
“Yes, actually.” Jonah tore a sheet from the pink message pad on his desk. Ryan hadn’t seen a message pad like that in years. He wondered if it was left over from the building’s banking days. “Patty Matthews from the elementary school called.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at the message. Mrs. Matthews was Dillon’s teacher, which meant the call had zero to do with business. Worse, it might mean that there was a problem with his son.
Jonah cleared his throat. “She said she tried to reach you on your cell, but it rolled straight to voice mail.”
“That’s because I was at the mobile store buying a new phone. It’s only been activated for a few minutes.” Ryan had been so consumed with taking care of Dillon during the storm that he’d accidentally left his cell phone plugged into its charger during the tornado. Big mistake. It had been randomly powering itself down ever since, and he couldn’t afford to miss any more news tips...
Or calls from his son’s teacher.
“Right.” Jonah nodded. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but you should probably call her back.”
“Of course.” Dread settled in the pit of Ryan’s stomach like a lead weight. Things hadn’t been fine for a long, long time.
He checked his watch.
“School gets out shortly. I think I’ll head over there instead of calling.” He glanced at Jonah. “Unless there’s something urgent I need to attend to?”
“Nope.” Jonah shrugged. “There’s not.”
Of course there wasn’t. The paper didn’t even go to press for three more days. The Spring Forest Chronicle was a weekly publication, which gave Ryan a flexible schedule. He dropped off Dillon for school every morning, and picked him up, as well. He attended the school’s aftercare program in the afternoons when Ryan was working. Before the accident, when they’d lived in DC, Ryan had never set foot inside a single one of Dillon’s classrooms.
His gut churned, and the message crumpled in his fist.
What if it was too late? What if he never managed to connect with his son? What if Dillon’s retreat into silence was permanent?
It’s not too late. It can’t be.
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Ryan scanned the room, in case anyone else on his minuscule staff looked as though they needed to speak to him. But the other three full-time employees were all bent over their desks, eyes glued to their laptops. Ryan thought he spied a computer game on at least one of the screens.
He sighed and stalked out of the building, back onto Main. Dappled sunlight drifted through the branches of the trees lining the street, warming his face as he made his way to the large public parking lot adjacent to the Granary, where he’d left his car—a small SUV. New, like nearly everything else in his life.
Sometimes he forgot what color it was or where exactly he’d parked it. Hell, sometimes he forgot he drove that to work now instead of taking the Metro.
He just needed a little time, that’s all. They both did. Eventually, this new life would feel right. It would fit, like a favorite sweater. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what people always said?
God, he hoped so.
But he was starting to wonder. So were Maggie’s parents, and that was a problem. A big one.
Ryan tipped his head back to down the rest of his coffee. He didn’t want to think about his overbearing in-laws right now. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The move to Spring Forest had put nearly three hundred blissful miles between him and his late wife’s mom and dad.
I’ll drink to that.
He swallowed the dregs from his paper cup and turned to throw it in a nearby recycling bin, but as he did so he crashed into something. Or more accurately, someone. A woman.
Ooof.
She stumbled backward, and Ryan reached for her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”
“Ouch,” she wailed. His elbow had rammed right into her nose.
The woman’s hands were covering her face, and something about her graceful fingers seemed vaguely familiar, but Ryan couldn’t imagine why. He stared at her buffed nails and the slim gold bands on her middle finger and thumb, trying to figure out where he’d seen those feminine details before.
“I’m sorry.” He swallowed, forcing himself to release his hold on her since she was standing perfectly still now.
His throat went thick, and he was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that he hadn’t touched a woman in quite a long time. She smelled like something decadent and sweet—vanilla, maybe. And her sweater had been soft beneath his fingertips. So soft that an ache formed deep in his chest. He inhaled a ragged breath and nearly choked.
“I’m fine, but you plowed into me pretty hard. It’s okay. It’s...” she peeked up at him from between her hands “...you.”
Ryan frowned. “Me?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You.”
Had they met before? Ryan would have remembered her. He was sure of it. She had a lovely bronze complexion, full lips and eyes the color of fine Southern bourbon.
But he’d been walking around in a fog for months now—looking without seeing. Existing without living.
“The diner,” he said as realization dawned. “You handed me my coffee before.”
Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and she nodded.
“It was very good, by the way.” What was he doing? Flirting?
No.
Definitely not.
Her eyes narrowed. Somewhere in their depths, Ryan spotted flecks of gold. “See, now you’re frowning again, so I don’t believe you.”
“I never lie about coffee,” he said solemnly.
She smiled again, and it sent a zing through his chest, quickly followed by a pang of guilt.
He had no business taking delight in making this beautiful woman smile. No business whatsoever. His life was a disaster, his wife was dead, and in the year since her accident, his son hadn’t uttered a word.
What would she think if she knew the ugly truth?
He didn’t want to know. “I’ve got to go.”
It came out sharper than he intended, and she flinched. But Ryan barely noticed, because he’d already begun to walk away.
Chapter Two
“Mr. Carter, I’m glad you stopped by. My teaching assistant is helping the kids pack up for the day, so we can chat for a few minutes until the bell rings.” Patty Matthews, Dillon’s teacher, shut the door of her classroom behind her and smiled up at Ryan as she stepped into the hallway.
Over her shoulder, he could see inside the room through the door’s long, slender window. The space was an explosion of color, from the brightly hued mats covering the floor to the cheery alphabet signs on the wall—A is for aardvark, B is for baboon, C is for camel and so on. The cartoon animals reminded Ryan of all the times he’d promised to take Dillon to the Smithsonian Zoo when they’d lived in Washington, DC.
Promises he’d broken.
He swallowed and forced his gaze back to his son’s teacher. “I got your message. Is something wrong?”
The teacher’s smile dimmed. “I wouldn’t ne
cessarily say anything is wrong. Dillon is a sweet boy—very well behaved—and his mathematics level is advanced for his age, so I’m not at all concerned with his progress in that regard.”
Ryan nodded, sensing the but that was sure to come.
“But...” And there it was. “This afternoon in reading circle, he refused to read aloud when it was his turn. Did Dillon experience trouble reading at his previous school?”
Ryan’s gaze flitted to the classroom window again, where he could see Dillon sitting quietly as his desk, holding his favorite plastic dinosaur toy, while the students around him chatted and wiggled their backpacks onto their shoulders.
“As I explained when I met with the principal and registered Dillon for school, he’s had a difficult time since his mother’s death last year. He’s quiet.” Ryan cleared his throat. “Very quiet.”
“Yes, Principal Martin passed that information along to me. But I’m not sure we realized the extent of Dillon’s shyness. Exactly how quiet are we talking about?” Mrs. Matthews tilted her head and waited for Ryan to explain.
He probably should have made things clearer when Dillon started school at Spring Forest Elementary. Scratch that—he definitely should have done so. But he’d stopped short of telling the whole truth because he hadn’t wanted his boy to start off in a brand-new school with a label hanging over his head.
It had been the wrong call, obviously. Ryan should have seen this awkward conversation coming. He was a journalist, for God’s sake. Anticipating conflicts was part of what made him good at his job.
“Dillon won’t read aloud,” he finally said.
“Mr. Carter.” Mrs. Matthews lifted a brow. “Does Dillon speak at all?”
A heaviness came over Ryan all of a sudden, as if the simple act of standing required more energy than he could muster. “No, he doesn’t.”
The problem wasn’t physical. According to his pediatrician back in DC, it was just a temporary manifestation of grief. It wasn’t permanent.
It couldn’t be permanent.
“I see.” The teacher’s voice grew soft. Soothing. “It’s important for me to know exactly what’s going on so I can figure out how to best help your son.”
“Right. I’m sorry. I’d just hoped...” He’d hoped once Dillon was in a new place, with new people, he’d be ready to open up and start over. He’d hoped leaving behind the only home his son had ever known and bringing him to Spring Forest had been the right call. Most of all, he’d hoped that it wasn’t too late to be the kind of father Dillon needed.
The kind he deserved.
“I guess I thought he’d be happy here.” Even just a little bit.
“We’ll do our best to make sure he is,” she said, sounding far more certain than Ryan felt.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the window one last time, only instead of catching another glimpse of the inside of the classroom, his gaze snagged on his own reflection in the polished glass. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago. He looked every bit as tired as he felt.
He also looked like a pompous jerk standing in the school hallway dressed in his overly formal bespoke suit and Hermès tie—a pompous jerk who had no idea how to help his own kid.
“I took him to see a therapist a few times before we moved here, and she said the most important thing we can give Dillon is patience. At home, I’ve removed all pressure for him to speak. As soon as he says a word, even if it’s just a whisper, I’m to offer him gentle encouragement. Other than that, I’m just supposed to let him know that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. That’s the only concrete advice she could give me.”
Mrs. Matthews gave him a curt nod. “Then that’s what we’ll do here at school as well. From now on, I won’t call on him to read aloud. During reading circle, I can send him to the library where he can read quietly on his own so he won’t feel pressured in any way. And if I notice him whispering or speaking in class, I’ll be sure and reward him—nothing too over the top, so he won’t be singled out from the other kids. Maybe a sticker or a baseball card? Does this plan work for you?”
Ryan nodded. “It does. Thank you for your help. It means a lot.”
Dillon’s school in DC hadn’t been so accommodating. Ryan had considered homeschooling, but there was no way he could juggle that with his workload at the Post. Their only option had been a completely new start.
New town, new school, new life.
“Of course. If you wait here, I’ll tell him you’ve come to take him home. The bell will be ringing in just a few minutes.” The teacher turned toward the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. “And Mr. Carter, try not to worry. We all want what’s best for Dillon. He’s a lucky little boy to have a father like you.”
Ryan nodded his thanks as a dullness spread throughout his chest, blossoming into a familiar regret.
He’s a lucky little boy to have a father like you.
If only that were true.
* * *
As soon as Amanda turned her red 1967 Chevy pickup onto Little Creek Road, dread tangled into a hard knot in the pit of her stomach. A third of the large oak trees along the old country road were down and the ones left standing had been stripped bare of their leaves. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie had come along and taken a machete to the forest, severing the top right off every white oak in sight.
Something horrific had come to their town, of course. The tornado that ravaged Spring Forest had touched down exactly a week ago.
Amanda had called to check on Bunny and Birdie the morning after the storm, so she really shouldn’t have been surprised by the extent of the damage. But hearing about it and seeing it were two entirely different things.
Her hands shook on the steering wheel as the memories of that awful night came back to her—the deafening roar as the twister spun down Main Street, the horrible way her apartment windows had rattled in their frames, the cool press of the bathtub’s porcelain against her cheek as she curled into a ball and did her best to ride out the storm. It was terrifying, and all in all, Spring Forest’s modest downtown area had fared pretty well. She couldn’t imagine how scared the Whitaker sisters must have been, not to mention the poor helpless animals in the shelter.
Her eyes filled with tears just thinking about it.
Get a grip. You’re fine. Everyone is fine.
Still, she’d feel better as soon as she got a glimpse of Tucker, her favorite dog at Furever Paws, and made sure he wasn’t traumatized. Not that she’d be able to tell, exactly. The little Chihuahua/dachshund mix—or chiweenie, as Birdie and Bunny liked to say—was notoriously standoffish. Amanda’s nickname for him was Grumpy. Which, now that she thought about it, would also be a suitable moniker for Ryan Carter.
Was it weird that she seemed to be attracted to cranky men and equally cranky dogs?
Probably. But at least she was consistent.
Consistently ridiculous. She maneuvered the truck into the shelter’s gravel parking lot, and rolled her eyes. So what if her tastes were a bit...odd? As she’d told Belle again and again, she didn’t have time for either a pet or a boyfriend, so it really didn’t matter how cranky the mysterious Mr. Carter could be. The grumpier, the better. If he looked right through her when she handed him his coffee, he’d be easier to ignore.
Except he hadn’t looked right through her on the street earlier. On the contrary, he’d focused on her with such blinding intensity it had made her head spin a little. For a minute, she’d thought he might be flirting with her. He’d even been charming, in a serious, formal sort of way.
I never lie about coffee.
Was she supposed to laugh at that? She had no idea. She only knew that all the butterflies in North Carolina had seemed to gather in her tummy at once, making her feel all fluttery and wonderful.
And then his hint of a smile had
flattened into a straight line and he’d left before she could process what was happening. Perfect. Just perfect.
She climbed out of the truck and slammed the door a little harder than necessary. Why was she even thinking about Ryan Carter when Furever Paws was right in front of her looking seriously worse for wear?
The fence surrounding the property was flat on the ground, and the roof of the main shelter building looked as if the entire right side had been pried off with a can opener. The damage definitely looked worse than Birdie and Bunny had let on. Much, much worse. Even with good insurance, how long would it take before everything was fully restored?
As she stood surveying the destruction, she caught a glimpse of a gray flash out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, but no longer saw anything. Just trees swaying in the breeze and branches scattered in every direction. She squinted, peering into the tree line. The other day, she could have sworn she saw a stray gray dog trotting past the window at the Grille. But when she’d gone outside to try to lure it indoors, it had been nowhere to be found. Sometimes she wondered if she was seeing things.
Amanda turned and held her breath, bracing herself as she pushed through the building’s glass double doors. Thankfully, the inside of the shelter seemed to have fared much better than the outside. Other than a few buckets placed strategically around the lobby to catch rainwater, things looked generally the same as they had when she’d shown up for her volunteer shift last week. Just damper, although the industrial-sized fan whirring in the corner seemed to be doing its best to dry things out.
“Afternoon, Amanda.” Hans Bennett, the shelter volunteer manning the front desk, waved and called out to her above the hum of the fan.
“Hi, Hans.” She waved back, and as she approached the counter, she spotted a kitten nestled in Hans’s lap.
