by Dora Hiers
“I’m a public figure.” Camdon scraped the heavy evening stubble lining his jaw.
That’s funny. With that gesture, Remi realized how much Mason looked like her older brother. How had she not noticed that before now?
Dark hair. Unshaven most of the time, with a few days of whiskers lining their faces. But where Camdon was serious, Mason tended to joke around. Tease. Get under her skin. And where Camdon was tall, slender and more tailored, Mason’s thick athletic torso and muscled arms bulged from beneath rugged work shirts.
“Semi-public. You’re the man behind the man.” Camdon was a Deputy City Manager who did his best to stay behind the scenes.
Ignoring her comment, her brother leaned forward and waved two fingers in the air. “And two, he did show up to work all week. He didn’t have to. I’m sure he has a ton of other commitments.” He reclined against the couch, crossing one leg over the other.
Another true statement. Remi scratched her head. She had wondered how he’d managed a busy vet practice when he wasn’t in the office to treat his patients. As a racecar driver, what did he give up to be here all week?
With nervous energy, she unbuckled her legs from the settee and stepped closer to the fire pit, staring into the orange glow. She sipped the hazelnut brew, the warmth sliding down her throat not enough to thaw the chill that shrouded her heart since finding out about Mason.
“Camdon, did I tell you that Nan Greenway asked for an interview?”
“She called me, too.”
She turned around to face her brother, hugging her waist with one arm. “What did you tell her?”
“No. The same thing I always tell her.” He sipped his coffee then set the mug on the side table.
“Yeah. Me, too. But she actually showed up here on the property this week. Mason showed her around.”
His green eyes rolled, and he wagged his head back and forth. “Nan probably thought she hit the jackpot.”
“Really, I was just glad that Mason showed her around.” Remi’s blood pressure had escalated to the point of threatening to throw Nan off the property when Mason had taken over. He’d exercised such finesse, such smooth control with the reporter. “Not only did he get her off my back, but he really had a talent for handling her and her nosey questions.”
Camdon’s forehead furrowed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in his hands. “I guess there is some advantage to having the guy around then.”
Yeah. There was that. Mason had accomplished the work of three of her this week, allowing her to enjoy a beautiful evening chatting with her brother in front of a radiant fire, instead of working.
But, he wouldn’t show his face again. Not after she’d warned him not to come back.
Isn’t that what she wanted? Remi hung her head.
Truthfully?
No.
But that’s what she expected. He was probably no different from her father. Showing off a charismatic persona to the camera, but inside, he allowed a dark side, the opposite of who the world believed he was, to dwell and flourish.
“Camdon, it’s been almost twenty years. Why can’t I seem to move on with my life like you and Mom have?” Remi plopped back down onto the cushioned couch, the sigh she heaved coming from deep in her soul.
Camdon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He reached along the wicker back and tugged her under his shoulder, snug against his side. She cuddled against her big brother, sniffling.
“You’ll get there, Remi.” His voice rumbled over her head.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like Carson’s gotten over it, either. He’s not back yet.” She shook her head, the soft cotton of her brother’s shirt drying the moisture that accumulated around her eyes.
His rough chin moved up and down. “He will. Carson will come home. Just like Mason Mulrennan will show up on Tuesday. You wait and see.”
Remi gulped, disillusionment warring with hope, the former winning the battle.
She craved Carson’s return, longed to wrap her arms around her brother’s neck to comfort him.
Mason was a different story. She wanted to wrap her fingers around his neck for a very different reason.
What would she do if he showed up on Tuesday like he said?
Tell him to take a hike?
Was Mason a man who actually stuck close to a friend through high floodwaters or did he just give up and wave the white flag, surrendering, when times got tough?
Mason had already spent several days at the sanctuary and that was after a llama spewed crud over him on multiple occasions. He’d also assisted with a messy cria delivery and mucked out the barn.
What if he proved to be a man she could depend on?
Remi shivered and looked out at the stars lighting the now black sky. Carson was out there somewhere, gazing up at the same sky.
So was Mason.
She sighed, finding warmth and comfort from her brother’s arms. “I hope you’re right about Carson. I can’t wait to see him again.”
If she never saw Mason Mulrennan again, it would be soon enough.
4
Tuesday couldn’t get here soon enough. Anticipation over seeing Remi again was eating a hole in his belly.
He’d been sorely tempted to drive out to the sanctuary today, but he decided a day to heal from the bruises after yesterday’s spin into the wall was probably the better choice.
And he needed to be healed and whole in case she took a few more emotional swings.
Mason stepped out of the truck, pain shooting up and down his back. Rolling his shoulders, he stretched out the kinks and moaned.
He was getting too old for this grueling schedule, the long hours jostling in a racecar every weekend, and the lingering black and blue marks.
He opened the cab’s half door. “Come on, boy.”
Goliath hopped out and headed for the grass, nose to the ground, ready to do business.
Mason chuckled and reached back into the cab for the coffees and sack of chicken biscuits, a favorite of his friend Harley’s. With his knee, he nudged the door closed, pushed the button to lock the truck, and glanced around.
Paint flaked from the exterior walls of Harley’s one-story rancher. A gutter hung at a limp angle against the house. A couple clunkers sat outside the open garage. The garage door was up, leaving the space wide open and exposed.
Mason’s stomach dived.
Harley never left his garage open overnight. Expensive automotive tools would look mighty tempting for the crooks in the neighborhood, Harley always said.
Goliath’s deep bark made him turn around.
A couple of teens ambled down the street, hands stuffed casually in their pockets, ogling the tools with interest. Jeans swallowed their hips and hung below their boxers. Almost men but not so old that they shouldn’t be in school.
He set the breakfast sack and the to-go carrier of coffees on the hood of the truck, stalked over to the garage and yanked the door down, all the while, eyeing the wayward teens. He headed back to the truck, settling his rump against the door and crossing his arms, as they passed Harley’s yard. A low rumble came from Goliath’s throat, but he didn’t twitch from his alert stance.
The teens glared back.
Mason held his ground, waiting.
Harley was right. Looked to be plenty of would-be crooks in the neighborhood.
They turned the corner heading west. Mason tugged his phone from his pocket and checked the time.
Ten o’clock. Wouldn’t hurt to let the authorities know about the delinquents. Let the local police force follow up. He doubted they were homeschooled.
He made the call and disconnected, anxious to see his old friend and catch up. Harley, although retired years ago, still kept to the same schedule as his crew chief days. Work every day except Mondays. Mondays were the crew’s only real day off, if you could call them that. They worked so many hours during the week, crew members usually spent Mondays recuperating from the hectic weekend racing sc
hedule and catching up on chores at home.
But that couldn’t be Harley’s excuse anymore.
Was the old man still in bed? That wouldn’t explain why Harley’s garage was wide open. Unless he’d accidentally left the door up all night.
Nah. More than likely he’d already been out piddling in the garage this morning.
Mason whistled for Goliath, who scurried to his side. He scooped up the coffees and the sack and waded through grass higher than his knees to get to the front door.
What was up with the old man? He hadn’t sounded sick when he talked to him on Saturday.
He’d tried, at least the last three years since Lisa left, to wheedle Harley into bunking with him in The Castle. Mason insisted he had plenty of rooms to share and an oversized garage to protect all of Harley’s tools. Harley could piddle to his heart’s content, and Mason could keep a watchful eye on the friend who’d done so much for him in his early racing years, but Harley had turned him down flat every time.
He knocked. No answer.
Goliath whined. Mason patted the dog’s furry head. “It’s okay, buddy.”
He knocked again. Waited.
The old man knew he was coming this morning. What was the deal?
He leaned over the porch rail and pressed his face against the window, blocking out fall’s bright morning glare with his free hand. No movement. But he couldn’t see any farther than the living room. Maybe Harley was reading the paper in the kitchen and couldn’t hear him knocking. More than likely since the old man was hard of hearing.
Balancing their breakfast in one hand, Mason hopped off the front stoop and trucked to the back of the house, Goliath nipping his heels. He banged sharply on the glass window inset in the door.
Still no response.
He set the bag and cup holder down and tried the door handle. Locked. Like it always was.
Goliath whined, his nose pressed to the bottom of the door, and planted a giant paw on the door. The dog grew agitated, his nails clicking against the wood frame, as if digging in the back yard.
Mason didn’t like the looks of this. Something wasn’t right.
Sliding his phone from his pocket, he fumbled with the buttons to connect with Harley’s landline. Hearing the phone ring inside the house, he counted. Three. Four. Five.
Mason rubbed a hand across his face and squeezed his eyes closed, his heart crashing to his toenails. Oh, God, please not Harley. Not yet. Not when he was all alone.
Why hadn’t he asked Harley for a spare key? Wait! His friend would have one stashed around here somewhere.
Mason’s gaze darted around the back deck. Ceramic flowerpot, a dead stalk sticking out of the dirt. He lifted the vase. Nothing. Not that he expected Harley to hide a key in the obvious place. If Harley stashed a key somewhere, where would he hide it?
Not the garage. He kept that locked. Usually.
What about that old clunker that had been sitting next to the garage for years?
Mason scrambled to the beat up car, Goliath at his heels. He jiggled the door handles, but they were all locked.
What about underneath? He bent over, his fingers trailing the bottom of the frame until they bumped into something. Jackpot!
He tugged at the magnetic holder and raced back to the house, his fingers trembling as he slid the key into the lock.
“Harley!” The door slammed into the drywall, but he didn’t care. He’d fix it for his friend later.
Goliath’s legs spun out from underneath him on the wood floor. The dog finally gained traction and bolted toward the bedroom, this time Mason nipping at the golden’s paws.
“Harley! Where are you, buddy?” Mason made his way down the narrow hall as Goliath turned the corner into the master bedroom, whimpered.
Not good. Mason sucked in a breath, preparing himself for the worst as he took a tentative step inside the bedroom.
The old man’s limp body sprawled out on the floor just this side of the bathroom door. Goliath poked Harley in the side then cast a sorrowful gaze toward his master.
“Good boy. We’ll take care of him.” Sinking to his knees, Mason cradled his friend’s grizzled face. “Harley! Wake up!”
Eyelids fluttered then slitted open. The old man’s raspy voice barely made it past his lips. “I knew you’d make it. Waited for you. Didn’t want to die alone.”
****
“He died alone.” The chair legs scraped the tile floor. Mason stretched and poured another cup of coffee. What was this? His fifth?
He mashed a hand through his hair then flattened his palms against the cool granite, hanging his head. Defeat crashed through his body, rolling through like violent waves.
“Not alone. You made it in time.”
With a heavy sigh, he picked up the cup and turned around to face his sister, settling his hips against the counter. Her Tuscan-inspired kitchen, normally comfortable and peaceful, did little to settle his stomach. “Not when it really counted. The doctor said he could have been that way since Saturday afternoon. He suffered all that time by himself.”
She nodded, her palm splaying against her protruding belly in a protective gesture. “But you were there with him at the end, Mason. Just before he slipped through Heaven’s gate.”
A giant clump of sorrow wedged in his throat, remorse that he hadn’t been there earlier for his friend, but he finally pushed it down. “Yeah.”
Because he’d had Goliath with him, Mason had followed the rescue unit in his truck. He’d stood next to the gurney in the emergency room, rehashing stories from their racing days together, until Harley’s hand went limp. The doctor had pressed a Stethoscope to the old man’s heart then nodded, her lips pressed together, her shoulders sagging, her lips moving in silent prayer.
“I feel so selfish.” He huffed and paced the length of the kitchen, the ceramic tile chilling his feet all the way through his socks. Why had he taken off his shoes? This was Angela’s house, and his ex-wife wasn’t around anymore to frown over his greasy shoes.
It was about time to make some changes. Starting with wearing shoes, or boots if he wanted to, inside his own house. And Angela’s.
But didn’t that make him even more selfish? He swiveled and strode to the other side of the spacious room.
His sister scoffed. Her gaze tracked his movements. “Selfish? You and Mike are the most unselfish people I know.”
“You don’t understand, Angela.” Mason rammed a hand through his hair. A longing raged through him with more ferocious intensity than a wildfire. He jerked the chair out and plopped down on it.
How did he explain how he felt without making Harley’s death all about Mason? But this was his sister. She’d understand.
“I don’t want to end up like Harley. Alone, with no family to stand by my side.” There. He’d said it.
“What am I? Chopped liver? And what about Mom and Dad?”
“You have Mike.” Mason lowered his gaze and gestured toward her belly. “And, very soon, a little one here to keep you company in your old age. If I live to be as old as Harley, I’m guessing Mom and Dad won’t be around. But you know what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah. I know, Mason. I’m sorry.”
A sigh heaved from deep in his gut. He tapped a rhythm on the tile with his sock-covered foot. “It’s all right, Angela. God is in control. I know that. It’s just tough to wait on His timing.”
“It’s that competitive nature of yours. Always striving for the win.”
He chuckled and some of the pressure loosened from around his chest. Maybe that explained part of it, but lately he longed for something more than a win.
Love. Commitment. Family.
He closed his eyes and a dark-haired beauty flitted across his vision, standing amidst colorful llamas in a lush green pasture overflowing with yellow and red wildflowers, laughing as she filmed him with her phone. The sound of her joy, clear and beautiful as the scenery.
She wasn’t happy with him right now, and even though she�
��d told him not to come back, he sensed that she needed to know that he was a man of his word.
But what about Harley? His eyelids bolted open. “Angela, I need a huge favor.”
She rolled her eyes. “What’s new?”
In their teens, he would have bopped her on the head. But they were older now, and she was pregnant, so he settled for a stern look. “It’s all your fault anyway, dear sister. You ordered me to the animal sanctuary in the first place.”
Angela jerked. Her eyes widened as she snatched his hand and placed it on top of her belly. The baby jabbed him once, twice, then seemed to somersault under his hand.
His jaw dropped with awe. He barely mustered a whisper. As if he spoke too loudly, the little one would stop his antics. “Was that the baby?”
She threw her head back and laughed, her hand still holding his in place. “What do you think?”
Wonder exploded in his chest, but it just added fuel to the ache left by Harley’s passing. Would the Lord choose to bless him with a love that transcended his celebrity status? Would he ever experience the miracle of feeling his own flesh-and-blood child grow in the womb?
But this wasn’t about him. He shook away the melancholy. “With all that commotion going on inside your belly, how do you ever sleep at night?”
“It’s tough sometimes. Especially when he sleeps during the day and keeps me up at night with his frolicking. I hope that switches around before he makes his grand entrance into our lives.”
“You keep referring to him as a boy. I hope you’re not disappointed if he turns out to be a she.” Satisfied that the baby was finished with the gymnastics, Mason lifted his hand. Goliath sauntered over and nudged him. He scratched the dog’s neck.
“You know me better than that. We’ll be thrilled with either a boy or a girl.” She smiled, her hand again resting against her abdomen. “So what’s the favor? And what does it have to do with the sanctuary? You know I can’t—”
“I promised Remi—” He paused. Just saying her name settled his spirit. Are you trying to tell me something, Lord?
“Remi?”
“The owner.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Angela studied him over the rim of a mug of decaffeinated tea.
