“Let me guess,” her mother said as Montana entered. “They’re going to watch the game.”
“Of course.”
“Men and sports. I’ll never understand it.” Denise leaned against the counter. “How your father loved baseball.”
“And football,” Nevada added. “Remember that Thanksgiving when the game went into overtime and the turkey was done?”
Dad had been desperate to see the end of the game, but had taken one look at his wife’s face and turned off the TV. Denise had been so impressed, she’d had Ethan and Ford drag the TV into the dining room while Ralph was carving the turkey in the kitchen.
“He would have missed the end of that game for you,” Montana reminded her mother. “He loved you so much.”
“He did. He was a good man.” Denise looked at her, then at Nevada. “I want you two to find a man like him.”
“I’m not opposed to it,” Montana said, doing her best not to look toward the family room or even think about Simon. First of all, she barely knew the man. Fabulous kissing did not a relationship make. Second, he wasn’t the kind who stayed, and she wasn’t the kind who left.
“I’m not convinced what you and Dad had still exists,” Nevada grumbled. “There aren’t that many good guys around.”
“Sure there are,” Dakota told her.
“Thanks. Rub in the fact you found the last one.”
“Maybe not,” Denise said, eyeing Simon. “Any sparks?”
“Mom!” Montana waved her hands. “Shh. What if he hears you?”
“They’re at the other end of the room with the TV on. He can’t hear me.” Still she lowered her voice. “I saw you two talking outside. Anything?”
Montana didn’t know what to say. Simon was smart and good-looking and kissed in a way that left her breathless. But…
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We don’t have that much in common.”
“How much do you need?” Nevada asked.
“I’m not sure. He’s very solitary. I can’t figure out how much of that is by circumstance and how much is by design.”
“You mean, is he mysterious, or is there something wrong with him?” Dakota asked.
Montana grinned. “Exactly.”
“You could find out,” her mother reminded her.
“I could.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
DENISE TIGHTENED THE BELT on her cotton robe as she waited for the coffee to brew. Although she’d grown used to having the big house to herself, it felt good to have some of her family back home with her, even if it was only temporary. She’d been a widow for more than ten years—she’d long since gotten used to the silence. But having people in the house was better—especially when those people included any of her grandchildren.
Kent walked into the kitchen. He’d already showered and shaved. She studied his dark slacks, light blue shirt and patterned tie.
“Nervous?” she asked as she poured them each a mug of coffee.
“A little. I really want to get the job.”
Kent was back for a final interview at Fool’s Gold High School. He would be coming in with the possibility of running the department when the current head retired in a couple of years.
“Not that I’m not thrilled to have you moving back to town,” she began, staring at her son. “But I want you to be sure.”
Kent gave her a smile that was so much like his father’s it made her chest hurt. “Mom, we’ve talked about this already.”
“As if that matters. I want you running toward something, not running away.”
He held up his hand. “Don’t hold back, Mom. Tell me what you really think.”
“You know what I mean. You and Reese have gone through so much in the past couple of years. I want you to be sure.”
“I am.” He set down his coffee and leaned against the counter. “Lorraine isn’t coming back. I know that. Staying in that same house is hard on both Reese and me. Too many ghosts. I want to start over—it’ll be good for both of us. Where better than here? The town is great. Reese already has friends here from all our visits. We have family. I want to be here, Mom.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
She took another sip. “I’m sorry about Lorraine.”
“No, you’re not.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”
“That I’ll believe.”
Denise had hated being one of those mothers-in-law who never approved of the woman their son married, but she’d been unable to help disliking Lorraine from the second she’d met her. Clichéd or not, the woman wasn’t good enough for her son. She was beautiful but cold. Denise remembered wondering why someone so ambitious and determined had married a guy who wanted to be a math teacher.
Their marriage had been tumultuous from the first day, with Lorraine walking out several times. Eighteen months ago she’d announced she wanted a divorce. She’d left again, but that time she hadn’t come back.
While Denise felt terrible for Kent, the person she most ached for was Reese. Lorraine rarely saw her son and had missed his birthday a few months before. Talk about a selfish…
“You sure you don’t mind me staying here?” Kent interrupted her line of thinking.
“It’s a big house. I’ll enjoy having the company. I’m more worried about you.”
He grinned. “A guy in his thirties, living with his mother? I’ll be a chick magnet.”
“I think you will be. When you’re ready.”
The smile faded. “I’m not. I thought I’d found what you and Dad had. I thought she was the one. Maybe for me she was, but it doesn’t really matter. She’s gone.”
Denise wanted to tell him not to give up. That he was too young and there was too much life to be lived. But she learned a long time ago that it was better to hint and nudge than outright direct her children’s lives.
“All that can wait,” she said, while thinking that once he was here and settled, she would find a way to introduce him to a few women around his age. There were plenty in town. “First you have your final interview.”“Speaking of which, I’d better get going.” He crossed the kitchen and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”
“I’ll believe that when you get me a plaque.”
Kent left. Denise walked to the window and looked out at her backyard, remembering how life had been different when Ralph was alive. Better. Before him, there had been Max, whom she’d also loved. She’d been very lucky, she reminded herself. Even now, as she kept her secrets, she couldn’t ask for much more than she’d been given.
About a half hour later, a very sleepy Reese wandered into the kitchen. He wore a T-shirt over loose pj bottoms and his hair was sticking up all over.
“Hey, you,” Denise said fondly, walking over and hugging him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. My face doesn’t hurt at all, just like Dr. Bradley said.”
“That’s good news.”
Reese hugged her back, then slumped at the table. Denise crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice.
“I can make waffles for breakfast,” she told him as she poured. “What do you think?”
He grinned. “That would be great.” He took the glass she offered and thanked her. “Grandma, do you know there are lots of kids at the hospital?”
“Yes.” She collected ingredients. “There’s a whole floor for children. It’s called pediatrics.”
“I guess I knew that.” Reese frowned. “Kids get sick, too, but it was weird to see them there. A lot of them are really, really sick and have to stay there a long time. If they have cancer or something.” He reached for his glass. “One of the nurses told me.”
Denise felt an instant protective need to shield him from life’s unpleasantness, then reminded herself that learning about other people’s hardships often helped a child to understand compassion.
“It must be very hard for them and their families,” she said.
He nodded. “Plus it’s summer and they can’t be outside playing.” He put the glass back on the table. “Do you think I could visit a couple of the kids? Ones who don’t have any friends close by? Maybe we could play a computer game or something.”
Pride filled her. Not only in Reese, but in Kent for getting it right with his son. “I’ll talk to your aunt Montana. She takes therapy dogs to the hospital regularly. She’ll know who to ask.”
“Sweet.”
He grinned at her and at that moment, he reminded her so much of her boys when they were his age. Kent might have hideous taste in women, but he was a wonderful father. At least his ex-wife hadn’t been able to take that away from him.
THE FOOL’S GOLD LIBRARY had been built around 1940. It had been a WPA project, complete with carved columns and twenty-foot murals. Montana loved the library. She loved the sweeping stairs leading to huge carved double doors, the stained glass windows, and the ever-present scent of old dusty books.
Before going to work for Max, she’d had a job at the library. She’d enjoyed her work and had been offered a full-time position. Even though she’d known she probably should have accepted, a voice inside had told her that her true passion might lie elsewhere.
Fortunately, Mrs. Elder, the head librarian, was the forgiving sort. When Montana had approached her about starting a summer reading program using therapy dogs, Mrs. Elder had been enthused.
They were starting small, with a single dog and three students. The premise was simple. Kids who had trouble reading worked with a tutor for half an hour. The tutor went over the vocabulary list, and made sure the students understood what the words meant. Then the students read a book aloud to a dog.
Montana had chosen Buddy. Not only was he gentle and supportive, he tended to worry. Montana had noticed children responded to doggie concern with reassurance. But any kind of reassurance required a little bit of confidence, something the students who couldn’t read tended not to have.
Mrs. Elder introduced Montana to a skinny boy about Reese’s age. “This is Daniel.” The librarian smiled at the boy. “Daniel, I’d like you to meet Montana and her dog Buddy.”
The boy glanced at her, his eyes barely visible through his long bangs. “Hi.”
The word came out more like a sigh than a greeting and Montana figured he wasn’t excited about spending a warm summer afternoon in the library.
Mrs. Elder nodded at them and left.
They were working in one of the small rooms off the main library. As Montana had requested, there were several beanbag chairs and large pillows on the carpeted floor. When a child was reading to a dog, it helped for everyone to be at eye level.
Montana sat on a beanbag chair and patted the one next to her for Daniel. “Buddy is very excited to hear the story. I was telling him about it earlier, and he can’t wait.”
Daniel slumped onto the floor, then rolled his eyes. “Dogs don’t get excited about books.”
“How do you know?” Montana asked. “Buddy isn’t having a very good day and stories make him feel better.”
“You can’t expect me to believe that.”
“Of course I do. Look at him. Does he look like a happy dog?”
Daniel dutifully turned toward Buddy. As always, the dog’s expression was one of concern, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“He does look kind of sad,” Daniel admitted. “But reading isn’t going to help. Dogs don’t care about stuff like that.”
“Really?” Montana picked up the two books Daniel had carried in. She held them both out to Buddy. “Which one?”
The dog lifted his left paw and tapped the book on the left.
Montana handed that one to Daniel. “See, he has an opinion.”
Daniel’s eyes widened. “Whoa. I’ve never seen anything like that.” He turned to the dog. “Buddy, you really want me to read you this story?”
Maybe it was Montana’s imagination, but she would swear the dog nodded.
“Okay.” Daniel looked at Montana. “You’re not going to stay are you?”
Montana rose to her feet. “Nope. You’re on your own.”
She left the room, but hovered just outside the open door. Daniel began to read, his progress painfully slow. He sounded out each word, stumbling every now and then, but pressing forward.
She’d come up with the idea of having the dog pick the book a few weeks ago. Teaching the trick was easy and if it helped the kid believe, then it was time well spent.
She glanced at her watch, then headed outside. She would check on Daniel in ten minutes.
She’d barely settled in the shade of a large oak tree when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out.
“Hello?”
“Montana? This is Fay Riley, Kalinda’s mother. Have I caught you at a bad time?” Fay sounded beyond tired, as if she hadn’t slept in days.
She probably hadn’t, Montana thought, remembering how small Kalinda had looked in the hospital bed.
“This is a good time. How can I help?”
Fay sighed. “She’s having a bad day. The pain is horrible and she can’t sleep. Would it be too much trouble to bring Cece by? I think it would really help her. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” she said in a rush. “Oh, hell. Maybe I am. I’m desperate.”