Love Inspired January 2016, Box Set 1 of 2 (30 page)

“Anger management?” he suggested, and she wanted to smack him because he was almost right. She wasn't nearly as angry as she'd been, so maybe gardening was better therapy than homicide.

“In that case it might be considered a stress reliever,” she conceded.

“I'll start mulching where the girls were working. Corinne invited us to eat with you guys tonight.”

“You live right there, so it's kind of a given, isn't it?”

“I'm not assuming anything until you tell me I'm forgiven for not filling you in on everything,” he said as he started laying down mulch. “I should have trusted your judgment.”

“That's old news.”

“Not until you forgive me, it isn't,” he decided, and set to work filling the wheelbarrow again.

“Kimberly, I'm taking the kids for a swim.” Corinne came out the back door a few minutes later. “Are you guys okay here?”

“We've got a radio and iced tea. We're good.”

Corinne headed down the driveway toward the water. Amy and Tee walked off ahead of her, still talking. Callan dragged his feet behind, and when they got almost to the road, he turned abruptly, came back to the house and banged in the front door.

An awkward silence ensued between the two adults. Drew cast a look toward the house, as if wondering what to do.

Kimberly had no words of wisdom. Anger in a grown-up was tough enough. In a kid it became magnified by immaturity, an uneasy combination. They worked quietly until Drew leaned on the shovel, late in the day. “What time do the fireworks start tonight?”

“Around eight because it's dark by then. Why?”

“Rocky's not good with fireworks. He reacts as if there's gunfire. I'll make sure he's locked in the apartment.”

“Can we take Amy down to the shore to see them?”

“She'll love it. She hasn't found anything about this town she doesn't love. Except maybe...” He directed his gaze toward the house, which meant Callan. “I'm hoping that will iron itself out in time.”

Kimberly hoped so, too, but when Callan sullenly refused to go to the fireworks with them later, she wasn't any too sure. Emily thrust a blanket into her arms and grabbed a second one as they headed out the door. “Don't look back. He wants us to feel sorry for him.”

“I kind of do,” Kimberly whispered.

“Then you're a softie,” Emily hissed back. “He's being a brat, and he knows better, so if he wants to sit here and mope, that's his choice.”

Emily was right, Corinne seemed to agree, and Kimberly didn't want Drew and Amy to feel badly about the whole thing, but leaving Callan behind was hard.

“Toughen up,” Corinne advised her as they crossed the road to the lakeside park. “Callan's got to learn to weigh his choices. I've talked 'til I'm blue in the face, and he's determined to put the loss of his father at Drew's door. And that's not fair.”

“I know that firsthand,” Kimberly replied. “But I still feel bad for him.”

“I do, too, but my grandma had a great saying, one I keep handy at times like this. She said, ‘Better they cry now than you cry later.'”

“Tough love. I get it. But when he looks up at me with his daddy's eyes, I go to mush.” They settled their blankets along the slope of the east-facing hill. Figures dashed back and forth as kids lit the night with sparklers and glow sticks. Campfires along the beach were set up to toast marshmallows or build s'mores. After Kimberly set their bag of marshmallows down on the nearest picnic table and turned around, the only spot on a blanket was directly in front of the table, next to Drew. Her sisters and Corinne had not so innocently taken up the first blanket, which meant she could either sit on the damp ground, the chilly picnic bench or the dry blanket.

Next to Drew.

The blanket won. She sat on one side, nearest her family, leaving space for Amy and Tee, but the girls had joined the crowd of kids around the first dock.

Drew leaned back, gazing up, studying the stars. “It's a perfect night.”

It was. The heat had dissipated, leaving cool, fresh air to bathe her skin, enough to need a sweater or hoodie. And her mother's gardens were done, so that made the evening even better.

“Stars. Moon. Fireworks.”

It was a recipe for romance, or could have been. Regret hit her as she remembered that kiss. She'd thought—no, hoped—that there was something special between her and Drew, but she'd mistaken attraction for true affection.

That was her mistake, and not one she was likely to make again. Darkness settled in, deepening the shadows. When the first round of fireworks went off, the crowd exclaimed in appreciation. Volley after volley lit the night, and the thunderous follow-ups boomed through the air.

“Amazing, isn't it?” Drew spoke softly, but it wasn't the fireworks he was watching. It was Tee and Amy, laughing and hugging each other, feminine versions of their fathers.

“Time marches on.” She kept her voice soft, too, beneath the noise surrounding them. “They're wonderful girls.”

“Listen, Kimberly—”

She shook her head and held up a hand to stop him, but he didn't stop. He sat more upright and faced her. “I know you don't want to hear this, but it's important. I get a little overbearing when it comes to Rick and his family—”

“A little?”

“More than a little,” he conceded. “But I owe them. I owe him. And with all that's happened this past year, the changes we're all going to face because of his candidacy, I wanted this wedding perfectly safe. It's my way of thanking him for believing in a stupid drunk a bunch of years back.”

Her heart softened.

Atonement was something she understood well, because she'd been a jerk about Dave's death for years. “I hear you.”

“I'll back off,” he promised, facing forward, keeping his eyes trained on the beautiful night before them. “Everything is done. All plans are made. We're down to implementation, and that means I've got two weeks of relative tranquility on my hands. That will probably drive me crazy, but I'm going to try to keep busy while staying calm and cool. Okay?”

It was okay, and his words offered deeper insight. Making sure this wedding went off without a hitch was repayment, and she'd help make that happen because it was a concept she understood. She was about to speak when a deep-throated bark sounded in the distance behind them. The bark grew louder, closer and more insistent, while the next batch of fireworks claimed the night.

But not for Drew. He was on his feet instantly and running back, toward the house.

Rocky.

She stood up and followed him. The sound of the big dog's agitated bark grew closer, and then the long, screaming screech of car brakes split the night.

And when the gut-wrenching thud said the car couldn't come to a stop in time, fear and adrenaline pushed her to run faster.

She raced the last hundred feet and came to a quick stop at the curb. Drew, on his knees, bent low over his beloved friend, crooning words of comfort to the stricken shepherd. For just a moment, emotion threatened to claim her, but seeing Drew's heartbroken face, she couldn't give in.

Help him.

She clamped down the welling sympathy as she raced to his side. “Is he alive?”

“Barely.”

“I'll get the car.” She didn't pause for breath as she ran up to the house, crashed through the door, grabbed the car keys and brought the SUV down the driveway to the road's edge.

People had circled around, their backs to the fireworks, saddened by the tragedy marring the day. Jandro Gonzalez and Bob Gunther helped Drew lift the big dog into the back of the vehicle. Drew climbed in after him. “Can you drive?” He looked at Kimberly, and the pain in his eyes stumbled her resolve, but she tucked Amy into the passenger seat and headed north, toward the emergency veterinary clinic.

In the space of a minute, everything had changed, but there was an extra heavy burden weighing on Kimberly's shoulders as she drove.

She'd seen Callan's face as she ran into the house. She'd passed him on the curving driveway, and the look on his face said guilty as charged, which meant Callan had some serious reckoning ahead of him.

Had he released Rocky from the apartment? Gone in to see the dog?

She didn't know, and right now she needed to focus her attention on Drew, Amy and the beautiful shepherd who took his job and his family seriously.
Take care of him, God. Them. Please. And please don't let Rocky die.

She'd called ahead to the veterinary ER, and a crew rushed a gurney to the back of the car as soon as she pulled in. They bundled Rocky onto it, applied the restraints and had him whisked into the depths of triage before Drew could get inside to give his name.

“Will he die?” Amy whispered, clinging to Kimberly's side.

What answer could Kimberly give? She made a face and hugged the girl tighter. “I don't know. But we can pray for him, can't we?”

Amy bit down hard on her lip and nodded. She dipped her chin, praying silently, and the sight of this tough, precocious girl facing another loss broke Kimberly's heart. She wanted to crumble, but another part of her longed to help Amy face whatever loomed ahead. She snugged her arm around the girl and prayed with her while Drew gave the receptionist the information she needed.

And when he turned, his pallor made her want to help him, too. Her former misconceptions disappeared in the space of a heartbeat. This man—her brother's partner and friend—had suffered a grievous loss when Dave died, and she'd been wrong and foolish to blame him, or think he didn't care because the grief-stricken man before her cared a great deal.

But when he caught sight of Amy's sorrow, he calmed his gaze and moved their way with the face she'd seen at Dave's funeral. Not
him
, not the real Drew, a man of deep emotion, but the face he laid carefully in place to help others in their time of need.

“Hey.” He stooped low and took Amy into his arms while blinking back moisture in his eyes. “You praying?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Me, too.”

She looked up at him, wanting reassurance, but read her father's gaze and took a deep breath. “I don't want to lose any part of Team Slade.”

“Me, either.”

Amy nodded, hugged him, then settled back into the chair, trying to be brave. “So we pray and put him in God's hands.”

“Every day,” Drew assured her, and took the seat on her other side. He took her right hand in his left and bowed his head, and the two of them sat, linked by hand and faith.

Kimberly swallowed hard.

Prayer came easy when she was young. And then she'd moved away, gotten busy, shrugged off church, time, prayer and God as if none of it was important.

Of course it was. Why had she been so stupid?

She kept Amy's left hand lightly in her own, and joined with them in silent prayer.

The door swung open across from them.

Corinne came in with Callan.

Drew looked up, and Kimberly watched as realization turned his expression to resignation. Somehow, reading Callan's face and posture, he knew.

Corinne drew Callan closer. “How's Rocky?”

Drew shook his head. “He's badly injured. We don't know anything yet.”

She turned toward Callan and thrust him forward. “Tell him.”

Kimberly wasn't sure this was the right time or place, but she'd also figured out that parenting wasn't a walk in the park. Corinne seemed to handle it with a strength Kimberly respected.

Drew didn't stand. He sat, Amy's hand tucked in his, and faced the boy.

“I let him out.”

Drew's color faded. “Why would you do that?”

Callan cringed, not daring to look Drew or Amy in the eye. “I wanted to see him. Meet him. I didn't know he wouldn't stay right there—I thought a police dog would just listen to everything I said. Like he does with you. I'm so sorry.”

Kimberly had been watching Drew, so when Amy hurled herself out of the chair, she sat back, surprised.

“You stupid jerk!” Amy yelled, and when Callan took a step back, she followed. “You're a jerk to me, and a jerk to my dad and now you might have killed Rocky! I hate you!”

“Amy.” Drew reached out to tug her back, into his arms, but she whirled out of reach.

Callan shrank back, as surprised as anyone; then he turned and ran out of the waiting room, into the night.

Corinne went after him, Drew grabbed Amy and Kimberly sat still, shocked into reality for the second time in less than an hour.

Should she go after Corinne and Callan? Or stay here with Drew and Amy?

A plaque on the far wall gained her attention, Coleridge's words of wisdom for all to see. “He prayeth best, who loveth best / All things great and small / For the dear God who loveth us / He made and loveth all.” A box of Golden Retriever pups peeked up between the vintage reminder, their wide blue eyes excited to climb out of the box, examine the world around them.

She'd seen the anguish in Callan's face, heard it in his voice, but he'd set the stage for Amy's reaction with his continued bad behavior.

How could Drew and Amy ever forgive him? And how quickly could one event change a boy's life?

“I'll talk to him when things calm down. When we know more,” Drew added.

She turned and saw that Amy had climbed into her father's lap. For this moment the rugged tomboy adventurer had turned back into Daddy's little girl, and the sweetness of that melted her heart.

“Mr. Slade?”

“Yes.” Drew stood and carefully set Amy down at his side. “How is he?”

“He's in surgery. We're lucky that the car missed full body impact, but he's got a long recovery ahead of him. The damage is mostly to his hindquarters. I'll have a more detailed list available later, but the operating doctor wants you to know he's optimistic.”