"That's when I got my first gray hair."
Ryan reluctantly smiled. "It got worse after that."
"Maybe you should have come back." He waved his hand toward the front door. "Would you like to come inside?"
Ryan immediately shook his head. He never went into a church unless there was a purpose, like a wedding he had to photograph or a funeral or a coronation. He never went in to pray. He didn't have a clue how to do that. Besides, he didn't hold much faith in prayers. A long, long time ago he had prayed every night before bed, squeezed his eyes shut, clasped his hands together, and tried so hard to make God hear him. But there had never been an answer, not even a whisper of one, just silence, just the sound of the river mocking him.
"Ryan?"
"What?" He turned his attention to the priest.
"I'm glad you've come home."
"Not home -- just back." Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets. "Maybe it's not a good idea after all."
"Second thoughts?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Afraid of what you will find, or what you won't find?"
"Both."
"I always liked you, Ryan."
Ryan sent him a skeptical look. "I distinctly remember having to say something like one hundred and fifty Hail Mary's after my first confession, and I was only nine at the time."
"You had some catching up to do. And penance is good for the soul. I always wondered what made you so angry. Is the anger finally gone? Is that why you've come home?"
Ryan thought about his question for a long time. He didn't think of himself as angry, but something certainly drove him to the farthest corners of the world. "I came back to say good-bye."
"But you just got here."
"I never looked back when I left before. I guess there's a part of me that wants to take one last look."
"That's a start." Father Miles patted Ryan's shoulder and walked into the church.
"A start to what?" Ryan muttered. He wasn't starting anything. Not here. Not now. Not in this town.
The church door opened again, and Father Miles hurried out with a large wicker basket in his hand. "I'm glad I caught you. Could you give this to Kara Delaney for me? She'll know what to do."
"What is it? Food or something?"
Father Miles pulled back the blanket, revealing three puppies waking up from a nap. They were starting to stretch and blink their eyes open.
Ryan took a step backward in dismay. "Uh, Father, I'm not very good with animals."
"They're not for you. They're for Kara. She told me she wanted a big family. You're staying at the Gatehouse, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then you can save me a trip. They're orphans, poor things. Their mama died, and their owner -- well, she's an older woman and she just can't handle them. They're small now, but they're golden retrievers."
"Oh, my."
"Yes, indeed." Father Miles smiled as he handed the basket to Ryan. "Go on, take them."
Ryan reluctantly took the basket. One of the puppies tried to scramble over the side, and he pushed it down with his other hand. Almost immediately the other two puppies tumbled into one another.
"Better get them in the car fast," Father Miles advised.
"Oh, Jes --," Ryan stopped himself as he tried to maintain control of the basket and the puppies. "I don't know how to take care of puppies or anything for that matter. Just myself, you know. I just take care of myself."
Father Miles nodded as he opened the door to Ryan's car. "They can't take care of themselves, Ryan. They need you. And Kara, of course."
Kara. Right. Ryan was beginning to dislike her already. Not only had she sent him the damn invitation, but now he had to take care of her puppies. He set the basket down on the floor in front of the passenger seat. It was a tight fit, but he managed to close the door.
"God be with you," Father Miles called.
Ryan looked up at the sky. He had the distinct feeling that God had a sense of humor.
Ryan glanced at the wicker basket. The puppies stared back at him, big brown eyes filled with the wonder of life. He now knew where the expression "puppy dog eyes" came from. It would be difficult to deny these little doggies anything.
"Just stay right there," he warned, "or you'll be in big trouble." One of the puppies barked in obvious delight. Maybe talking to them wasn't a good idea. He didn't want them to think he actually liked them, although they were kind of cute. Nothing like Max, the German shepherd his father had raised from a pup. That dog had scared him to death. Max had not been the kind of dog you could pull on your lap or snuggle up to on a cold winter night. He had been an outdoor dog, a hunting companion for his father.
Ryan turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the parking lot. Fifty yards down the highway, one of the puppies crawled out of the basket and onto the passenger seat. Ryan tried to push the dog back into the basket, but the puppy playfully licked his hand. Ryan winced at the moisture. "Come on, little doggy. There you go."
One dog in, another dog out. Then the third. Suddenly all three puppies were crawling on the front seat, over the console, onto his lap.
"Oh, shit." Ryan tried to drive with one hand as he grabbed for the puppies. As if in reply, one of the dogs peed on his pant leg. Ryan groaned. "I'm going to kill you," he said to the puppy. "Right after I kill Kara Delaney."
The puppy put his head down on Ryan's leg with a woebegone expression. "All right, maybe I won't kill you."
Ryan took the turnoff onto Main Street. There was a new stop sign at the corner; still not much traffic, but it looked as if someone was hoping. He drove farther down the street, under the faded white arches that read Serenity Springs, past Ike's Barber Shop, Miller's Grocery, Nellie's Diner, and Swanson's Bar.
The buildings on Main Street were rundown, some in desperate need of a paint job. A few of the storefronts were boarded up. The five-and-dime was gone. The bicycle shop was gone. But there was a new yogurt shop, and some construction was going on at the corner of Main Street and Jordan Road.
Down one of the side streets he could see the banner for his father's newspaper, The Sentinel. Down another street he saw the post office and the bank, a movie theater still showing one of the Rocky movies, and the recreation center.
He got mixed feelings from the town. Some streets seemed deserted. Others looked on their way to restoration, as if the town was divided into two factions, people who wanted to move on and people who didn't.
At the end of Main Street, Ryan turned left. He drove down familiar residential streets. He remembered playing kick ball, trick-or-treating on Halloween, playing hide-and-seek on late summer evenings, and catching butterflies in the springtime.
The carefree days of his childhood had become less enchanted after his mother left. By the time he reached his teens, the small town had become too small for him, like a prison, barring him from his dreams.
Thank God he had gotten out.
While Ryan was reminiscing, one of the puppies started to bark, then uttered a coughing, choking sound, and finally threw up on the passenger seat.
"Great, just great." Ryan rolled down a window. This trip was already a disaster. Why on earth had he agreed to come?
He took the last couple of blocks at a faster speed, relieved to finally turn toward the river onto Laurel Lane. There were only a few big houses on this road, two-and three-story monuments to a river town gone downhill. One of them looked empty; another struggled to stay upright. At the end of the road was the Gatehouse, a proud old Victorian home with fanciful turrets and gables.
As he came to a stop in the parking lot, he noticed that the house had been repainted a light beige. The garden was bursting with color even in the middle of winter, and the old white gazebo in the side yard sported patches of new wood that still needed paint.
On the large porch that wound around the house were white wicker chairs, hanging plants, and a love-seat swing. Next to the house, an old tire still hung from the oak tree. It blew slightly in the wind, reminding him of long-ago summer days when he had sat in that very swing and wanted nothing more than a hot, lazy day. Things had been so easy then.
Ryan shut off the engine. He opened the car door and the three puppies jumped onto the ground, each going in a different direction. "Hey, wait. Come back here."
He grabbed one puppy and pulled its squirming body into his arms. The second one escaped him. He saw the third playing with the end of a garden hose on the lawn.
As Ryan jogged up the grass to get the third puppy, the first puppy tumbled out of his arms. The garden hose snapped up and a small stream of water caught him in the face. He pulled back abruptly. The puppy stopped and looked at him in surprise.
"Okay, that's it. Now I'm angry," he declared. "You are puppy chow."
"What's going on?" a voice demanded.
Ryan looked up as a woman stepped out onto the porch. Her hair was a glorious shade of red, drifting down past her' shoulders in thick waves that glistened in the late-afternoon sunshine. Her body was slender and supple in a pair of navy blue leggings and a soft, clingy white sweater.
For a brief moment he felt as if he were looking at her through the hazy glass of an old mirror or the fuzzy lens of a camera. She fit the setting perfectly, the old house, the big porch, the sense of past and present connected. A modern woman in an old-fashioned setting. Instinctively he reached for the camera that usually hung around his neck. Today it was missing, and he felt almost naked without it.
Ryan scrambled to his feet, suddenly realizing he was kneeling in the middle of this woman's lawn with his face dripping from a garden hose and his pants smelling to high heaven. This was not how he had pictured his arrival home.
Kara jogged down the steps of her porch as one of the puppies dug furiously in the dirt near her rosebushes.
"Excuse me, but your dog is digging up my garden," she said.
Ryan stared at her in astonishment. "That is not my dog."
"Oh yeah? Well, he's not my dog." Kara picked the puppy up. As she did so, the other two puppies came charging around the corner. "What on earth? How many are there?" she demanded.
Ryan managed to grab one of the puppies as it scooted by. The third remained free, barking in delight. "Three," he ground out. "And they're all yours."
"I'm sorry, but I don't allow dogs in the Gatehouse. I just redid the rugs. You know how puppies are."
Ryan sent her a wry smile and pointed to the wet spot on his slacks. "Oh, yeah, I know how puppies are."
Kara took a step closer, really looking at him for the first time. "Oh, my. You're -- you're Ryan Hunter."
He nodded, taking his own time looking at her. She wasn't as pretty as the models he worked with, but he found her looks more appealing. Her clear blue eyes conveyed a sense of tranquillity. The laugh lines around her eyes indicated a sense of humor, and her wide, generous mouth was just perfect for ... Ryan cleared his throat. If there was ever a time not to think about kissing someone, this was it. Besides, she was probably married.
"You're early," she said. "I -- I wasn't expecting you until tonight. And I thought you'd be alone."
"That was my intention. The dogs aren't mine. I'm just delivering them to you from Father Miles. He said you'd know what to do."
Kara gave him a blank stare. "Know what to do? With puppies? I've never had a dog in my life."
"You've got three now."
"You must have misunderstood Father Miles."
"You are Kara Delaney?"
"Yes, but -- "
"Father Miles said you wanted a big family."
"I wasn't talking about puppies. I was talking about -- well, it doesn't matter what I was talking about. You'll have to take them back."
"I'm not taking them anywhere. They're all yours."
"Then I'll take them back."
"You do that." Ryan handed her another puppy. "By the way, one of them gets carsick. I can't remember which one."
"Carsick," Kara said faintly, trying to hold the two puppies in her arms. Oh, Lord, she didn't know what to do with animals. Most dogs didn't even like her. And she never heard cats meow. They usually gave her some sort of a hissing sound and a swipe of their paw. She just wasn't an animal person. There was no way she could keep three puppies. What on earth had Father Miles been thinking?
Ryan captured the last puppy and walked down to his car. He retrieved the wicker basket and set it on the porch steps. "Here you go," he said.
Kara looked at him in dismay. Before she could say a word, Angel came running around the side of the house, her long brown hair blowing in the wind, her feet bare, jeans dirty. She stopped abruptly at the sight of her mother holding two puppies.
"Mom. You got me a dog?" Angel asked in wonder. Her big brown eyes got even bigger. The look on her face turned into pure joy.
Kara groaned. Now she was in trouble.
"You said we couldn't have a dog. But you got me one anyway." Angel threw her arms around her mother and the puppies. "I love you. I love you. I love you. You're the best mother in the whole wide world." The puppies started to bark, and Angel laughed with delight as she pulled one into her arms. "They are so adorable. And you got me two, I can't believe it."
"Actually she got you three," Ryan said, holding up the third puppy.
"Wow."
Kara shot Ryan a dirty look. "They are not staying."
Angel's face fell. "They're not?"
"No."
"Oh."
Kara weakened at the sight of her daughter's face. For a moment Angel's face had filled with light, the way it used to. Now her expression was dull, pained. Kara hated that look, and she had seen it a lot lately.
Silently Angel held out the puppy to her mother.
Kara glanced over at Ryan. He was studying her thoughtfully, and she didn't care for the look of judgment in his eyes. "I'm busy," she said. "I don't have time for puppies."
Ryan shrugged. "Hey, it's no skin off my back what you do with them."
Kara sighed, feeling like the wicked stepmother. "All right. We'll keep one, just one."
"I think they're a package deal," Ryan interjected.
"Would you be quiet?"
"Just trying to help."
Kara shook her head. "Everyone said you'd bring trouble with you. I should have listened to them."
"You probably should have," Ryan agreed, his tone and expression carefully neutral.
"Well, right now we need to find a place for the puppies. Maybe the sun porch. We can close it off and cover it with newspapers for the time being."
Kara put the puppies in the basket, and with Ryan's help they got them into the sun porch without any further mishaps. Leaving Angel to play with the dogs, Kara led Ryan into the kitchen. She handed him a dry towel and watched as he wet it down with water and tried to wipe off his tan-colored slacks.
His casual clothes were wrinkled from the trip, the sleeves on his navy blue shirt pushed up above his elbows. But despite his somewhat tired look, he was a handsome man. He didn't have the chiseled look of a movie star, but rather the square, rugged face of a man who liked to get dirty, the kind you'd see on a rugby or a soccer field, the kind who wouldn't walk away from a fight.
His dark brown hair and olive skin were set off by a pair of light green eyes. His well-defined jawline implied stubbornness, his windblown hair suggested a spirit of adventure, and his confident movements made it clear that this man was used to being in charge, which was probably why he was frowning at the stain on his pants.
Kara smiled in spite of herself. He'd looked ridiculous chasing after those puppies, not like the wild, angry young man she had heard so much about, or the jet-setting playboy photographer for that matter. He had just looked like a man -- human, vulnerable, strong, sexy...
Kara shook her head, dismayed at the direction her thoughts were taking.
Ryan looked up and smiled. His crooked grin put her on edge. He didn't look vulnerable anymore. He looked dangerous, mischievous, and far too knowing. This was a man who knew his power over women, and that was the last thing Kara wanted in a man. Never again would she be the one to love the most. Never again would she put herself in the position of waiting for a man to come home, and wondering if he ever would.
"Why don't you sit down? Would you like some iced tea?" she asked pleasantly, deliberately putting on her innkeeper hat, at least figuratively speaking.
"Sure." Ryan slid into a chair at the breakfast room table and cast a curious glance around the kitchen. "You've done wonders with this place. Last time I saw it, the house was falling apart."
"My aunt went through some hard times with the death of her third husband," Kara said as she took a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator. "She remarried last year -- Ike Kelly, you might remember him."
Ryan's jaw dropped open. "Ike Kelly, ex-marine barber who talks like a sailor and drinks whiskey for breakfast -- that Ike Kelly?"
Kara smiled. "Opposites attract, I guess."
"I guess."
Ryan's gaze drifted down her body, and Kara instinctively moved the pitcher in front of her breasts. This man could flirt without saying a word.
Moving over to the counter, she took two glasses out of the cabinet and filled them both with tea. "Do you take lemon or sugar?"
"Plain is fine."
Kara took the glasses over to the table and sat down across from him, reminded that only a week earlier she had sat here with Andrew and argued about Ryan. The two brothers certainly were different, one quiet and somewhat plain, the other outgoing and attractive.
"Does your aunt still live here?" Ryan asked.
"No. When she remarried she considered selling the Gatehouse, but I decided to come back and take it over."
"What did your husband say?"
By force of habit, Kara looked down at her now-empty ring finger. The tan line stood out in stark evidence.
Ryan followed her gaze."No husband?"