Second Chance Dad Read online

  “But…” His voice trailed off, his flash of hope clearly fading away. “He told me he was gonna get a motorcycle.”

  “I don’t think he did, honey. But don’t worry, sweetheart. Things always work out for the best. And you’ll always have your grandma and two grandpas and me.”

  He pulled away and looked up at her, his expression stark. “But you could die and they could, too,” he insisted. “You’re all old.”

  She coughed to cover a startled laugh. Old? So that’s what this was about—his ongoing worry about everyone else in his family dying, too.

  “Your dad had a very rare problem. Remember? An aneurysm the doctors couldn’t fix. It doesn’t mean the rest of us will die like that.” Hollow words, when the child had seen the frantic efforts of the EMTs in their living room, and then had paced the waiting room of the hospital with her while Rob was in surgery. “I’m only twenty-nine and your grandparents are in their sixties. We could all live to a hundred.”

  His gaze skated to the family portrait on the wall, then he dropped his head. “But an aneurysm could kill anyone and you wouldn’t know it until you were dead. If it happened to Dad, it could get you and me and Grandpa, too.”

  “I hope not. But let’s talk about something else. Okay? You look so tired. Can I tuck you in for an extra hour before we need to leave for Grandpa’s house?”

  He usually refused to go back to bed when he awoke too early, then got overtired and more wound up over inconsequential things as the day went on. But now he stifled a yawn as he stepped away from her embrace, trudged back to his bedroom and climbed into bed.

  She followed, to kiss his cheek and tuck the covers around him. “I know things are difficult to understand, Eli…. but I’m really, really proud of you. And I love you more than I could ever, ever say. We’ll always have each other. I promise.”

  She stepped out of his bedroom, left the door partially open, then went down the hall to her own bedroom where the wedding picture on the bureau caught her eye.

  She sighed and rested her forehead against the door frame. If you hadn’t had to leave us things would be so different now. I tried hard in school, and I think I would have made you proud. But now we’re going to lose this house that you loved so much. I wish…

  But wishes didn’t change anything and her prayers hadn’t, either…and her one attempt at dating since Rob’s death had been a disaster.

  From here on out, she was on her own.

  Sophie stepped out of her ancient car to retrieve the backpack from the passenger side of the front seat, then opened Eli’s door.

  “Here you go, honey. Remember, I might be home late this evening, but Grandpa and Grandma said the three of you can have a bonfire out back and toast marshmallows. Would you like that?”

  He looked up at her with somber eyes. “Will we have to move?”

  With Eli, conversations often took unexpected turns right back to his favorite topics, but even now his focus on his inner world sometimes surprised her.

  “I hope not.”

  “But you were looking at houses. On the internet. In Minneapolis.”

  He’d been reading at the third grade level by early kindergarten, and she was reminded once again that though his mild Asperger’s impacted his interactions with others, he was extremely bright and perceptive, and keeping things from him wasn’t easy.

  “I was looking, yes. Just in case. It could be a really big adventure—like explorers in a whole new land! But if we’re lucky, we can stay right here.”

  “What about Grandma Margie and Grandpa Dean? And Gramps?”

  “If we move, they’ll come visit. Maybe Gramps will even move with us.” The probability of her grandfather doing that was roughly the same as a blizzard in July, but she could still hope.

  She gave Eli a quick hug “I love you. And I promise—things will work out.”

  “Love you, too.” Still, he looked unconvinced about the future as he hooked his backpack filled with motorcycle books on one shoulder and trudged up the long sidewalk to the front door.

  With lush flower beds overflowing with impatiens in pinks, violets and snowy-white, the little bungalow was pretty as a dollhouse with its white picket fence, crisp blue shutters and crimson door.

  “There’s Grandma at the front door waiting for you, honey,” she called out when Margie stepped onto the front porch. “Good morning!”

  “Well, look who’s here—my favorite grandson,” the older woman exclaimed. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

  Eli nodded stoically, accepted her hug, then slipped past her to go inside where she would fuss and hover and ply him with offers of his favorite breakfast items anyway.

  Margie made her way down the sidewalk and rested her hands on the picket fence gate, her expression troubled.

  Trim and attractive at sixty, she never stepped out of her house without being dressed well, her jewelry and makeup on, her soft platinum curls perfectly coiffed. Even now, she looked as if she could be heading for a ladies tea instead of babysitting her only grandson for the day.

  “Are you still looking at other job options?” she asked.

  “With regret.”

  “I just hate to think of you and Eli being off in some city two long hours away, where we can’t see you every day. He’ll really miss being here, you know.”

  “So will I. But I do have a job for the summer, and there’s a chance it could be permanent. Anyway,” Sophie added gently, “you and my dad will soon be moving to Florida.”

  “We’re still discussing it,” Margie said. “We’d go for just the winters, if I had my way. But he’s still wanting to go year-round. And you know your dad. It’s his way—”

  “—or the highway.” Sophie smiled faintly at their familiar exchange.

  Over the past twelve years the two of them had never become close, but no one could deny that Margie tried to be a good wife, and that she’d accepted Eli with all of the love of a biological grandma.

  And now that Sophie’s mom was gone, ensuring that Eli had the love and support of his grandfather and stepgrandma was more important than hanging on to hurt and anger over the illicit affair and subsequent divorce that had broken her mother’s heart.

  “It’s been great, being able to leave Eli here while I commuted to school and worked at the restaurant. But soon you’ll be enjoying those warm, sunny winters down south.”

  “Warm weather or being a part of our grandson’s life. There’s no contest in my mind.” Margie sighed. “But you’re right. Dean worked hard all his life, and that’s something he always wanted.”

  “Just think of all the fun you’ll have. When you two aren’t on a golf course, you can be lying on a beach.”

  “It isn’t good to be far from family. Not when you’re older. Things can happen…” Margie pressed her lips together.

  Sophie felt a flash of alarm. “Is something wrong? Are you and Dad okay?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” Margie waved her hands in airy dismissal. “No worries. But you’re right, of course. You need a career, wherever you can find the best options, and if there’s nothing for you here, then you need to move on.”

  Determination washed through Sophie as she thought of the challenging days ahead. There could be something for her here. A career with good benefits, and the cottage that she and Eli loved. Good schools. Good friends.

  A secure life.

  As long as Josh McLaren didn’t stand in her way.

  Chapter Three

  Heavy rain had fallen all night and most of today, so the lane down to the highway was probably impassible. But even though the rain showed no signs of letting up, Josh had no choice.

  Bear had finished off the last of his kibble this morning, and from his sorrowful expression as he followed Josh around the cabin and his mournful glances at the crumpled dog food sack at the front door, he was worried about his supper.

  “You win, but you’re gonna get your feet wet,” Josh said with a sigh as he grabbed his cane in h
is left hand. “And we both know how much you love that.”

  Out on the porch, the dog balked on the first step and looked out at the rain.

  “Better now than after nightfall, buddy. C’mon.”

  Traversing the short, wiry grass of the clearing surrounding the cabin was difficult on a sunny day, given the uneven ground and the weakness and instability of Josh’s right knee.

  Today, with rain-slick grass underfoot, Bear instinctively walked next to him, his shaggy body pressing against Josh’s weak leg.

  By the time Josh managed to open the door of the shed, toss a blanket across the front seat of the pickup and usher Bear into the cab, escalating pain radiated through his lower back, and his knee threatened to buckle with each slight movement.

  The dog watched as Josh carefully sat on the edge of the seat, slowly lifted his bad leg and winced as he swiveled into position behind the wheel.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were telling me ‘I told you so,’” Josh said on a long sigh as he leaned against the headrest for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside.

  But agreeing to physical therapy wouldn’t help. It never had—and that last therapist had even made things worse. The perky little therapist Grace kept sending out wouldn’t be any more successful than the ones she’d sent before.

  If Grace hadn’t been an old college classmate of his mother’s, he would’ve quit being polite about her ongoing efforts a long time ago.

  Bear gave a low woof.

  “You’re a traitor, you know.” Josh reached over to ruffle his thick coat. “Falling for Sophie’s dog treats is not a positive measure of your integrity.”

  As usual, Bear overflowed his half of the bench seat of the truck. Now, he awkwardly turned around and lay down, his feet slipping and sliding on the leather seat, until his tail pressed against Josh’s thigh and his head was propped against the passenger side door.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Great. I do this for you, and you’re sulking. I told you it was rainy outside,” Josh said with a laugh as he shifted the truck into reverse. “See if I brave the elements the next time you want to go to town.”

  The long gravel lane down to the highway had partially washed out down by the creek, where a culvert under the road hadn’t been able to handle the deluge, and only slippery mud remained. How had Sophie managed to make it up to his cabin in her old Taurus, earlier this afternoon?

  If nothing else, she was certainly one determined woman.

  By the time he reached the highway, he’d had to circumvent several impassable areas by veering up into the brush at the side of the lane, his truck was splattered with mud, and he was already regretting the decision to head for town.

  He pulled into the grocery store parking lot and pocketed his keys, thankful that the rain had now finally slowed to a chilly drizzle.

  There were a number of trucks pulled up in front of the coffee shop a few doors down, and there’d been several down at the feed store where a lot of the older guys often sat around drinking coffee. A group of teenagers heading into the grocery store were the only pedestrians in sight.

  Josh grabbed his cane and carefully climbed out of the truck, ignoring the searing pain arrowing down his spine. Protecting his weak knee, he eyed the distance to the door. No more than twenty or thirty feet. He could make it, easily.

  One of the teenagers turned back, surveyed his progress and gave him a pitying stare, then spun around and joined her friends, their chatter and high-pitched laughter ending abruptly as the automatic double doors closed behind them.

  Fifteen feet.

  Ten.

  Gritting his teeth, he reached the building and the doors whooshed open in front of him. Another few steps and he could steady himself with a grocery cart, pick up the dog food and the few things he needed for himself, and be on his way—

  Ahead, he saw a petite, auburn-haired woman zip around a corner with a grocery basket slung over one arm. Sophie. Why did she have to be here now?

  He groaned, pasted a strained smile on his face and made himself straighten up.

  A muscle spasmed in his back. His balance faltered, sending his foot skidding on the slick, wet tiles of the entryway. In one dizzying moment, he saw the floor rush up to meet him.

  And then stars exploded inside his skull.

  A teenager shrieked. Footsteps thundered down the aisle by the front door. Sophie froze for a split second, then dropped her basket of groceries and spun around to the end cap of the aisle. Four—no, five girls were standing around someone sitting on the floor.

  An all too-familiar oak cane with a carved handle lay on the floor nearby.

  Lois, a pudgy, middle-aged clerk in jeans and a purple Aspen Creek Warriors sweatshirt, was kneeling at his side. “Step back, girls. Go on about your business.”

  Nervous laughter rippled through the group. “I saw him fall,” one of them exclaimed. “He fell super hard. Is he, like, hurt real bad?”

  “Do you need help?” asked another girl, her voice tinged with excitement. “I think he hit his head. I took CPR for babysitting last fall.”

  “He’s breathing just fine, and says he’s perfectly okay.” Lois fluttered her hands at them, shooing them away. “Now scoot, and don’t embarrass the poor man any further. I’m just going to help him up in a minute, and he’ll be good to go.”

  The girls hovered, obviously loath to miss any excitement, then reluctantly continued on their way down the aisle when Lois fixed them with a steely glare. Their brittle laughter and stage whispers floated behind them as they left.

  Sure enough, Sophie could now see the man’s profile, and he was definitely Josh McLaren. His face was pale and strained, but from the high color at the back of his neck, rigid set of his jaw, and lines of tension bracketing his mouth and eyes, the fall had not only been painful, but he was also embarrassed at making a scene.

  The dilemma—embarrass him further with her presence, or stand back and risk the chance that he might falter and fall again?

  No contest.

  “Howdy, stranger,” she said lightly, moving to his other side as Lois helped him to his feet.

  He shot a glance at her and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  “I told him we should call the EMTs because I do think he hit his head,” Lois said, the crook of her elbow still hooked through his as she handed him his cane. “But he said absolutely not—that he’d be on his way home before they showed up, anyway.”

  “I don’t need any help. I need dog food. And then I need to go home,” he said, his voice ragged. He cleared his throat. “But thanks for the thought, and thanks for helping me out. You…probably need to put some mats down by that front door. It’s wet.”

  “Here—you can sit on that bench by the entrance, and I’ll get what you need, okay?” Sophie offered. “Just give me your shopping list.”

  “I’m not disabled,” he said through clenched teeth. The irony of his words apparently hit him, and his expression softened. “Well…maybe a little. But I can handle this myself.”

  “It will take just a minute if you let me help, or it could end up with you slipping again. Your boots are wet and a little muddy from being outside. This could’ve happened to anyone.”

  “Right. Which is my point exactly.” He nodded to her, then started slowly down the aisle, his shoulders stiff with the effort to keep each stride steady. “So, thanks for your concern, and please just take care of all your other clients. I am perfectly fine.”

  Sophie showed up every morning at the cramped Pine County Home Health office on Main Street to pick up the day’s set of patient folders, any new physical therapy orders, and the necessary equipment and supplies for the clients on her schedule.

  An orderly system. A good start to the day.

  But her first four days on the job had all ended the same. Failure. And it wasn’t going to happen again.

  She’d called the phone number listed on Dr. McLaren’s chart and
found it disconnected, then she’d stopped at his cabin three days in a row after that first awkward meeting. He hadn’t answered the door the first two times, but since his dog was there, surely the man had to be somewhere on the property.

  Yesterday, McLaren had been outside when she pulled in, and he’d flatly refused to begin therapy. Didn’t he have any idea of how much she could help, and how much better his quality of life could be? Why didn’t he care?

  Only his mammoth dog liked to see her show up, and she hadn’t made any progress at all with its owner. That humiliating incident at the grocery store yesterday had probably only firmed McLaren’s resolve.

  But after years of dealing with her critical father, difficult grandfather and a kind but apathetic husband, this was one man who wasn’t going to stand in her way, because far too much was at stake.

  Sophie climbed out of her car and tossed a dog biscuit at Bear, who had started meeting her with a feverishly wagging tail every time she showed up at the McLaren place. “If I’d known you were this happy over dog biscuits, I wouldn’t have sacrificed my salmon,” she said drily, rubbing the wiry fur on the top of his head. “So, where’s this master of yours hiding this time?”

  “I never hide. You just don’t know where to look. And frankly, that’s fine by me.”

  She spun around and found her quarry shadowed in the doorway of a log building at the edge of the clearing. Roughly the size of a three-car garage, its weathered exterior blended into the forest as if it had stood there for a hundred years.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Answering a phone or a knock on the door would be common courtesy.”

  “Of which I possess very little. So please, if you don’t mind—”

  “I want to help you, Dr. McLaren.”

  “And I just want to be left alone.” He stood straight and tall, a formidable and darkly handsome man who might have been at home in a boardroom or with a badge on his chest in the Old West, and his words rang with the finality of someone who didn’t intend to see her again. “I thought I made that clear at the grocery store yesterday. So good day, Ms…”