Читать книгу Dreaming of Home - Glynna Kaye - Страница 11

Gripping his son’s hand, Joe led Davy across the black-topped road a few blocks down the street from the stone-fronted Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. They located the dirt trail shortcut through towering ponderosa pines and headed on the three-quarter-mile hike homeward, home temporarily being Joe’s father’s place at the Lazy D Campground and RV Park.

The boy tugged on his dad’s hand and, as always, the tiny one engulfed in his own swelled Joe’s heart with an overwhelming love and sense of responsibility. How could he have stayed away from his son so long?

“Dad?”

Joe felt little fingers dancing in his palm as he glanced down at the hope-filled face staring up at him. Davy looked like his mother when his eyes got big and solemn like that.

“Can we have Miss Meg over for pirate food tonight?”

He hadn’t seen that one coming. “I…don’t think so, bud.”

“How come?”

“Because…” Because he didn’t need any distractions right now. Especially not a pretty, petite distraction. One with gentle, laughing eyes and a smattering of freckles over her pert nose. A winsome smile that made you want to hang out and talk a while longer. No. No distractions of that variety. Never again. Or at least not for a good long while.

Shaking away a mental image of the perky brunette shopkeeper, Joe banished a lingering smile. His boy came first now.

Davy slowed, scuffing his feet through the dry, brown pine needles. “Because why?”

“Because I don’t think we have enough pirate food for all of us.”

There, that was easy enough.

Davy perked up. “I’ll eat only one fish stick.”

“You like her that much?” Joe playfully jiggled his son’s hand, remembering the delight reflected in the pretty woman’s eyes when Davy stepped from behind the postcard rack. And the teasing smile she’d leveled in his own direction when she discovered a pirate crouched on the floor of the shop. “I think she likes you, too.”

The boy ducked his head.

“Is that a blush?” Joe tugged Davy close and ruffled his hair. He needed a haircut, but Davy’s grandma said all the boys were wearing it that long now. That was one battle he’d put on hold.

The little body squirmed free. “Please, Dad?”

“Not tonight. We need to spend some time with Grandpa. That’s one of the reasons we came here, remember?”

And he’d let himself be flayed alive if Davy ever found out the other reason.

“I bet I can spend time with Miss Meg and Grandpa at the same time.” Davy folded his arms in an uncompromising manner Joe recognized as his own.

“Let’s visit with Grandpa tonight, okay? Then we’ll see about Miss Meg another time.”

Or not.

With a triumphant wheeee, Davy spread his arms winglike and dashed ahead. Joe watched in fascination, as he’d done countless times in recent days, at the ephemeral transformation of childish spirits. Dead sober one moment and carefree the next. Trusting that everything would work out. No worries.

If only life were so simple. Joe pulled the bandana from his head and roughed up his hair with his fingers. Then holding out his left hand, he stared for a long moment at the gold band gleaming among the faux pirate gems. It wasn’t going to be easy but, God willing, he’d do whatever it took. Separating from the Navy and coming back to Canyon Springs was the right decision. The teaching job, too. It was all about Davy now.

He watched his son race down the winding dirt path, arms outstretched as he wove from side to side like a fighter jet honing in on an aircraft carrier.

The kid never asked for much. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Miss Meg over for pirate food. Sometime.

Maybe.

Not tonight.

“Not tonight!” Meg wailed. “Not again!”

It was at her third rapid step into the RV park’s darkened laundry room that the splash registered in her ears and water seeped into her low-cut flats.

She whirled with the overflowing hamper in her arms and slopped back out onto the covered porch. Setting down her laundry, she peered into the dimly lit room once more. Yep. Two inches of water. Again.

And wouldn’t you know it. She hadn’t had any time to do laundry that week, so it was getting to the do-it-now-or-wear-dirty-clothes stage. She was almost out of towels, too.

Zipping her sweatshirt against the encroaching chill, Meg gazed across the heavily treed campground, trying to decide what to do next. “A thinning number of oversized “land whales,” pop-up tents, trailers and campers dotted the landscape, their windows aglow as twilight slipped into darkness. Seasonal guests at this more-than-a-mile-high elevation had diminished considerably after Labor Day and more departed with each passing week as nighttime temperatures dipped into the low forties.

She sighed. Would she be wintering here herself or soon be heading back home to Phoenix? Until a few hours ago when Joe Diaz announced his intention to apply for the teaching job, she’d been certain of God’s leading. But now?

The Log-O-Laundry was not far down the road, but first she needed to make management aware of the water problem. Lugging the hamper along, she made her way to the log-sided office building. The door was locked, and only dim light emitted from the vending machines at the rear of the main room. She knocked, hoping someone might be in a back office or the rec room, but it was apparent Vannie Quintero, the White Mountain Apache teen who worked weekends, had closed for the evening.

While she hated to bother the campground’s owner, someone needed to know about the laundry room crisis. Again hoisting the hamper, she stepped off the porch and headed around the side of the building to a neat, but aging, modular home where Bill Diaz resided. The wooden deck creaked as she ascended the stairs and approached the metal-rimmed screen door. Red-and-black buffalo plaid curtains at the front windows looped aside to reveal a cozy, golden-hued interior. Meg glimpsed the owner reclining in an easy chair, the lantern-based lamp next to him illuminating an open newspaper gripped in his hands.

She knocked, and momentarily the door swung open.

“Grandpa, it’s Miss Meg!” Davy, incongruously dressed in cowboy-themed flannel pajamas and the brigand’s hat from earlier in the afternoon, hopped from one bare foot to the other as he opened the screen door. “She’s come to have pirate food with us.”

The scent of fresh coffee mingling with an acrid odor of burned food caught her attention. “Thank you, Davy, but I’m not here to eat. I need to see your grandpa a minute.”

Meg glimpsed the boy’s father in the adjoining kitchen, his unexpected frown directed right at her. She hadn’t thought to ask Sharon where the two younger Diaz males were staying, but she should have known they’d be at Bill’s. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he nodded a wary response. Great. He probably thought she was stalking him or something.

A newspaper crackled, and in a moment the stocky, mustached Bill Diaz appeared behind his grandson. Placing one hand on the boy’s shoulder, he held open the screen door with the other. Soft light glinted off salt-and-pepper hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hawklike nose. She could now see a resemblance to Joe through the eyes, but suspected his son might take more after his mother.

“Hey, Meg. What can I do for you?”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the laundry room’s flooded again.”

Bill scrubbed at his face with his hand and reached for a ball cap lying on a table near the door. “I thought that was taken care of. Let me take a look at it.”

“Dad.” Joe’s disapproving voice cut in from the adjoining room. “It’s time to eat. Can’t that wait?”

“It can wait if you don’t care if your old man gets sued by a litigation-happy camper.” He turned to Meg with a grin. “Now step on in here, young lady. Get out of the cold while I turn off the water and lock up.”

“Thanks, but I need to get going. Besides, my shoes are sopping wet.”

Bill glanced down at her feet, illuminated in the light spilling from the open door. “Davy, run and get a pair of my socks. Clean ones. And a towel.”

“Dad—” Joe’s voice warned again.

“Can’t have her catching her death of cold right on my doorstep.” Bill cast an obstinate look in his son’s direction as he pried the laundry hamper from Meg’s fingers and set it inside the door. “Come in, come in.”

“No, really, I—”

“We’re having fish sticks,” Davy called as he paddy-footed to do his grandfather’s bidding. “You can have some. I’m only having one.”

“Thank you, but I—”

“Of course you can have some.” Bill reached for her hand and tugged her inside. “Unless you’ve already had dinner?”

She hadn’t eaten yet, but she doubted anything on the bachelor buccaneer menu would match her dietary restrictions. Her gaze collided once more with Joe’s across the room. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Big lunch.”

“Nonsense. You’d blow away in a strong breeze.” Bill handed her the towel and socks Davy had retrieved. Motioning to the kitchen area of the open-planned house, he leaned over with a confiding whisper. “I’ll be right back. Keep Joe company. Make sure he doesn’t burn anything else.”

Joe shook his head and turned back to the stove, but not before she caught a twitch of a smile. Thank goodness. She’d barely towel dried her feet and pulled on Bill’s socks when Davy grasped her hand.

“Dad burned the potatoes.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe that lovely aroma was his aftershave.”

Grinning, Davy pinched his wrinkled-up nose.

Joe glanced over at them. “Wash up, Davy. And ditch the hat, please.”

“But Dad—” The boy rolled his eyes and gave Meg’s hand a squeeze before releasing it to skip from the room, his enthusiasm at the prospect of her company apparent. An enthusiasm his father evidently didn’t share.

After a moment’s hesitation, Meg approached the tiny kitchen. Stuffing her hands into her sweatshirt pockets, she leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner.”

“Hope you’re into packaged seafood.” He motioned with a spatula to the box of frozen fish sticks. “Not exactly fresh from the Pacific.”

“Catch of the day is highly overrated, don’t you think?”

Joe flashed a smile that once again sent Meg’s heart skittering, and it was with more than a little reluctance that she pulled her gaze away to take in her well-worn, rustically furnished surroundings. Black iron woodstove. Heavy oak pieces. Leather upholstery. A Navajo-patterned, throw-sized blanket tossed across the arm of the sofa. Masculine without a doubt, with no evidence of a woman’s touch. She knew Bill was divorced. Quite some time ago, if the house bore true testimony.

Her gaze continued around the room until, with a stab of recognition, she glimpsed teaching certification application forms spread out on the coffee table. With some effort, she turned to Joe. “This is nice. Cozy.”

He nodded as he scattered the fresh batch of cubed potatoes around the frying pan. “It’s home. Or used to be thirteen years ago.”

“Nice,” she repeated, then took a quick breath and lowered her voice. “Look, I want to apologize about this afternoon.”

Joe cocked his head. “And this would be for—?”

“For making that flippant comment about Davy’s mother. About her being relieved that you didn’t want to get the girl. I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Davy looked confused when I said that. I’m usually more careful about making assumptions.” She didn’t mention that the ring on his left hand contributed to the misunderstanding.

“No harm done. He hasn’t mentioned it. I didn’t think twice about it.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the loss of your wife. Sharon Dixon told me.”

He kept his eyes on the stovetop. “Thanks.”

“Has it…been long? I mean, as Davy’s Sunday school assistant it might help if—”

“He doesn’t remember her.” Joe jabbed at the sizzling potatoes. “Not much, anyway. Except for what he’s been told. Photos. Videos. He wasn’t quite three when…you know.”

Meg nodded, not wanting to pry further, and was grateful when she heard the front door open as Bill returned. A gust of fresh, crisp air permeated the room.

“The laundry’s a mess all right. I’ll get someone out here on Monday to take a look at it.” He pulled off his shoes as Davy reentered the room. Together they set the table, and Meg caught the older man in a momentary pause as, lips pursed in concentration, he looked around in search of something. Then with a few quick steps to an overstuffed bookcase, he pushed aside a piece of native pottery and plucked up a vase filled with faded red silk flowers. Dusting them off with a sleeve, he returned to the dining area and plopped the container in the middle of the oak table with a satisfied grunt.

Davy’s eyes approved as he placed folded paper towels under mismatched silverware. “That’s cool, Grandpa.”

Bill patted the boy’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Meg’s. “We have a lady joining us tonight.”

Her heart warmed as he pulled out a chair for her. Within minutes Joe placed hot pads on the table, one for the skillet of browned potatoes and another for a pan of oven-baked fish. A chipped yellow Fiesta dinnerware bowl cradled canned green beans. Another, canned pears. Davy contributed a bottle of ketchup and stepped back to view his handiwork. He looked every bit as satisfied as his grandfather did upon locating the flowers.

No, the meal didn’t fit the dietitian’s recommendations, but one night wouldn’t hurt. Meg shared a smile with the excited boy.

Once seated at the oval table, across from Joe and between Davy and Bill, Meg bowed her head as Joe’s dad offered thanks. Then upon Davy’s hearty “Amen,” the boy leaned forward to address Bill.

“Grandpa, can I have a sleepover at Miss Meg’s?”

What? Stunned, she could only hope she hadn’t gasped aloud.

“Davy.” A coffee mug halfway to his lips, Joe’s appalled tone echoed through the room. He cast an apologetic glance at her.

“I’d say that would be up to her, young man,” Bill interceded on behalf of his grandson. “Did she invite you?”

Davy slumped for a moment in his chair, shaking his head. Then he perked up, turning a beaming smile on her.

“Will you invite me?”

“David William Diaz!” The timbre of Joe’s voice registered displeasure at his son’s chutzpah. “We don’t invite ourselves to other people’s houses.”

“It’s not a house, Dad,” Davy whispered in an aside, as if embarrassed by his father’s misunderstanding of the situation. “It’s an RV.”

“It may not be a house, but it is Miss Meg’s home.”

All eyes turned to her for confirmation.

She wet her lips. Yes, as weird as it might seem to most people, the RV was her home. A retreat where she could be alone with her thoughts. A hideaway to shut out the world. A refuge when life’s realities became too overwhelming.

“A sleepover is—” She took an uncertain breath as she looked from father to grandfather to grandson. “Is…fine with me.”

What was she thinking? This was not a good idea.

Clutching his fork in a fist, Davy leaned in. “Please, Dad?”

“Come on, Joe.” Bill pinned his son with a meaningful look. “You could use a night off. Why not tonight?”

Tonight? Meg took a shaky sip from her water glass. What had she gotten herself into?

“Tonight?” Joe set down his coffee mug. “We’re talking about tonight?”

Meg focused steadily on Davy’s hope-filled eyes, and her insides melted. She hadn’t the heart to disappoint him. “Tonight’s okay with me.”

“All right!” Davy’s fist punched the air.

Staring at her, Joe picked up his fork, laid it down and then picked it up again.

As if reading his son’s mind, Bill spoke up. “I’ve known Meg for months. Love her to pieces. She not only babysits for your cousin Reyna’s kids, but she cleared the background check for school and the church.”

“What’s a background check?” Davy looked to his grandfather, but Meg responded.

“It means I’m a certified good person to be around kids.”

Davy considered that for a moment before turning to his father with a doubtful look. “Are you certified to be around kids, Dad?”

Bill chuckled, and she bit back a smile.

“Not yet. But I will be. Soon.” Joe cut into a fish stick. “And certification has nothing to do with being a mom or dad. It’s only for when you have a job with kids that aren’t your own.”

“Might not be a half-bad idea, though.” Bill sent a wink in Meg’s direction.

“So, can I go, Dad? Please? Because Miss Meg’s certified?”

Joe cleared his throat. “Let’s eat while I think about it.”

Davy wiggled in his seat, then dived into the pirate food with gusto.

Still baffled at her own willingness to host a sleepover for a child she hardly knew, Meg cast a furtive glance in Joe’s direction before turning her attention back to her meal.