Glynna Kaye - Dreaming of Home

Relieved at his father’s benign response, Joe motioned at the campground. “Pretty clear, don’t you think? Part-time jobs. Living in an RV.”

“Meg McGuire is a good girl. A little down on her luck.”

Joe turned to his father. “What’s that mean? She was evasive when I asked why she lived in an RV.”

“Transitioning. Trying to make a fresh start.”

“From what? Rehab? The state pen?”

Bill peered at his son over the top of his glasses. “Show a little faith in me, Joe. Davy is my grandson.”

He shifted. “Sorry. It’s just that—”

“Look, besides your own cousin’s recommendation, Sharon Dixon also vouches for her. Says Meg roomed with her daughter at ASU. You remember Kara don’t you?”

“Vaguely.” The name sounded familiar. Couldn’t put it to a face. “So what constitutes down on her luck?”

“Nobody tells me anything around here. But I’m picking up that like most people these days, there’s a broken relationship wedged in Meg’s not-too-distant past. I’m guessing she’s attempting to put some miles in between.” Bill turned off the lamp, rose from his chair and then stepped to the window. “You gotta remember, not everyone is as fortunate to have what you and Selena had.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “Don’t encourage Davy in this, okay?”

“Come on. A kid needs a woman in his life. You know that better than anyone.” When Joe didn’t respond, his dad continued. “And it’s good for a kid to have more than one adult to relate to.”

Since when did his father become the all-knowing expert at parenting? “I’d rather we didn’t pick someone off the street for my son to bond with.”

Bill laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it hard. “There’s nothing to worry about, kiddo. I’ve seen Meg with the kids at church, and they love her. Everybody around here loves her. And the RV sits not two-hundred steps off my front deck. If you let Davy sleep over, you can stay up all night with your binoculars trained on the place. Or call every half hour—I have her cell number.”

The hand gripped his shoulder harder before he stepped away, avoiding his son’s gaze.

“What? Something about her is bothering you.”

His father’s expression contorted with indecision. “Probably not for me to say.”

“Come on, Dad.”

The older man grimaced. “She’s a teacher, too.”

“So? She told me she subs around here.”

“Did it occur to you that she subs because she’s waiting for a permanent opening—teaching science?”

Joe’s heart stilled. No way. Not thirty minutes ago, lapping up her attention, he’d dropped his guard and spilled his guts about teaching. Said it didn’t pump him.

Oh, man. Right into the hands of the competition?

“What makes you think that? She didn’t say anything to me, and I mentioned the job when I first met her. We even discussed it again tonight.”

“Put two and two together, that’s all.”

He let out a breath of pent-up air. “But you don’t know it for a fact, right? She didn’t tell you that.”

“No. But I got thinking about it at dinner tonight. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Meg’s been here since last spring. Subbing. Like she’s waiting for something.”

Joe scowled, irritation rising. “Why are you telling me this? So I can—what? Not apply so she can have it? Get a job waiting tables down at Kit’s?”

“Of course not.”

“Dad, I don’t have to tell you there are few jobs in this town for a man to earn a decent living. This is my hometown. Not Meg’s. I have a kid to support. I want to raise him right here in Canyon Springs. I thought you wanted that, too.”

“I do. I just wanted you to know, that’s all. Meg’s become a favorite around here in the short time she’s called this town home. You may face some opposition. Ben Cameron may back you, but he doesn’t run the school district.”

“So it’s Little Red Riding Hood versus the Big Bad Wolf?”

With an exasperated shake of his head, his father turned away and started down the hall to his room. Agitated, Joe remained where he was for several moments before moving to flip off the overhead light. Returning to the window, he stood in the darkened room gazing at Meg’s dimly lit RV.

Great. Just great.

But despite his irritation—and yes, he could admit it, fear—the image of her wide, expressive eyes and teasing smile flashed through his mind. It was no wonder that his father insisted everyone loved her. Friendly. Pretty. Bright.

But what kind of woman lived in a portable house by choice? Weren’t women supposed to be into that setting down roots, white picket fence thing? Kids. Cat. Dog. Camping out in an RV park didn’t smack of a desire to settle down and hold a permanent job. Dad was wrong.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

She’d been openly curious about his background tonight. Flat out asked him if teaching was his first love. He’d basked in the attention, eaten it all up, took it as personal interest. But could it be professional?

He swallowed hard as he stared out at the RV. Could the winsome little woman be camouflaging underhanded motives with a beckoning smile and flattering lips? Didn’t the Good Book warn men of that?

No, Dad had to be wrong. He had to be because his foolhardy son got caught up in feminine wiles and handed over damaging evidence that even Ben Cameron might not be willing to overlook. He’d sunk his own ship before he’d even hoisted anchor.

He took a deep breath. This called for a little preemptive chat with Ben, just to be on the safe side. No way was that pretty little thing going to walk away with his job.

He’s pirating away my dream job and he doesn’t even like teaching? Come on, God, how fair is that? Meg tossed and turned in her cab-over bed long after Joe picked up his sleepy son and the two adults had engaged in a hushed, minimal exchange. It hadn’t escaped her that his previous friendly flirtatiousness morphed into all business on his return visit. But she was too tired to figure that one out and chalked it up to “men!”

But his absolute confidence in acing the job continued to trouble her.

During their hour together, she and Davy had fed Skooter, split a peach and read books from the supply she kept on hand for Sunday school lessons.

They talked about pirates. Puppies.

And Davy’s dad.

His dad, who ran fast, loved the Phoenix Suns and hummed when he brushed his teeth.

Meg punched her pillow and tried to get more comfortable. It was evident Davy’s father had been uneasy about leaving him with her, but she couldn’t blame him. Even though she knew Bill, she and Joe had just met.

Davy, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the prospect of berthing in on the “pirate ship” of his newfound friend. What was it, though, with the underlying tension she sensed between Joe and his father? The older Diaz seemed to think Davy needed time away from Joe and vice versa, and an overnight outing at her place fit the bill.

Brushing back her hair, she relived the lightning bolt sensation that hit when Davy voiced his innocent inquiry at the dinner table. Not that she was a stranger to kid sleepovers. As she’d mentioned to Davy’s apprehensive father, she’d been a willing participant in plenty of those with young family members. But no one here needed to know that the condo she’d shared with roommates in Phoenix had also been a frequent stopover for her ex-fiancé’s twin daughters. Two charming auburn-haired girls, Myra and Grace, now not much older than Davy.

It had been over a year since she’d seen them, except from a distance. Did they even remember her?

From the moment Todd introduced them, her heart had been won. It overflowed with compassion and love for the two precious siblings whose mother had walked out of their lives—and that of their father—and into the arms of another man.