Kathy Altman - Staying at Joe's

The smile turned sly. “I found something yesterday. I brought it for you.”

“Another surprise? You’ll spoil me, kid. Well, first, I have a surprise for you. Bring your milk. I want to show you something out back.”

Parker’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no. We’re not going back there. That grass has to be three feet tall. You won’t catch me wading through that sea of ticks.”

“Gross.” Nat gave an exaggerated shudder.

“Just follow me.”

Despite the threat of ticks, Nat jogged ahead of them and disappeared around the front left corner of the building. When Joe and Parker rounded the same corner, Nat was already standing at the rear edge of the motel. She glanced back, looking nervous.

“I saw something.”

Joe moved in front of her and scanned the trees. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It was at the edge of the woods.”

“An animal? A person?”

“I think it was a person, but I—I’m not sure.”

Parker palmed her daughter’s shoulder. “Could it have been a deer?”

“Maybe. I only saw it for a second.”

“I’ll check it out.” Joe tugged once on Nat’s ponytail. “Be right back.”

He crossed the field, his boots making scuffing sounds as he waded through the layer of freshly cut grass. The sharp, sweet scent of the leavings reminded him of his brother. Braden had reveled in the smells of a lakeside summer. Joe’s stride faltered and his chest went suddenly hollow.

“See anything?” yelled Nat.

Shake it off, man.

He held up a hand to buy himself time, and finally registered a trail through the dew-damp grass, parallel to the one he’d just made. Kids, cutting through the woods on their way to the lake? Wouldn’t be the first time. As long as they didn’t start lighting matches he had no problem with it.

He paused at the edge of the field, peering into the shadowed depths. Watching. Listening. The occasional dart of a squirrel, the stirring sound when a gust of air pushed through the leaves. With a series of loud nasal screeches, a blue jay warned him to mind his own business.

Good advice. Excellent advice. He strode back across the field, doing his damnedest to pull away from the thoughts of his brother and the plans they’d made. When he reached Nat and Parker he stopped, and shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand.

“You must have scared off whatever it was.” Nat peered around him, ponytail dangling. “You okay?” She nodded.

“Thanks for checking.” Parker wandered a few feet into the newly shorn field. “When did you do this?”

“Couple days ago.” He raised his eyebrows at Nat. “What do you think?”

“Of the grass?”

He reached behind the square wooden structure that stood outside his back door—if he didn’t have something sturdy protecting his garbage cans, the raccoons would scatter trash all the way to the lake—and retrieved a battered pair of wooden sticks. Each stick had a slight hook at the bottom.

“Of our hockey field,” he said.

“Cool!” Green eyes sparked.

Parker shot him a look drenched with gratitude. He winked and offered one of the sticks to Nat, who was bouncing up and down. “I’ll rake up the cuttings and rig a couple of goals. I figured with softball over, you might be ready to try something new, Nat.”

The girl took the stick and proceeded to whack at a nearby dandelion. The bright yellow head popped off and sailed across the field and Nat giggled.

“When can we start?”

“No way you’re bringing that home with you,” Parker said quickly. “I can see it now—petals all over the greenhouse floor. Please give that back to Joe. He’ll let you know when the field is ready.” When Nat protested, Parker gave her an arch look. “Aren’t you forgetting something? In the truck?”

Nat shoved the stick at Joe and ran off. “Take your time,” Parker hollered after her. Thumbs tucked in the straps of her overalls, she turned back to Joe.

“You’re not looking so hot.”

“Reid would be relieved to hear you say that.”

“I’m serious.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Because of Allison?” He reared back and she chuckled. “Hazel was here. You know what that means. All of Castle Creek is clued in by now.”

So much for privacy. Yet another reason to be pissed at yesterday’s visitor.

“You two were coworkers?”

He took his time putting the hockey sticks away. “She’s a PR rep for an advertising firm near D.C. I worked there as an account exec before moving here.”

“And you quit because your brother died?”

Parker wasn’t the pushy type. She’d back off if he asked her to. But she’d brought muffins. And he still owed her for patching him up after that brouhaha at Snoozy’s bar.

“That was one of the reasons. I had a hard time handling it. Afterward I was ready for a change.”

“So with Allison here, you’re reliving some tough times.”

He hesitated. She showed him any more compassion and he’d be draped all over her, weeping like a grand showcase winner on The Price Is Right.

Apparently she sensed that, too, because she changed the subject. “Thanks for taking such good care of Nat. It makes it easier for Reid, knowing you’re looking out for her. You should have heard the two of them on the phone when she told him you’d taught her to rappel—she was so excited and he was so jealous.” She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t know if you realize how much she depends on you. We both do. We all do.”

He managed a nod. As nice as it was to hear, he could feel the familiar heaviness pressing against his rib cage, coiling like a cobra around his windpipe. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs. An open field at his back and still that closed-in feeling.

Parker gave him a sympathetic smile edged with concern. “Too much touchy-feely? You’re looking a little green. Even more than before, I mean.”

Nat came back around the corner, a cardboard box cradled in her hands. Joe’s throat went tight again. The way the kid was beaming—he had a bad feeling about this.

When she reached him she gently pressed the box into his stomach. He looked down, and stifled a groan.

Nat clapped her hands. “Isn’t she cute? And she’s just what you need, ’cause you’re always complaining about mice. What’re you going to name her?”

“I...don’t know.”

“I could name her for you, if you want.”

He looked up, away from the kitten’s anxious amber gaze. His arms quivered as he toyed with the idea of pushing the box right back at Nat. But the cat chose that moment to let loose an entreating mewl.

Oh, man.

“We found three,” Nat said. “Harris and I each got a black-and-white one. I brought you the orange one ’cause she’s special.”

A muffled sound, coming from his right. Was that...was Parker laughing at him? He threw her an ominous look.

The kitten meowed again and Joe’s hands tightened on the box. “Uh...what did Harris say when you gave him his?”

Nat watched him, her face expectant. “He said ‘thank you.’”

Another muffled laugh before Parker finally came to his rescue. She scooped the kitten out of the box and cradled it to her chest. “Maybe Joe needs to think about it,” she told her daughter gently. “A pet is a big responsibility. He might need to work his way up to it.”

Too bad he couldn’t enjoy his sense of relief, since it came along with a hefty dose of guilt. Then he saw the hurt in Nat’s gaze and the relief evaporated altogether. He dropped the box, reached out and carefully freed the cat from Parker’s arms. He held the kitten aloft and turned it this way and that, wincing as the needle-sharp claws dug into his skin.