Dad in Training (4 page)

Molly climbed out, opened the backseat door and grasped Fred’s leash. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go for a walk.” As the last word hit the air, Fred bounded from the car and jerked Molly forward with such force she nearly tripped on the curb. She tugged the leash, shortened it and drew the dog to her side. “Heel.”

Steph came around the car toward them. “He likes to run.”

“When he’s on a leash, he should learn to walk.”

Steph dug her hands into her jeans pockets and didn’t utter a sound.

Molly let it drop and kept a tight rein on Fred. Into the second block, Fred trotted along beside her without tension, and Molly relaxed the leash, taking a chance. When the dog moved ahead and looked over his shoulder at her, Molly repeated the “heel” command. She grinned when Fred slowed and stayed beside her.

She needed to give Fred nibbles for being good, but her pockets were empty. The word
empty
squeezed her heart. Ahead she could see the unoccupied building. If she only had something to offer Brent, anything to tempt him to let her use the building, her worries would be over. Something other than money. If he had a dog, she could train it or—

“I know you’re upset with me.” Steph’s voice broke their silence.

“I’m not. I’m just thinking about this property and dreaming.” She linked her arm with her friend’s. “I appreciate your being here. I hope you know that.”

Steph’s pace quickened. “That’s fine, but let’s get this over with. You promised to buy me dinner.”

She had promised a meal. She needed Steph for moral support and Fred for the walk around the vacated building.
She whispered a little prayer as she reached the building and stopped. “I don’t remember the security fence.” Fred hesitated beside her, sniffing the ground.

Steph moved ahead. “Let’s try the other side. Maybe there are windows along the street.”

Pausing beside the Realtor sign, Molly pulled a pencil from her purse, located an old receipt and jotted down the Realtor’s telephone number. “Hold up.” She beckoned to Steph. “I want to look at the gate.” She walked closer and touched it. “It’s not locked.”

Steph drew closer. “What if it’s on an alarm system? One of those silent ones where the police show up and drag us off to the pokey.”

“You’ve watched too many movies.” She pushed the gate, and it swung back.

Fred lunged forward and bounded onto the property with Molly clinging to the leash. “Heel.” She tightened the leash and shortened it.

The dog lurched and then stepped to her side. Molly wanted to gloat at Steph, but right now, she had other things on her mind. She headed toward the first window and brushed away the grime. “It looks like office space.”

Steph joined her, shielding the glare from the glass and peeked inside. “Probably is.”

Molly hurried ahead, instinctively tightening her hold on Fred, who seemed to be catching on. Facing the next window, Molly leaned her forehead against the glass and peered. “Here we go.” She stepped back. “What do you think?”

Steph took Molly’s place and squinted through the pane. “It’s a huge area. I can picture dog pens and an area for indoor playtime when it’s raining.”

Molly circled around looking at the open space. “And this side yard could be fenced for a dog run and still have room for parking.”

Steph moved away from the window and stood beside her.
“It could work nicely, but Molly, no one’s going to give you this space for nothing.”

“A small amount. Very small. Why not? It happened for those women in the newspaper.”

Steph snorted. “Right.”

“One more window.” Molly motioned ahead and gave more leash to Fred as she settled in front of the next window. She rubbed the gray smudge from the pane and cupped the light from her eyes as she leaned forward.

“Oh, no.” She jerked away, tripping over Fred.

“What is it? A body?” Steph yelled.

“Yes, but he’s moving, and I’m sure he saw me.”

“Security guard?”

“No.” Molly felt her legs weaken. “Brent Runyan.”

B
rent stumbled backward. His imagination had played tricks on him. Molly had been on his mind continually, and now he’d even imagined seeing her through the window. He grasped control of his senses and headed for the door. Though it couldn’t be Molly, he wanted to find out who was outside—hopefully someone interested in the property.

He strode across the cement floor stained with years of use and swung open the door. A black-and-white dog bounded toward him, its leash trailing in the dirt. He jumped back to avoid an attack, but the door had closed behind him, and he stumbled against the building, flinging his hand forward to ward off the animal. The dog slid to a halt, its pink tongue thrashing his outstretched palm.

Once he’d grasped the dog’s collar, Brent looked toward the gate standing ajar. He cupped his mouth in his hands. “Hello. You left your dog.”

No one responded.

He looked down, feeling a piece of metal press against his fingers and spotted the license along with an ID tag. He bent down to read it, and to his surprise, the dog sat at his heel. Before he could twist the tag around, a shadow fell at his feet.
When he lifted his gaze, two women faced him, one a stranger.

“Molly?” He searched her flushed face, hoping to make sense of this new intrusion but grateful that seeing her from inside hadn’t been a crazy apparition. “Are you following me?”

Her hand flew to her chest as her eyes widened. “No. I was—I was walking the dog.”

“You were walking the dog…here?” He flung his arm toward the side yard of the factory.

The woman he didn’t know bent down and clapped her hands. “Fred, come here.”

“Whose dog is this anyway?” He looked from Molly’s guilty face to the stranger.

The woman tilted her head upward. “He’s mine.”

“And you are?”

“Molly’s friend. Stephanie Wright.”

As Molly’s dazed look faded, Brent suspected she was trying to come up with an excuse, probably an explanation that he wouldn’t believe anyway. That sweet face was guilty of something, the innocent face with a telltale smudge on her forehead. “Now I’m curious, Molly. Why not walk your own dog?”

Her angelic expression melted. “I don’t own a dog.”

He stepped backward. “You mean to tell me a woman who works with dogs and loves them doesn’t own one. Why?”

“I live in a condo, and pets aren’t allowed.”

“So here you are walking your friend’s dog.” He scratched his head. “But why are you walking him here?”

When Brent saw Molly’s expression, he realized he’d sounded too sharp.

“I’m not looking for a place to walk a dog.”

Though totally confused, he managed a grin. “What are you doing then?”

She paused and pursed her well-shaped lips. “It’s true we were walking the dog, but I need to be honest.”

Brent chuckled. “Great start.”

“Fred was a ploy to…to waylay suspicion.”

Her guileless expression made him want to laugh, but he saw how serious she was and controlled himself. “Suspicion?”

“We were worried someone would see us and call the police,” Stephanie said.

Molly shot her a frown. “We didn’t mean to trespass. I just wanted to look inside your building.”

His mind swirled with hypotheses. “You have a buyer for this property?”

Her hands dropped to her sides, and he couldn’t stop his grin when the dog gave her fingers a broad swipe.

“Not exactly.” She wiped her hand on her pantleg.

The vague conversation reminded him of trying to communicate with Randy. The boy’s reclusive behavior worried him beyond reason. He drew in a deep breath. “What does that mean?” He captured her gaze and held it, this time determined to stay riveted no matter how hard his pulse pounded.

She gave a furtive glance at her friend, then back to him. “A…sort of a donation.”

Donation?
“You want to make a donation to what?”

She looked at him as if he were stupid. “I don’t want to make a donation.” She shook her head. “Your donation.”

His donation? The conversation had gone nowhere and made no sense. “Perhaps your friend can explain it more succinctly.”

Stephanie looked cornered. “This wasn’t my idea. I told her she was pressing her luck.”

Since the dog couldn’t explain it and the animal seemed the most easy to understand, he’d have to depend on one of the humans. “Molly, what do you want me to donate?”

She drew in a deep breath as if she were going to blow out birthday candles. “Your building.”

Laughter bubbled to the surface. “The building?”

She nodded. “For a dog shelter.” She stepped closer, her smooth skin glowing with color. “I read an article about two women who were granted a building to use for a pet shelter for only a dollar a year. An animal shelter is a worthy cause. You could get a tax break, too.”

Her words ran together in one long gush of sound.

“I told you about Teacher’s Pet, and I could continue the program from this building. I could help learning-disabled kids from other schools in the evenings and summer also and protect abused and abandoned dogs at the same time.”

Her eyes pleaded with him, while his mind rolled with fragments of her plea.

She drew closer, her finger plying at the buttons on her knit shirt. “Did you know that five million dogs are brought to shelters each year and 125,000 are euthanized because they can’t find a home for them? Most of these dogs could have been trained and given love and become a wonderful pet for someone. That’s what I want to do—socialize them so they can be placed somewhere.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“It is, but I want to help. I want to do this as a career, but I’m not expecting to get rich with this endeavor.” She halted long enough to gasp for breath. “If I earned more than a meager living from it and enough to pay for the dogs’ upkeep, I could even pay rent.”

She batted her eyelashes at him—not the flirtatious kind of batting, but as if she were overwhelmed with the information that exploded from her.

With his focus on her smudged forehead, Brent shuffled his feet. Molly knew nothing about business. No one gave away a building for a pet shelter. And a tax break? They’d put him in a padded cell if he even suggested this to anyone.

But how could he tell her? Her face glowed in the late afternoon sun, and her hair, a halo, radiated an aura around her innocent expression. Her eyes were filled with hope, and
he’d watched her fade from fear to enthusiasm with each admission. His rejection would be like telling a child she could look at all the candy in the store, but no one would buy her any.

His pulse hadn’t let up. In fact, he could feel the rapid thump in his temples.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
This woman would cause the death of him with her ridiculous scheme.

When he refocused, Brent became aware that he and Molly were alone. Apparently her friend and the dog had wandered off, leaving Molly and him in face-to-face combat. He rubbed his forehead, longing to relieve the pressure. All he’d done is dropped by to take a look at the building and speculate what they could do to entice a buyer. Frank had been correct. The building wouldn’t work for condos. The commercial area didn’t offer the ambience of boutiques and cafés, and the empty factory didn’t lend itself to living space.

Molly took a step closer. “What do you think?”

Her whisper slipped through the cracks of his defenses. His shoulders fell as he gazed at her hopeful expression, and he reached out and brushed the grime from her forehead.

Guilt spread across her face.

His heart pressed against his rib cage. “This is a strange proposition, Molly. I don’t want to disappoint you, but this building is valuable, and I can’t consent to giving it away.”

“I didn’t ask you to give it to me. Only to let me use it.”

He planted his feet firmly beneath them. “That’s what I meant.”

“If it’s so valuable, then why haven’t you sold it? No one’s buying factories. Businesses are moving out of the area, not into it.”

His stomach twisted. “We will sell it.” He arched an eyebrow, facing the horrendous feeling that he’d become the villain. “And it’s really not any of your concern.”

She wavered backward. “It’s because you don’t like dogs, isn’t it?”

“No.” His voice shot out, louder than he’d meant to. “It has nothing to do with that. It’s a business decision.”

Her gaze bored into his conscience, and he was at a loss for words.

She took another backward step. “I think it does have something to do with it, and whatever happened to make you hate dogs should be put to rest. Dogs don’t need to forgive. Their love is unconditional. You said it yourself. We can all learn from our pets.” She turned to face the gate and then looked back over her shoulder. “Thanks anyway, but I’m not giving up hope. I’ll figure out something.”

She marched toward the street while he stood watching her and feeling like one of those abused dogs she talked about. Faithfulness. Unconditional love. The woman lived in a dream world. He’d lived in reality and experienced things that she didn’t seem to comprehend.

No matter what he told himself, the idea of dreams filled Brent’s mind. A few dreams might add some excitement to his life…as impossible as it seemed.

Monday after school, Molly headed into the public library. Ideas had been clicking in her mind through the weekend, and she sensed the library could provide her with some ammunition to continue the battle with Brent. She tossed the word
battle
from her vocabulary. Brent had every right to defend his building, but instead of weapons, she needed facts, like a good defense attorney—raw information, data about his company, statistics about building sales in the community, plain old facts. She wanted to know everything she could and the people who could help her convince him.

Molly parked and turned off the engine. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t looked at other buildings. Some were too large, some too upscale, some too small. Brent’s building had caught her attention for two reasons—the name Runyan, which reminded her of Randy, and then she scrutinized the size of the
building and the space around it. The zoning was right. She sensed it was a perfect fit.

She’d prayed about the building and longed for God to bless her dream, but she feared He might not grant her wish. She’d turned her back on Him years ago. Maybe God chose to turn His back on her now.

Tears pushed behind her eyes, and she squeezed her eyelids closed to hold them back. Molly knew better. The Lord knew she’d repented, and she’d done all she could to atone for the hurt she’d caused her parents and herself. She needed to get a grip on her thoughts. Patience. Perseverance. That’s what it took. She’d come to the library to find information, and if God wanted her dream to come true, He would be with her today. She drew in a deep breath and stepped from the car.

Inside the library, the clerk at the information desk directed her to the computer area. She slipped into a chair, logged on and opened a search engine. Her fingers flew, typing in Runyan Industrial Tool Corporation. A few references appeared—Brent’s connection with the chamber of commerce and a business advertisement. That didn’t help.

She leaned back, recalling that she still had the Realtor’s telephone number. Calling there might tell her something. But instead of giving up, Molly became more determined. Come on. Think. Her mind flew, capturing possibilities and discarding bad ideas. Finally she took the best hunch and entered
Rochester, Michigan company profiles
into the search window, and a long list of sites filled the screen. She opened the first as a test. Her pulse skipped as she eyed the information provided: location, financial information, corporate statistics and, best of all, the board of directors.

She clicked back and moved her cursor down the list, scanning page to page until she reached the R’s—Ralston Corporation, Reigers Lawn and Garden, Roger’s Roost Restaurant. The cursor flew as she dragged it downward and then stopped. Runyan Industrial Tool Corporation.

She hit the hyperlink and the page opened. Her gaze landed on the address and then shifted to the corporate directors. President Morris Runyan, Director Brent Runyan, Business Manager Frank Capatelli. Perfect. The news skittered down her arms and back before she refocused on the list of names. Who was Morris Runyan? Brent’s brother? His father?

She released a puff of air from between her lips. She’d assumed Brent was the company owner, but maybe she was wrong. Could it be Brent Runyan wasn’t the ultimate decision maker? She dragged her teeth across her top lip and thought, but before leaving the page, Molly jotted down the address and phone number of the company offices and added Morris and Frank Capatelli to the list. With the new information, she felt hope. Her shoulders straightened. Morris Runyan might be as stiff backed as Brent, but she could try.

She entered Morris Runyan into the search window and clicked the “go” button. Numerous hyperlinks rose on the page. Morris Runyan is honored by the chamber of commerce, Morris Runyan purchases a new building, Morris Runyan’s quote about small businesses in the
Detroit Free Press
, Morris Runyan retires.