That Runaway Summer (16 page)

Dan leaned back against a tall oak tree and crossed his feet at the ankles, settling in for a show.

“Here, girl. Come to Chris.”

The little goat slowed down marginally. Chris pounced, brandishing the leash and lunging for the animal. Bluebell spurted forward. Chris missed the goat altogether, falling to his knees in the grass. Bluebell ran around the perimeter of the fence, playfully kicking up her hooves.

Dan hid a smile and called, “I don’t think she’s going to let you catch her.”

Chris sprang to his feet, looking energized even though he’d been to a sleepover the night before where he said he got only a few hours of shut-eye. The boy didn’t bother to wipe at the dirt and grass on his knees. “Bluebell doesn’t understand I only want to take her for a walk.”

Dan was about to point out it might be easier to catch Tinkerbell, the goat who had a week to go before its cast could be removed, then thought better of it. Even with the plaster on her leg, Tinkerbell wouldn’t let herself be collared, either.

Chris chased Bluebell one more time around the yard, lunging and missing yet again. The boy finally trudged over to the back porch, his head bowed so his dark hair hung in his eyes. He set down the leash in defeat.

Both Bluebell and Tinkerbell came running to him when he walked back into the yard, nudging him playfully, the way they did when they wanted some love.

“Gol durned! Dag nab it!” Chris cried.

Dan chuckled, straightening from his position by the tree and joining the boy and the goats in the yard. “Is that what Mrs. Feldman says when she gets upset?”

Chris scratched Bluebell behind the ear and laughed when Tinkerbell tried to horn in on the action. “No. My dad. Usually at Falcons games.”

The Falcons were the professional football franchise located in Atlanta. Considering that Chris had spent the first few years of his life in Georgia, it made sense that his father would have been an Atlanta fan.

“Have you been to any Falcons games?” he asked the boy.

“Dad takes me all the time.” Chris attempted to keep both of the goats happy, scratching first one, then the other, laughing all the time. “He has season tickets.”

“That must have been quite a drive,” Dan remarked.

Chris kept playing with the goats, his attention only half on the conversation. “We don’t drive. We take MARTA.”

The things Chris was saying weren’t adding up. If the boy had left Georgia as a baby or even a toddler, he wouldn’t remember attending the football games. Dan must have misunderstood how old Chris was when he moved to South Carolina. Or maybe Chris and his father had gone to the games while visiting relatives in Atlanta.

Even as Dan worked out the logical explanation in his mind, something else didn’t compute. Why had Chris spoken of his deceased father in the present tense?

“I want to get Dad a Falcons jersey for his birthday,” the boy announced as the goats continued to compete for his favor.

Dan’s whole body went still. “When’s his birthday?”

“August thirtieth,” Chris answered absently.

Bluebell put her two front hooves on Chris’s chest in a desperate ploy for attention. Chris giggled wildly, stepped back so the goat had to put all four legs on the ground, then took off in a run. The goats dashed after him, as though the three of them were playing a game of tag.

Dan didn’t crack a smile.

Either Chris had yet to process the fact that his father was dead or the man was alive.

His heart pounded so hard it felt as if it were trying to escape his chest, yet he told himself not to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Jill wasn’t a liar. She might have asked him not to speak to Chris about his father because she knew her brother was in deep denial. Whatever the reason, he needed to figure out what was going on.

Jill had tonight off from the Blue Haven and was supposed to call him after she met Penelope Pollock and Sara Brenneman for an early dinner. The light was fading fast, signaling he should walk Chris home. With any luck, he’d arrive at Mrs. Feldman’s house approximately when Jill did.

His timing turned out to be slightly off. That wasn’t a problem for Mrs. Feldman. She shooed Chris upstairs to take a shower and invited Dan to sample a slice of apple pie while he waited. She insisted on heating the pie in the microwave and adding a dollop of French vanilla ice cream.

More convinced by the minute that Jill would have a logical explanation, Dan shelved his worries and concentrated on enjoying the dessert.

“This is the best apple pie I’ve eaten in my entire life,” he exclaimed.

Mrs. Feldman chuckled with pleasure. “That’s high praise. No wonder Jill is so charmed by you.”

“Did Jill tell you that?” he asked, another heaping bite of pie balanced on his fork.

“She didn’t have to tell me anything,” Mrs. Feldman said. “I knew when I looked out the window and saw you kissing her that you curled her toes. Why, you’re the first man she’s given the time of day to since she moved here.”

Dan set the forkful of pie back down on his plate. “Does she ever talk about her life before she moved here?”

“Can’t say that she does,” Mrs. Feldman said. “Why do you ask?”

Because he wanted confirmation that the things Jill had told him were true. A peeling sound pierced the apple-pie-scented air before he could respond. A phone, but not the old-fashioned country phone with the rotary dial suspended from the kitchen wall. This one was a plain black cell phone lying on the kitchen counter.

“That’s Jill’s phone.” Mrs. Feldman let it ring. “She must have forgotten it.”

The cell phone stopped ringing. An instant later, the wall phone started.

“It’s probably the same person.” Mrs. Feldman rose and shuffled over to the phone, lifting the receiver and greeting the caller.

She listened for a moment, then said, “No. I’m sorry, Chuck. Jill’s cell phone’s here, but she’s not.”

Chuck was Jill’s boss at the Blue Haven. Dan hoped like hell he wasn’t calling to get Jill to cover for someone at work tonight.

Mrs. Feldman grew quiet, her entire body freezing. Her right hand gripped the receiver tightly as she concentrated intently on what was being said. Finally she spoke. “That is strange. I’m sure Jill will appreciate you calling to tell her about it.”

She nodded at whatever Chuck replied as she twisted the telephone cord.

“I’ll let her know the minute she gets home,” Mrs. Feldman promised. “And don’t you worry about telling me her business. I couldn’t love that girl any more if she was my own.”

Mrs. Feldman finally replaced the receiver on the cradle but didn’t head back to the table. The wrinkles on her face seemed to have deepened.

“Something’s wrong,” Dan said.

She stared at him. “You care about Jill, don’t you?”

He didn’t only care about Jill, he loved her.

The thought struck him with such force it left him momentarily speechless. When, he wondered, had that happened? The answer immediately presented itself.

He’d fallen in love with Jill this past weekend. Not when she’d stripped at the waterfall but the next morning in bed when she’d finally trusted him enough to start answering his questions.

“Yes,” he said. “I care about her.”

“Then I don’t see any reason not to tell you. A man phoned the Blue Haven asking lots of questions about Jill. When her shifts were. Where she was living. Whether she had a boy with her.”

As if a siren had gone off, the warning resonating inside Dan couldn’t have been clearer.

“Chuck wouldn’t tell him anything, not even whether Jill worked there,” Mrs. Feldman continued. “He turned the tables and asked the man why he was calling. You know what the man did?”

Dan shook his head wordlessly.

“He hung up. Now, what do you make of that?”

Dan couldn’t make sense of it. He did know one thing for certain, though. The woman he’d fallen in love with was keeping something from him, maybe even something bigger than his ex-fiancée had.

She walked over the hardwood of the foyer, the clap of her heels sounding unnaturally loud as she breathed in a scent she identified as apple pie. “Where is everybody?”

“In the kitchen,” Felicia answered, the direction Jill was headed anyway.

“Wait till you try these leftovers I brought home.” Jill talked as she walked, conscious of the seconds ticking by. The longer she lingered at home, the less time she’d have to spend with Dan. “It’s chicken penne with gorgonzola and it’s…”

She stopped short. Dan sat at the white kitchen table across from Felicia, a half-full glass of milk and an empty pie plate in front of him. With his dark hair and solid build he looked exceedingly masculine in her landlady’s frilly country kitchen, calling to mind all the questions Penelope and Sara had asked over dinner about their developing relationship.

Jill had responded to only half of them, although she’d felt herself blushing too many times to count, which her friends had taken as confirmation of a hot romance.

“Dan!” She felt her mouth stretch in a wide smile. “I was just going to call you.”

“I walked Chris home and had some pie while I waited for you,” Dan said.

Although his words were light, his expression wasn’t. Neither was Felicia’s.

“Is everything okay?” Jill asked.

“Probably.” Felicia twisted her hands as she answered. “It’s just that Chuck called from the Blue Haven.”

Jill groaned and walked to the refrigerator with the container of leftovers. “He wants me to come into work tonight, doesn’t he?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” Felicia said. “He wanted to warn you a man called the bar asking questions about you.”

Jill’s breath snagged, and her heart felt as though it ground to a sudden halt. She regarded her landlady over the kitchen counter, aware that Dan was watching her closely. “What kind of questions?”

Felicia told her, confirming Jill’s worst fears.

Her father’s private eye had found her, possibly because of her chance encounter with Sally Tomlin. The reason hardly mattered now, though.

“Did Chuck tell him anything?” Jill asked sharply. Too sharply.

“No,” Felicia said. “He wouldn’t even say whether you worked there.”

“Any idea who this guy is?” Dan asked, his gaze piercing.

She broke eye contact and opened the refrigerator door, fighting to mask her panic. The private eye knew she worked at the Blue Haven. She prayed the reason he hadn’t paid the bar a personal visit was that he wasn’t in Indigo Springs. He’d be here soon, though. It was only a matter of time until he showed up at Felicia’s house.

Jill put the container of leftovers on a refrigerator shelf, shut the door and reached for a logical explanation. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Guys at the bar get a little too friendly all the time. It was probably one of those.”

“I don’t think so, dear.” Felicia was still wringing her hands. “Chuck said the man had a Southern accent and he didn’t recognize his voice.”

Jill mentally grasped for another reasonable story even as she processed the damning information that the caller was a Southerner. “Then it must’ve been somebody from one of my white-water trips.”

She affixed a smile to her face, trying to figure out how much longer she dared stay in Indigo Springs.

Not days, she concluded. Hours.

“You need to be careful and pay attention to what’s going on around you.” Dan’s tone was as serious as his expression.

Jill nodded, her throat thick. She was very well aware of what she had to do and how much it would hurt, not only herself but also the people she cared about.

“Where’s Chris?” Jill asked.

“In his room,” Felicia replied. “He said he was going to play video games, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s asleep. That sleepover last night tuckered him out.”

She and Chris probably couldn’t leave tonight, then. Chris was a heavy sleeper. He’d resist if she woke him in the middle of the night. He still slept with a night light, so she’d be able to pack his things, though. Then she needed to figure out where they were going.

A powerful wave of sadness washed over her. She and Chris were happy here in Indigo Springs. She didn’t want to leave her friends, Felicia and the wonderful warmth of the house that had become a home.

Most of all, she didn’t want to leave Dan.

“I’m tired, too.” She avoided looking at him, afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep the despair out of her eyes. She was about to cancel the plans they’d made to get together tonight, plans she’d never be able to reschedule. “I’m afraid it’d be best if I turned in early tonight.”

“I need to talk to you about something first,” Dan said firmly.

She disliked the note of seriousness in his voice. As much as she longed to spend more time with him, she couldn’t risk it. She swallowed.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” she asked, fully expecting him to comply.

“No, it can’t.” He glanced toward the staircase that led to the second floor, then quieted his voice. “It’s about Chris.”

Felicia quickly took control of the situation, whispering, “Why don’t you two go outside and talk on the porch where Chris won’t hear you?”

Jill could hardly refuse. She fruitlessly wished that circumstances were different, that she was headed outside to steal a few private moments with her lover. The air was balmy and the porch swing spoke of romance and lazy summer nights. Jill avoided the swing, taking a seat in one of the wicker chairs. Dan sat down in the chair beside hers.

“What about Chris?” She hated herself for sounding abrupt, especially when she could see he was confused by her behavior. If she lingered with him on the wraparound porch, though, the defenses she was trying hard to erect would tumble.

“He said your dad used to take him to Falcons games and they lived close enough to the stadium to take public transportation,” Dan said.

He waited, watching her carefully. She almost laughed at the irony. For years she’d been trying to get Chris to stop lying. It was the truth, however, that was causing her problems.

“I can see where that was confusing. I didn’t live with my father growing up, but my brother did. They spent years in Atlanta.” Jill hoped that was consistent with what she’d already told Dan. At this point, she was so rattled she couldn’t be sure of anything.

Dan leaned forward, balancing his forearms on his thighs, his eyes boring into her. She heard an owl hoot, cicadas sing and the creak of his wicker chair.

“That’s not all,” he said. “Chris spoke of your father as if he were alive. He said he wanted to get him a Falcons jersey for his birthday.”

She felt her palms grow damp. The cover story she’d guarded so carefully was crumbling like the topping on Felicia’s apple cake.

“That’s…troubling. I’ll have to talk to Chris about that.” Jill stood up, not able to bear discussing this with him any longer. Few things could be more painful than lying to a man she cared for so deeply. “Thanks for telling me.”

She backed toward the front door, trying to convey that she wanted him to leave. “If that’s all, I really am tired.”

The only thing that moved were the muscles in his face, which formed a frown.

“What’s going on with you, Jill?” he asked. “Things aren’t adding up. Your stories. That phone call. And now it seems like you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

She swallowed. “I told you. I’m tired.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. We had plans for tonight. You gave the impression you were eager to be alone with me.”

She’d said more than that during phone calls since their weekend together. She said she craved him. How could she credibly explain her about-face? Her stomach cramped until she felt as if she were going to be sick, because she realized there was only one solution.

“I changed my mind.” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to keep talking. “This is hard to say, but I don’t want to see you anymore.”

He looked as if she’d struck him. “You’re dumping me?”

“Yes.” She hated herself for sounding heartless even though it was the only way to get him to leave. She straightened her backbone and strove to make her voice more forceful. “I told you it wasn’t a good time for me to be in a relationship.”

He got to his feet, confusion stamped on his features. She doubted her ability to continue the charade if he touched her. She retreated farther, her back coming flush against the screen door.

She couldn’t let the pain she was causing him sway her. She needed to think of Chris and his safety.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.” The backs of her eyes burned. She willed herself not to cry. “Things will never work out between us. It’s best to cut things off before we get any deeper. Can you understand that?”

He raised his chin and set his jaw, but not before she saw him flinch. The anguish that spread through her seemed to settle in her heart and fester.

“I understand perfectly,” he said gruffly.

Then he turned and walked out of her life. She watched him go, with his hands shoved into his pockets and his back ramrod straight. She had an overwhelming urge to run after him, to beg him to forgive her, to tell him how much he meant to her.

She did none of those things.

Her eyes teared up. Determinedly she blinked the moisture away and walked into the house.

She had clothes to pack—and a brother to protect.