Man.
Adam slowly inhaled another lungful of the savory aroma wafting through the air as he approached Lexie’s front door.
If that had been coming from a restaurant, patrons would be lined up halfway down the block.
But he wasn’t going to get even a taste.
Yeah, Annette had invited him for dinner. So had Matt. But they’d already gone above and beyond by watching Clyde all day. He couldn’t eat their food too.
Especially since Lexie hadn’t seemed all that keen on him staying, despite the obvious prompt from her mother to endorse the invitation.
He stepped onto the porch, brushed off his jeans to dislodge any clinging sawdust, and pressed the bell. Maybe he should have swung by his cabin and cleaned up . . . but why bother for such a fast visit? It wouldn’t take him more than three minutes to collect Clyde, thank Annette and Matt, and be on his way.
The door opened—and Lexie gave him a warm smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He managed to croak out the return greeting as he tried to regroup. What was she doing home from work already? Given the kind of hours she’d referenced last night, he hadn’t expected to meet up with her tonight. “I . . . uh . . . came to pick up Clyde.”
Real smooth, Stone. Like she doesn’t know why you’re here.
Heat crept up his neck.
“He’s in the family room with Matt. You have to see this.” She motioned him in. If she thought his comment was dumb, she kept it to herself.
“What are they doing?” He crossed the threshold.
“Follow me.”
She tiptoed down the hall, and he fell in behind her. Funny. Even though she was in her official cop attire, she seemed somehow . . . different . . . tonight. More approachable. Softer. More feminine.
Before he could figure out what had changed, she arrived at the doorway to the family room and motioned toward the far side.
On the rug in front of the fireplace, where flickering gas logs were taking the chill off the forty-nine-degree afternoon, Matt and Clyde were out for the count. The little boy was curled on his side, one arm over his new friend as they slept almost nose-to-nose.
Any worries he’d had about leaving his dog in the care of a rambunctious almost-five-year-old had obviously been unwarranted.
But touching as the hearth scene was, the woman beside him had a bigger impact on his heart.
Lexie was in profile as she watched boy and dog, her generous lips bowed into a gentle curve, the tenderness in her face giving her complexion a glow no cosmetic could ever achieve.
This was Lexie, the loving mother.
It was also Lexie, the alluring woman. At this proximity, inches from her silky dark hair, that same fresh, dewy fragrance he’d noticed at the vet’s office tickled his nose again—putting ideas in his head that didn’t belong there.
“Mom says they’ve been inseparable all day.” Her soft words were little more than a puff of warmth against his cheek.
He tried to respond.
Failed.
She tipped her chin up a fraction, lifting those sinfully long eyelashes. Her smile wavered, and an emotion that read as longing flashed through her eyes. But it came and went so fast . . . had he misinterpreted it?
Of course he had. A smart, accomplished woman like Lexie could have her pick of first-class men. She’d never give the likes of him a second look.
“I think they’ve bonded.” Her statement came out husky—as if she was as much affected by their closeness as he was.
In your dreams, Stone.
“Yeah.” Somehow he convinced his vocal cords to kick back in. “Looks like they also wore each other out.”
Faint parallel creases dented her brow. “Don’t worry . . . Mom kept tabs on the situation. She wouldn’t have let Matt get carried away or do—”
“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “I wasn’t being critical. I’m glad they had fun together—and that Clyde felt safe enough here to go to sleep.”
“Oh.” The tension faded from her features. “Well, I’m glad too. As for wearing each other out . . . Matt always takes a nap. Mom says he’s been conked out for close to two hours, which doesn’t surprise me. He was so excited about having a dog in the house he didn’t drift off until close to midnight last night, and he was up at the crack of dawn.”
Meaning she had been too.
“I’m sorry the dog-sitting gig disrupted everyone’s sleep.”
“Not an issue.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I get up early every day.”
“After a full night’s sleep.”
“I’ll catch up tonight. So . . . do you have plans for this evening?”
He did a double take. “Why?”
“I wondered if you’d reconsider staying for dinner. I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“About the vandalism?” When she’d answered the door, he’d had a fleeting thought to ask about her trip to his place—until the right side of his brain shut down.
“Yes.”
“Did you find some clues?”
“Yes, and they were very helpful. I talked with one of the perpetrators today, and I had an idea I wanted to run by you. It’s a bit . . .”
“Did you ask him?” Her mother poked her head into the room.
“Yes—but I don’t have an answer yet.” Lexie angled toward him.
He hesitated. Sharing a meal with the three people who called this cozy place home would be a treat. But breaking bread with this close, loving family, making small talk, would also be like visiting a foreign country where you didn’t know the language or the customs. He’d surely commit a gaffe.
“I’m not, uh, dressed for dinner.” He swept a hand down his work jeans.
“Don’t be silly.” Annette waved a spatula at him. “You should see what we wear to the table sometimes. This isn’t a formal affair. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’m putting the food out now. Clyde did great all day, in case you’re wondering. He appears to be making a rapid recovery.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Mom is a force to be reckoned with.” One side of Lexie’s mouth lifted. “Don’t let her steamroll you if you don’t want to stay . . . but I’d appreciate it if you would. Otherwise dinner will have to wait while we have our conversation—and Mom isn’t too happy with people who let food she works hard to prepare get cold.”
Put like that . . .
“Since I don’t want to find myself in your mother’s bad graces, I accept.”
“Good. Shall we wake up the new buddies?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she crossed the room and knelt beside her son.
He dropped down on the balls of his feet next to her.
“Matt . . . dinner’s ready.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shake.
Her son blinked his eyes open, oriented himself, and felt around for Clyde.
The pup lifted his head, licked her son’s hand, gave his owner a quick scan—and stayed where he was.
“I guess that puts me in my place.” Adam scratched behind the dog’s ear.
“We had a real fun day, Mr. Stone.” Matt sat up, and Clyde scooted closer to him.
“I can tell.”
“Come on. Let’s eat.” Lexie rose, held out her hand for Matt, and led him to the table.
“Is Mr. Stone staying?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Awesome!”
Adam followed, Clyde at his heels—but on the threshold of the kitchen, he came to an abrupt halt.
If Annette considered this a casual dinner, they weren’t operating from the same dictionary.
Sunny yellow placemats were topped with matching blue plates. Ceramic, not paper. Gleaming silverware flanked the plates. Metal, not plastic. Beside the knife and fork, crisp yellow napkins stood at attention. Cloth, not paper. The water at each place was in crystal goblets. Glass, not plastic. And the table was laden with food—a huge tureen of stew, a basket of what appeared to be homemade rolls, a bowl of salad.
This was a close runner-up to the Thanksgiving dinner BJ had insisted he attend at Seabird Inn last fall, where her fiancé’s father had served up a fabulous meal with a view to match from a bluff overlooking Hope Harbor.
“You can sit here, Mr. Stone.” Matt jogged over to a chair at one end of the table and pulled it out.
“I’m not taking anyone’s place, am I?”
“Nah. This chair’s almost always empty.”
Brushing at his jeans again, he entered the room and slid onto the seat.
“Stone, would you like to lead us in a blessing?” Annette shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap. “We always invite our guests to do that if they’re churchgoing people.”
“Um . . . I don’t do formal prayers, like at church.”
“We don’t either. We just praise from the heart.”
They all bowed their heads.
Apparently the matter was settled.
He took a deep breath. Reverend Baker had often asked him to lead the prayers for the prison Bible study group, but for whatever reason, this was scarier.
Best to begin with a silent entreaty.
Please give me the proper words for this occasion, God.
Folding his hands, he dived in.
“Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to eat. It smells great, and we ask your blessing on the hands that prepared it. We also thank you for the gifts of generosity and kindness—and for Clyde’s recovery. I know he’s only a dog, but friends come in all shapes and sizes. Please keep us all safe, and help us remember that even when clouds hide the sun, it keeps on shining—just like your light. Amen.”
He lifted his head to find the two women watching him as Matt snagged a roll from the basket on the table.
“That was beautiful, Stone.” Annette beamed at him from the other end of the table.
His cheeks warmed. “It wasn’t very fancy.”
“Neither was Jesus.” She gestured to the tureen in the middle of the table. “Help yourself.”
Lexie was still watching him with an expression he couldn’t read . . . but the instant he looked her way she transferred her attention to the bowl of salad.
“You have to try these, Mr. Stone. Mamaw makes awesome rolls.” Matt set the basket next to him.
“I plan to do that, buddy. I haven’t had homemade bread in . . . well, maybe never.”
“Never?” The boy’s eyes grew round as saucers. “Mamaw makes a lot of homemade stuff. Mom does too when she’s not working. She made brownies last night. Do you like brownies?”
“They’re one of my favorites.”
“Mine too. We’re having them for dessert.”
Clyde wandered over to his chair and dropped down between him and Lexie. If he was at home, he’d pet the dog . . . but that might not be the best idea here. A lot of people didn’t think animals and food mixed. It was hard to know what to do in polite society after growing up in a . . .
“Hey, Clyde. You’re much more chipper tonight.” Lexie ruffled his fur.
O-kay. Petting an animal at the table must be acceptable—in this house, anyway.
Maybe he’d get through this dinner unscathed . . . as long as he held up his end of the conversation.
As it happened, that wasn’t difficult. Between Annette and Matt, there was never a lag in the chitchat. Lexie didn’t say a lot, but she did her part to draw him into the lively discussion.
By the end of the meal, he’d not only eaten two helpings of stew, a heaping plate of salad, and three rolls, he was actually relaxed.
“Let’s get those brownies going.” Annette stood and removed his wiped-clean plate.
Lexie rose too and picked up Matt’s plate as well as her own. “We like to heat them up and serve them with vanilla ice cream, but you can have yours plain if you prefer.”
“They’re better hot with ice cream,” Matt offered. “They get kind of gooey inside and the ice cream melts into little puddles.”
“I’ll go with that recommendation.” He gave the chatty tyke a high five.
“Coffee?” Annette hefted a mug.
“Yes. Thank you. Black.”
Matt propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. “What’s a biker dude?”
“Biker dude?” Lexie stopped cutting the brownies and frowned at her son from the counter. “Where in the world did you pick up that term?”
“Did I say a bad word?” Matt stopped playing with his spoon.
“No. I just . . . where did you hear it?”
“From Daniel in Sunday school. He said Mr. Stone is a biker dude.”
The two women sent their visitor a quick, embarrassed look.
Adam shifted in his seat, the subtle tension that had been part of his life for as long as he could remember creeping back.
Matt’s only saying what everyone in town probably thinks, Stone. Get over it and try to put these gracious people at ease.
Forcing up the corners of his lips, he tried to keep his posture relaxed. “A biker dude is a guy who rides a motorcycle. Usually they wear black leather jackets. A lot of them have longer hair and wear bandanas.” He touched the one covering his own dark locks, which hadn’t seen a barber in far too long. “Most wear boots. Some have tattoos.”
“Awesome!” Matt tucked his legs under him and leaned close, elbows on the table as he spoke in a hushed tone. “Do you have a tattoo?”
“Matt!” Lexie zoomed over and resettled her son in his chair. “That’s a personal question.” She refocused on him, her expression contrite. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. And I don’t mind answering. No, I don’t have a tattoo—or a motorcycle.”
“Maybe you could get one.” Matt poked his spoon into the ice cream Lexie set in front of him.
“I don’t see that happening. Motorcycles cost a lot of money.”
“Oh.” Matt’s face fell. “I thought if you got one you might take me for a ride sometime. I’ve never been on a motorcycle. Have you, Mom?”
Lexie finished distributing the dessert and retook her seat. “Yes.”
“Yeah? When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Did my dad have one?”
“Yes.” She focused on scooping up some ice cream and a bite of brownie from her plate. “Mom, did you add a different seasoning to the stew tonight? It had an extra zing.”
She didn’t want to talk about her late husband—at least not in front of strangers.
Too bad. He’d like to learn more than the few scraps he’d picked up here and there about her history. All he knew was that she’d married while she was overseas and her husband had died not long afterward. No one in town seemed to have a clue about what had happened to him.
Given the exchange taking place between mother and daughter about seasoning and spices, however, his curiosity wasn’t going to be satisfied tonight.
Matt was too busy devouring his dessert to add much to the conversation, so Adam followed his example and gave the warm, tender brownie covered in melting ice cream the attention it deserved.
“Would you like another one?”
At Lexie’s question, he tuned back into the table conversation.
“No, thanks. But it was delicious.”
“Can I have some more, Mom?” Matt cast her a hopeful look.
“Let’s give what you ate a chance to get to your stomach first. If you’re hungry in half an hour, you can have another half.”
“Okay.” Sighing, he pushed his plate back, surveyed the table, and gave Adam a toothy smile. “I like you sitting in the empty place. It feels . . . fuller.”
“I agree. I prefer a full table myself.” Annette’s comment sounded innocent, but Adam caught the light-speed squint Lexie directed at the older woman.
“If you leave everything, I’ll stack the dishwasher later.” Lexie stood. “I need to talk to our guest for a few minutes.”
“Take your time. Matt and I will clear the table and keep Clyde company in here. Right, Matt?”
“Right!”
And no doubt try to pilfer another brownie out of his grandmother, who Adam suspected was a softer touch than his mother.
Taking Lexie’s cue, Adam rose.
She motioned toward the family room. “Let’s sit in there. It’s quiet—and private.”
He followed her, taking a seat in the corner of the couch she indicated while she claimed an adjacent chair.
“Let me fill you in on what I found today at your place, and what happened next.” She was back in official mode.
Good.
It was easier to concentrate when she was Chief Graham.
He listened without interrupting as she described the events of the day, no less angry that Clyde had been hurt, but feeling more sympathy than he expected for the fifteen-year-old whose home situation sounded anything but ideal.
Especially after Lexie told him she was handing Brian over to a juvenile court counselor.
“I hope that works out for him.” In addition to his own experience, he’d heard too many horror stories from fellow inmates to have much confidence in the system.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think Brian is sorry he got involved in all this, and I know he feels bad about the damage and about Clyde. I’d like to give him every possible chance to straighten out.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I had an idea this afternoon that I ran by the counselor who’s been assigned to the case. No names, just a concept. He thought it had merit—but it all hinges on you.”
A quiver of unease snaked up his spine. “I’m trying to steer clear of anything related to crime.”
“I can understand that—except this would put you on the other side of the law. Will you at least listen to my idea?”
After all she and her family had done for Clyde—and him—he owed her that much. “I can listen.”
She leaned close, her expression earnest. “I don’t know your whole story, Stone. Only what’s in the police record. I don’t have access to social service files from your younger days. But I suspect you may have come from a tough home situation.”
“That would be an understatement.”
“Brian isn’t in the best environment, either. I think his mother is trying, but his father took off six months ago. Between you and me, he sounds like a user—and a deadbeat. I don’t know if there was any physical abuse, but that’s not the only way to make someone’s life miserable.”
She paused, as if waiting for him to offer some insights based on his own experience.
Not happening.
He never talked about his past except in vague detail, and he wasn’t about to spill his guts now.
Lexie apparently got that message.
“Bottom line, I don’t think there’s ever been a solid role model in Brian’s life.” She clasped her hands together as she continued. “Being new at school here, trying to break into established cliques, has been tough—and he ended up connecting with the wrong person. He’s teetering on the edge at this very minute. I can give him a second chance . . . but I can’t give him a role model or a father figure. Neither can the juvenile counselor. Nor can we talk to him, or offer any wisdom, with the voice of direct experience.”
As Adam caught the drift of where this was leading, his jaw went slack. “You’re seeing me in that role?”
“That’s part of our idea.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Let me get this straight.” He spoke slowly, trying to make sense of her suggestion. “You want to hook this kid up with a felon who spent five years in prison, has a juvenile record, came from a worse background than he has, and who’s only been walking the straight and narrow for eighteen months?”
“The plan is more fleshed out than that, but you’ve nailed the gist of it.”
The whole notion still wasn’t computing.
“I can’t believe anyone in the juvenile system would agree to this.”
“On paper, I don’t think they would have. With a personal recommendation from a police chief the counselor knows—it was an easy sell.”
“You vouched for me?” Had he slipped into an alternate universe?
“I’ve met you. I’ve watched you. I have sound instincts, and they’re telling me you’re a safe bet. But I’ve also talked to people in town who know you—BJ, Reverend Baker, Luis. The picture that emerges is one of a model citizen. A man who’s made mistakes but who’s doing everything he can to turn his life around. I imagine it’s a tough road—and I’d like to keep Brian from having to tread it. Who better to convince him to stay on this side of the law in the future than a man who crossed the line . . . and faced the consequences?”
The tautness of her posture, the urgency in her tone, her obvious commitment to do the best she could for this troubled kid were compelling.
Too bad someone hadn’t cared half as much for him in those early days, before he’d taken the wrong fork in the road.
It was impossible to fault the logic of her plan . . . but the whole premise left him feeling as shaky and scared as he’d been the first time he’d broken the law.
“I don’t have any experience at this kind of thing.”
“The main job requirements are compassion and persistence. If you’re half as adept with Brian as you’ve been with Matt today, I think he’ll listen to what you have to say.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We’ll have done our best to give him a chance—and that’s all anyone can do.” She leaned forward again. “During the meeting on Monday with Brian and his mother, the counselor will do a risk assessment screen and develop a case plan. Since there are no priors, I’m expecting the matter will be handled informally. That means there could be a fine, restitution for victims, letters of apology . . . along with community service.”
“Where would I fit into all that?”
“Two places—restitution and community service. Mom told me you agreed to repair the flower boxes on the wharf that were damaged in one of the vandalism incidents. If Brian was assigned to help you with that job, he’d be partially fulfilling both of those obligations . . . and learning some useful skills too. What do you think?”
He had no idea.
No one had ever asked for his help with anything this . . . important.
What if he failed?
But if he didn’t try, this kid might lose his one chance to have a decent life—and some of the blame would fall on him.
His stomach knotted.
As if he’d sensed his benefactor’s distress from the next room, Clyde trotted in and wedged himself next to his leg.
When he reached down to pet the dog, his fingers were trembling.
“You can do this, Stone.”
At Lexie’s firm, quiet comment, he scrutinized her. If she had any doubts about her plan, he could see no signs of them.
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“I have plenty for both of us. But I can offer you a safety net, if that helps. Should this become burdensome, or should you change your mind, we can regroup and modify the plan.”
She was making it hard to say no.
A suffocating sense of panic, the kind he’d always felt when he was cornered, closed in on him.
“Do I have to decide now?”
“No. The counselor does need some time to prepare a proposal before he meets with Brian and his mother, though, so the sooner you can give me an answer, the better.”
“Can I call you tomorrow morning?”
“That works.”
A reprieve. Not much of one, but enough to get him back to Sandpiper Cove, where the fresh air might clear the muddle from his brain.
“Thanks again for your help today with Clyde.” He rose.
“It was a treat for Matt.” She stood too.
“Are you leaving, Mr. Stone?” Matt stuck his head around the doorway.
“Yes.”
“Mamaw!” the boy hollered over his shoulder. “He’s leaving!”
“Hey! No shouting in the house.” Lexie shot him a stern look.
A home with no shouting?
Out of his realm of experience.
Annette appeared in the doorway, the box of dog supplies in her arms.
“I can take those.” Adam started toward her.
“You worry about Clyde. I’ve got this. Lexie, would you get the bag on the kitchen table? I made up a human doggie bag for you, Stone. We have a week’s worth of stew. I gave you a portion, along with some rolls and a few brownies.”
“That’s very generous, but you’ve already been more than kind.”
“Don’t argue with Mom about food.” Lexie grinned and set off for the kitchen. “She loves to feed people.”
“Then I accept—with pleasure.” He bent and hefted Clyde into his arms.
“Matt, would you open the door for our guest?” Annette motioned toward the foyer with the box.
The tyke trotted ahead of them and pulled the door wide as Lexie appeared from the kitchen.
“We’ll help you carry all this stuff out.” Annette started down the path, Lexie and Matt following in her wake.
Adam closed the door behind him as best he could with his foot and brought up the rear of the parade to his car.
After sitting Clyde on the backseat, he relieved Lexie of her bag and deposited it on the front passenger seat. They all followed him around to the trunk, where he stowed the box Annette was holding.
“Thank you again for taking such great care of Clyde and for the wonderful dinner.” He closed the lid.
“It was our pleasure. And you’re welcome for a meal anytime.” Annette held out her hand.
He returned her firm clasp.
“We could watch Clyde for you again sometime.” Matt peeked in the back window at the dog. “Me and him had a lot of fun. After he’s all better, we could play outside in the backyard. I bet he’d like that.”
“I bet he would.” Adam fingered his car keys, making no promises. Tonight had been great—but social interaction wasn’t his forte. “Well . . .”
“Say good night, Matt.” Annette took the boy’s hand.
“Good night.”
“We’ll see you inside, Lexie.” With that, she led the boy back up the path, through the door, and out of sight.
“I’ll say good night too.” Lexie took a step back. “My cell number is on the card I gave you during my first trip to your place. That will be the best way to reach me tomorrow. Do you need another one?”
“No. I kept the one you gave me.” It had been front and center on his kitchen counter since the night of her visit.
“Okay. And please think hard about what I asked. It could transform a young boy’s life.”
“I will.” He edged away, climbed behind the wheel, and put the car in gear.
At the end of the cul-de-sac, he executed a wide turn and drove again past her house.
She wasn’t standing in front anymore, but warm light spilled from the windows.
A surge of yearning swept over him, so strong that for a moment his foot eased back on the gas pedal. What would it be like to call a place like this, filled with warmth and light and laughter and love, home?
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to press harder.
This wasn’t where he belonged.
He needed to be satisfied with the small, isolated cabin that was his lot—and the companionship of a loyal dog.
Like he’d been before a lovely woman had unexpectedly entered his life and asked a favor that would pull him out of his isolation and stretch his comfort level to the limits.
He’d bought himself a few hours to think it through—yet as he drove through the night toward Sandpiper Cove, he already knew that however daunting her request might be, come morning he was going to agree.
Because saying no to a woman like Lexie Graham wasn’t an option.