which of you,” Meg whispered to the boy, “is Captain Jack?”
“Me,” father and son responded in unison.
“Two captains?”
Both nodded, Davy an adorable Mini-Me of his parent.
Joe motioned to his son. “Davy wanted to be the other guy—until I congratulated him on getting the girl.”
“I don’t want to get the girl.” Davy rolled his eyes, then pointed to his father. “And he doesn’t want to get the girl either.”
Meg laughed and stood. “I’m sure your mom’s relieved to hear that.”
For a flashing moment Davy’s eyes registered confusion, but his father scooped him into his arms and heaved him over a broad shoulder. Joe pulled the patch down over his eye again and spun toward the door.
“Aarrr! Come, Captain. Our ship sets sail. Bid Miss Meg farewell.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Giggling, the little boy clutched his hat to his head and waved. “Farewell, Miss Meg.”
“Bye, Davy. I’ll see both you Captains at church tomorrow.”
“This Captain.” The little boy waved a chubby finger at himself. “Grandpa will bring me.”
“Okay. See you then.”
Oh, no. Meg rushed to the door as the pirate pair stepped onto the porch. “Excuse me, um, Davy’s dad?”
Joe swung around to face her with a still-snickering Davy over his shoulder. “Joe.”
“Right. Joe. About your headache—”
“Gone. Must have been that earring.” Grin broadening, he winked. “But thanks for asking.”
Flirt. Bet the little woman at home has to keep a short leash on you.
“Sure. But I mean…the aspirin?”
She pointed, and he glanced down at the box still clutched in his fingers. With an apologetic shake of his head, he tossed the aspirin through the open door in a high arc. She caught it with both hands.
“Thanks for keeping me honest, Miss Meg. Wouldn’t want to get arrested in the old hometown.” He bestowed another wink. “At least not right off the bat.”
He turned away, his footsteps echoing a hollow cadence on the wooden porch.
“Dad, can we have pirate food tonight?” Davy’s plaintive voice carried back to Meg.
“What? Fish sticks? Again?”
“So you met Canyon Springs’ hometown hunk and hero rolled into one.” Sharon Dixon, the shop’s owner, maneuvered her considerable weight and a metal walker over the threshold. Her auburn hair now lacking the tell-tale gray it sported earlier in the day, the fifty-five-year-old glanced in a mirror hanging inside the door and brushed at her bangs.
A former heavy smoker, her voice came in rasping fragments. “Saw him come out the door as I was leaving the Cut-n-Curl. Quite the looker. Cute kid, too. But don’t get any ideas. Joe’ll tire of this place. Faster than you can bat your big baby blues at him.”
Catching a whiff of generously lacquered-on hairspray, Meg laid a stack of T-shirts on the shelf she’d been stocking, grateful it had been a slow afternoon and the shop was devoid of customers at the moment. Why did people always assume that because she was single, she “got ideas” anytime an attractive man crossed her path? She’d hardly given the eye-catching pirate a second thought—or had she? Okay, maybe a second. Or third.
“Don’t worry, Sharon.” She turned away to straighten a sunglasses display. “Men in general—and married men in particular—hold little interest for me.”
“Joe’s not married. Widower.”
Meg cringed and gave the display rack a slow spin. No wonder Davy looked confused when she referred to his mother. Or why his father immediately toted him far, far away from the blundering Sunday school assistant.
Usually, she took precautions with parental references at school. No one came from an intact mom-pop-and-two-point-five-kids home anymore. She could blame her change in meds or the distraction of Joe Diaz’s dazzling smile all she wanted, but it was her own insensitive mess-up. She’d apologize at the first opportunity.
She stooped to pick up an empty T-shirt box.
“I’m surprised he’s still on the market,” the older woman continued as she made her way slowly across the room, sneakers peeping from beneath turquoise velour sweatpants. “Good lookin’ guy like that, you know? Too bad my Kara’s not in town anymore. She had a crush on him when she was in junior high. Probably still does. She tell you about that?”
Kara was Meg’s best friend from college and one of the reasons she’d arrived in the somewhat remote Canyon Springs in the first place. Ironically, Kara sounded the bugle to charge into the world at the very moment Meg called retreat.
“She never mentioned him.” No doubt she’d remember her friend talking about a man whose smile could take your breath away and send your heart kicking into overdrive.
“Then she still has a crush on him,” her mother concluded with a nod, “even though he hasn’t been around these parts since high school. Took off for college, then the Navy. But just as well she’s not here. He won’t be for long either.”
“I don’t know about that.” Meg stripped the seam tape from the cardboard box in her hands, wadded it and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “It sounded like he plans to stay awhile. He’s applying for a teaching job.”
“Around here? In his dreams. Look at how long you’ve waited.”
Meg dropped the box to the floor and flattened it with her foot. “A science teaching job.”
Sharon’s eyes widened and she clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.” Meg gave the box another stomp. “Ben Cameron, his old principal, has apparently told him he’s just the man for the job.”
“Can he do that? Doesn’t the board or somebody have to approve it?”
Meg shrugged. “Davy’s dad—Joe—thinks God’s opening a window.”
Sharon scoffed. “Pooh. I have it from a good source—Joe’s dad—that Joe hasn’t graced a church door since his wife died. What’s he know about God opening any windows?”
“You don’t always have to be sitting in the front row pew for God to hear you,” Meg said. “Or for you to hear from God. And for some people, church is the hardest place to go when they’ve suffered the loss of a loved one.”
Sharon scoffed again and eyed Meg. “I hope you told Joe you have a prior claim to the job. Need it more than he does.”
Her heart lurched. “Of course I didn’t.”
