As a father, it had been his responsibility to stay involved in her life, no matter how many miles separated them.
A couple of years ago, when Eden had asked to skip visiting Fredericksburg for the summer because she wanted to attend camp with her friends, he’d agreed instantly. He’d been mired in task force duties as the Rangers sought to shut down a cartel whose members kept slipping across the border. The following June, Eden had stayed in California because her uncharacteristic dip in grades necessitated summer school. He’d seen her for a few days at Christmas, but awkwardly exchanging presents before sticking her back on a plane wasn’t real parenting.
With a sigh, he hooked the leash on Dolly’s harness and stepped outside. After only two weeks, Zane was feeling as weary as Val had sounded on the phone.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” his ex-wife had complained. “Maybe she’s acting out because she wants your attention. Or maybe I just suck as a role model. But the way she’s been behaving, these kids she’s been hanging out with...” Her voice had quivered with maternal fear. “You’ve gotta fix her, Zane. Before she lands in real trouble.”
Could he do it? He’d spent a chunk of his life trying to “fix” Val, to no avail. The day he’d signed his divorce papers, he swore he’d learned his lesson. No more rehabilitation attempts thinly disguised as romance. If he ever got involved with a woman again, it had to be as equals. He didn’t want to be anyone’s life coach or shining knight. The only rescues he’d perform would be in his professional life—a philosophy he’d stuck by, with the exception of Dolly.
After a few weeks of steady meals and belly rubs, Dolly had idolized him. Repairing his relationship with Eden would be far more complicated.
“Doggy!”
Zane glanced up and saw a little girl shoot out of the house next to his. Probably no older than four or five, she looked like a walking accessories department. Her pink shirt and sweatpants were nondescript, but she’d worn them with a sequined scarf and sparkly plastic high heels. The yellow sunglasses dominating her face were so large they made him think of circus clowns. A tiara perched crookedly on her red-gold curls, its fake gemstones sparkling in the sun; clip-on earrings dangled from her lobes, and a feather-trimmed purse hung from her forearm. Peeking out of it was a plastic Tyrannosaurus rex whose snarling expression and sharp teeth were incongruous with her rather exuberant glamour.
He paused, overcome with nostalgia. It seemed only yesterday Eden had been in the throes of her sparkly princess phase. Yet now she was a sullen stranger who stood as tall as his shoulder. The T-rex-toting girl wobbled on her dress-up shoes, then went down with a splat in her front yard.
Shushing Dolly’s frenetic woofing, he hurried toward the kid. “Are you okay?”
Her bottom lip trembled. Patches of mud covered her knees. “Ow!”
Previous parenting experience had taught him that sometimes too much sympathy reminded the child she was in pain, while matter-of-fact conversation could work as a distraction. He reeled in Dolly’s retractable leash to keep her from licking the girl’s face. “Why do you carry a dinosaur in your purse?”
“It’s a dog, but you hafta use your imagination. My chihuahua got ripped.” The way she said the word, it came out “chowawowa.” She sniffled. “Mommy’s gonna fix her but she’s been too busy with other sewing.”
He helped the little girl to her feet. “So, why do you carry a chihuahua in your purse?”
“Because I’m fabulous.” She punctuated her statement with an exasperated duh look.
“Get your hands off my daughter!” A dark-haired woman flew through the open door at such high speed that he half expected her to face-plant on the lawn, too. She snatched the girl into a protective hug against her body.
The child wiggled, either in embarrassment or protest at her mother’s grip. Zane had the absent thought that the freckles smattering the woman’s cheeks seemed out of place, too sweet and potentially girlish for someone who’d barreled down on him like an avenging angel.
He took a step back, murmuring softly to Dolly, whose hackles had risen at the woman’s shrill approach. “Ma’am, I was just checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt when she fell. Zane Winchester.” He tipped his white cowboy hat in greeting. “I live next door. You must be the lady Kelsey and Dave got to house-sit?”
She cast him a fleeting glance before returning her attention to the little girl. “You scared me, Belle. What are you doing outside? Never, never open the door without me! I told you we’d play in the yard after I went to the bathroom. And after you changed shoes.”
The girl’s eyes, which were the same golden-brown as her mother’s, grew wider and wider, then filled with belated tears. Her left leg buckled dramatically as if she were in too much pain to stand. Zane tried to suppress his grin. And the award for best actress under ten goes to...
“I hurt my leg, Mommy.”
“Leaving the house without an adult, you’re lucky you weren’t hurt much worse!” The woman plunged a hand through her short hair, let out an aggrieved sigh, then turned back to Zane. “I suppose I should apologize for snapping your head off.”
“You were worried about your child and don’t know me,” he said. “I’m a parent myself. I get it.” She was new to the area, surrounded by strangers—he’d been in California collecting his daughter when the brunette had moved in two weekends ago. Maybe she’d lived in a bad neighborhood before this. It would certainly explain her eyeing him as if he were a convicted criminal.
She tugged on her daughter’s arm. “We should get you cleaned up.”
“Then can we blow bubbles?” Belle negotiated. “We’ve been inside all day. It’s boring!”
“Maybe. In the backyard.”
“I still haven’t pet the doggy,” Belle said pitifully. “What’s his name?”
“She’s a girl,” Zane said. He should walk away. It would be easier for Belle’s mama to coax the child inside without the temptation of the dog. But he found himself curious about his new neighbors. “Her name’s Dolly.”
“Dolly? That doesn’t sound like a dog name.”
“Tell me about it,” he commiserated. “I’d feel a lot less silly yelling something like ‘Scout’ across the dog park. But I found her while I was doing cleanup after Hurricane Dolly and started calling her that before I realized I was keeping her.” In a lot of ways, it had been fitting to name her after a natural disaster. Only a puppy back in 2008, she’d done some significant damage to his belongings in the first few months he’d owned her.
“Change her name,” Belle instructed as she patted Dolly on the head. “That’s what me and Mommy did.”
He frowned, puzzled. “You changed your pet’s name?”
At the same time Belle informed him in tragic tones that she did not have a pet, her mother stammered, “N-nicknames. She means nicknames! Belle is short for Isabelle and I go by Alex instead of Alexandra. Alex Hunt.”
“I’m Zane,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, but it took her a moment before she shook it, watching him warily the entire time. She was a stark change from bubbly
