“He was just a regular guy, but really nice. Know what I mean?” When Rick nodded, Lucas continued. “He worked at my school and would have been my fourth-grade teacher this year, but he died. So then I had to have Mrs. Callaway instead. And she’s cranky and yells all the time.”
“I guess it’s lucky that you moved to Brighton Valley then. I hear the teachers are much better here.” Rick, of course, had heard no such thing, but he wanted to say something to make the kid feel better, although he’d never been very good at stuff like that.
“Dr. Martinez?” Kara called from the doorway to the clinic. “Fred Ames is here with Nugget.”
“I’ll be right there.” Rick strode over to where Buddy was playing with Lucas and grabbed the dog’s collar. “I’m afraid I need to go back to work now, so we’ll have to put Buddy back into his pen.”
“Aw, man. That’s too bad. Poor Buddy. I’d hate to live in a cage like that.”
So would Rick. In fact, the idea of spending his life in confinement made him think about his uncle, who’d ended up in prison after the last time his drunken rage had turned violent. The neighbors had called the cops, and his aunt had spent a week in the hospital. The state had stepped in, finally, sending Rick and Joey, his younger brother, into foster care.
The whole thing had been pretty embarrassing, since it had been in the local newspaper. Rick had often thought that Mallory’s conservative grandfather, a minister, had decided Rick wasn’t good enough for Mallory because they figured he would grow up to be like the other men in his family.
To be honest, that was one of the reasons Rick hadn’t wanted to settle down, get married and have kids. He’d worried about it a bit, too. Hell, even Joey had run away and cut all ties to everyone who bore a drop of Martinez blood, including Rick.
A couple of years ago, Rick had hired a P.I. and tried to find his kid brother, but it was as if Joey hadn’t wanted to be found. He’d pretty much vanished.
Unless, of course, he was dead.
Rick raked a hand through his hair. At times like this, when the memories haunted him, he wondered if he’d really turned his life around or not. Maybe on the outside he had. But on the inside, he feared that he was still the same troubled little boy who’d been knocked around by his old man and called a loser more times than he could count, abandoned by his parents, left to the care of an alcoholic uncle and finally turned over to the state foster system until his eighteenth birthday.
After putting Buddy back in the dog run and locking the gate, Rick and Lucas headed back to the clinic, while Buddy complained with howls and barks.
“I feel bad for him,” Lucas said.
So did Rick, which was why he took Buddy for a run each evening and why he let him sleep in the house at night.
Buddy was a free spirit, a lot like Rick. He wasn’t cut out to live in a kennel or crate. But if he didn’t get his frisky behavior in check, he wouldn’t be cut out to be a family pet, either.
Maybe that’s why Rick had taken such a liking to the stray, why he’d felt inclined to keep him until he could find a suitable home for him.
Because in some ways, Rick and Buddy were alike. Loners who shouldn’t tempt fate.
* * *
Mallory’s job interview, which had been at the Brighton Valley Medical Center, had gone well, and she suspected the HR director would be calling her for a follow-up interview in the next few days. She had all the qualifications they were looking for in the social worker position, as well as experience at a renowned Boston clinic. In addition to the professional references, she’d also listed a few notable locals, including the former Wexler district attorney, who’d been her grandfather’s golfing buddy.
Speaking of Grandpa, she hadn’t gotten by to visit him yet today, so she’d have to call him this evening. When she’d told him her plans to adopt Lucas, he’d been a little apprehensive at first, but he seemed to understand. She wasn’t sure how much he’d told his friends and associates yet. Alice Reilly knew, so she assumed others did, too.
She still hadn’t introduced the two of them. With Grandpa’s health what it was, she wasn’t sure how taxing that initial visit might be on him. She was also concerned about the effect an awkward meeting would have on her son.
Lucas knew the Dunlops had loved him from the start. They’d chosen him. He’d been their dream-come-true baby.
The adoption, while open, was also child-focused. So Lucas had always known Mallory was his birth mother. But he’d been calling her by her first name ever since he’d learned how to talk, and she’d come to expect it, to appreciate it. Up until his adoptive mother had died, the two of them had a relationship that had been more been more like aunt and nephew.
Just recently, their relationship had begun to change, though, and he’d starting to call her Mom—like he had last night. And she couldn’t be happier. But it was all so new, so fragile.
Mallory loved Lucas, and he knew it. But he also knew that she’d given him up to the Dunlops when he was a newborn. She hadn’t wanted him to think that she hadn’t loved him. Or that she hadn’t wanted to be his mother. So she’d let him think that at least part of it had been due to her youth and her obedience to her grandfather’s wishes.
Every day she did her best to let him know, one way or another, that she’d never give him up again. That she loved him more than life itself. And he seemed to believe her—thank God, because she meant it from the bottom of her heart.
She was proud of the child he’d become. And she knew her grandfather would be proud of him, too—given the chance. When the two finally met, she wanted everything to be...perfect. And it would be. Soon.
After unlocking the front door, she let herself into the living room. It was nearly five o’clock, and Rick would be coming soon. She wasn’t looking forward to their little chat, but he’d been right. The sooner they got it over with, the better.
She left her purse and heels at the stairs, planning to take them to her bedroom later. Then she went to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly on the cool hardwood floor. She’d no more than poured herself a glass of iced tea when the doorbell rang. That had to be Rick. She took several refreshing swallows, then left the half-full glass on the counter and went to let him in.
As she opened the door, her heart scampered through her chest at the sight of him. He appeared professional again, in a pair of dark slacks and a white button-down shirt. Yet his hair was a bit mussed and rebellious, his eyes wary, his lips still sporting the hint of a scowl.
Would she ever know which Rick she’d meet on any given day?
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside so he could enter. “And have a seat.”
He slowly sauntered toward the sofa and sat down.
Mallory glanced down at her bare feet, at the pink polish on her toes, but she could feel his eyes on her, angry, hurt.
She didn’t like disappointing people, failing them. And while she’d done her best to make up for the one big mistake she’d made ten years ago, here was Rick, stabbing at her guilt and stirring up the old memories, the emotions all over again.
When
