How To Rescue A Family. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ was going to have to stop wearing suits to the office. The Spring Forest Chronicle wasn’t exactly a formal working environment, as evidenced by the Converse sneakers on Jonah’s feet and the skinny jeans on the younger man’s legs. Old habits died hard, though, and Ryan’s closet was filled with gray flannel and pinstripes. Relics from his former life.

      He made a mental note to buy some casual clothes as soon as possible. As it was, he felt more like Jonah’s dad than his boss. Impossible, considering Ryan was only thirty-three and Jonah was somewhere in his early twenties. But being around all that youthful optimism made Ryan feel ancient, and the last thing he needed at the office was a reminder of his shortcomings as a father.

      “Do you have any messages for me?” He shot Jonah a hopeful glance.

      As much as Ryan hated to admit it, leaving his position as the political editor at the Post to buy a small-town newspaper was more of an adjustment than he’d expected. He missed his old job—the adrenaline rush that came with chasing a breaking story, the sense of accomplishment, the prestige. Dillon was more important than any of those things, obviously. That’s why they were here.

      But Ryan would have given his left arm for a story to cover—a real story with some meat on its bones. A story that didn’t involve a bake sale or the removal of a stop sign or new uniforms for the high school marching band. The only thing truly newsworthy he’d covered recently had been the tornado that swept through town.

      He could have done without that particular news item. The twister had scared Dillon so badly that he’d slept in the bathtub for three straight nights afterward. Ryan had stretched out on the bathroom floor in his sleeping bag alongside the tub, unwilling to leave his frightened son alone. His lower back was a mess.

      But at least he’d been there.

      For once.

      “Yes, actually.” Jonah tore a sheet from the pink message pad on his desk. Ryan hadn’t seen a message pad like that in years. He wondered if it was left over from the building’s banking days. “Patty Matthews from the elementary school called.”

      Ryan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at the message. Mrs. Matthews was Dillon’s teacher, which meant the call had zero to do with business. Worse, it might mean that there was a problem with his son.

      Jonah cleared his throat. “She said she tried to reach you on your cell, but it rolled straight to voice mail.”

      “That’s because I was at the mobile store buying a new phone. It’s only been activated for a few minutes.” Ryan had been so consumed with taking care of Dillon during the storm that he’d accidentally left his cell phone plugged into its charger during the tornado. Big mistake. It had been randomly powering itself down ever since, and he couldn’t afford to miss any more news tips...

      Or calls from his son’s teacher.

      “Right.” Jonah nodded. “I’m sure everything’s fine, but you should probably call her back.”

      “Of course.” Dread settled in the pit of Ryan’s stomach like a lead weight. Things hadn’t been fine for a long, long time.

      He checked his watch.

      “School gets out shortly. I think I’ll head over there instead of calling.” He glanced at Jonah. “Unless there’s something urgent I need to attend to?”

      “Nope.” Jonah shrugged. “There’s not.”

      Of course there wasn’t. The paper didn’t even go to press for three more days. The Spring Forest Chronicle was a weekly publication, which gave Ryan a flexible schedule. He dropped off Dillon for school every morning, and picked him up, as well. He attended the school’s aftercare program in the afternoons when Ryan was working. Before the accident, when they’d lived in DC, Ryan had never set foot inside a single one of Dillon’s classrooms.

      His gut churned, and the message crumpled in his fist.

      What if it was too late? What if he never managed to connect with his son? What if Dillon’s retreat into silence was permanent?

       It’s not too late. It can’t be.

      “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Ryan scanned the room, in case anyone else on his minuscule staff looked as though they needed to speak to him. But the other three full-time employees were all bent over their desks, eyes glued to their laptops. Ryan thought he spied a computer game on at least one of the screens.

      He sighed and stalked out of the building, back onto Main. Dappled sunlight drifted through the branches of the trees lining the street, warming his face as he made his way to the large public parking lot adjacent to the Granary, where he’d left his car—a small SUV. New, like nearly everything else in his life.

      Sometimes he forgot what color it was or where exactly he’d parked it. Hell, sometimes he forgot he drove that to work now instead of taking the Metro.

      He just needed a little time, that’s all. They both did. Eventually, this new life would feel right. It would fit, like a favorite sweater. Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what people always said?

      God, he hoped so.

      But he was starting to wonder. So were Maggie’s parents, and that was a problem. A big one.

      Ryan tipped his head back to down the rest of his coffee. He didn’t want to think about his overbearing in-laws right now. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. The move to Spring Forest had put nearly three hundred blissful miles between him and his late wife’s mom and dad.

       I’ll drink to that.

      He swallowed the dregs from his paper cup and turned to throw it in a nearby recycling bin, but as he did so he crashed into something. Or more accurately, someone. A woman.

       Ooof.

      She stumbled backward, and Ryan reached for her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m in a hurry and wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”

      “Ouch,” she wailed. His elbow had rammed right into her nose.

      The woman’s hands were covering her face, and something about her graceful fingers seemed vaguely familiar, but Ryan couldn’t imagine why. He stared at her buffed nails and the slim gold bands on her middle finger and thumb, trying to figure out where he’d seen those feminine details before.

      “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, forcing himself to release his hold on her since she was standing perfectly still now.

      His throat went thick, and he was suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that he hadn’t touched a woman in quite a long time. She smelled like something decadent and sweet—vanilla, maybe. And her sweater had been soft beneath his fingertips. So soft that an ache formed deep in his chest. He inhaled a ragged breath and nearly choked.

      “I’m fine, but you plowed into me pretty hard. It’s okay. It’s...” she peeked up at him from between her hands “...you.”

      Ryan frowned. “Me?”

      “Yes.” She nodded. “You.”

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