Dreaming of Home. Glynna Kaye

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      “I’m not going to make a play for the sympathy vote.” Meg’s lips tightened. She’d decided that right from the beginning and she wasn’t backing down now. The job was either God’s will or it wasn’t. Manipulation on her part wasn’t going to play a role in the outcome.

      Sharon’s expression softened as she laid a hand on Meg’s arm. “So what are you going to do?”

      “Not much I can do, Sharon.” She swallowed as she placed the flattened box on the checkout counter. “Or that I intend to do.”

      “As the saying goes, you can’t expect God to steer a parked car. March yourself down to the school and talk some sense into that principal.” Sharon’s brows slanted into a dangerous-looking V. “Or I will. He’s a blustery old bag of wind, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”

      Meg’s cold fingers clenched at her sides. She’d thought Sharon could be trusted not to say anything about her situation. “Please don’t.”

      “Ben knows better than to think Sailor Boy will anchor himself to dry land long enough to fill a teaching slot for more than a semester.” She held up a couple of fingers. “Two at the most.”

      Meg’s lips trembled. “Maybe Ben doesn’t think I’m long-term either.”

      Her subdued tone echoed with an ominous ring as her mind flew to her friend Penny, now lying in a Phoenix hospital bed. No, life didn’t always turn out the way you’d dreamed it would.

      “Oh, honey.” Sharon’s round, determined face crumpled as she leaned in for a gentle bear hug over the top of her walker. “He knows nothing about that, and I’m not going to say a word. I don’t agree with your thinking, but I promised, didn’t I? So I don’t want to hear you talking like that.”

      Meg mustered a shaky half smile as the woman released her. “Nevertheless, you have to admit the RV does scream temporary resident.”

      “Don’t you worry. You’re going to get that job and buy yourself that nice little house you have your eye on.” Sharon reached out to clasp Meg’s hand, her voice more gruff than usual. “You’re going to have a bright future. Right here if you want it. And don’t you dare start thinking otherwise.”

      Chapter Two

      Gripping his son’s hand, Joe led Davy across the black-topped road a few blocks down the street from the stone-fronted Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. They located the dirt trail shortcut through towering ponderosa pines and headed on the three-quarter-mile hike homeward, home temporarily being Joe’s father’s place at the Lazy D Campground and RV Park.

      The boy tugged on his dad’s hand and, as always, the tiny one engulfed in his own swelled Joe’s heart with an overwhelming love and sense of responsibility. How could he have stayed away from his son so long?

      “Dad?”

      Joe felt little fingers dancing in his palm as he glanced down at the hope-filled face staring up at him. Davy looked like his mother when his eyes got big and solemn like that.

      “Can we have Miss Meg over for pirate food tonight?”

      He hadn’t seen that one coming. “I…don’t think so, bud.”

      “How come?”

      “Because…” Because he didn’t need any distractions right now. Especially not a pretty, petite distraction. One with gentle, laughing eyes and a smattering of freckles over her pert nose. A winsome smile that made you want to hang out and talk a while longer. No. No distractions of that variety. Never again. Or at least not for a good long while.

      Shaking away a mental image of the perky brunette shopkeeper, Joe banished a lingering smile. His boy came first now.

      Davy slowed, scuffing his feet through the dry, brown pine needles. “Because why?”

      “Because I don’t think we have enough pirate food for all of us.”

      There, that was easy enough.

      Davy perked up. “I’ll eat only one fish stick.”

      “You like her that much?” Joe playfully jiggled his son’s hand, remembering the delight reflected in the pretty woman’s eyes when Davy stepped from behind the postcard rack. And the teasing smile she’d leveled in his own direction when she discovered a pirate crouched on the floor of the shop. “I think she likes you, too.”

      The boy ducked his head.

      “Is that a blush?” Joe tugged Davy close and ruffled his hair. He needed a haircut, but Davy’s grandma said all the boys were wearing it that long now. That was one battle he’d put on hold.

      The little body squirmed free. “Please, Dad?”

      “Not tonight. We need to spend some time with Grandpa. That’s one of the reasons we came here, remember?”

      And he’d let himself be flayed alive if Davy ever found out the other reason.

      “I bet I can spend time with Miss Meg and Grandpa at the same time.” Davy folded his arms in an uncompromising manner Joe recognized as his own.

      “Let’s visit with Grandpa tonight, okay? Then we’ll see about Miss Meg another time.”

      Or not.

      With a triumphant wheeee, Davy spread his arms winglike and dashed ahead. Joe watched in fascination, as he’d done countless times in recent days, at the ephemeral transformation of childish spirits. Dead sober one moment and carefree the next. Trusting that everything would work out. No worries.

      If only life were so simple. Joe pulled the bandana from his head and roughed up his hair with his fingers. Then holding out his left hand, he stared for a long moment at the gold band gleaming among the faux pirate gems. It wasn’t going to be easy but, God willing, he’d do whatever it took. Separating from the Navy and coming back to Canyon Springs was the right decision. The teaching job, too. It was all about Davy now.

      He watched his son race down the winding dirt path, arms outstretched as he wove from side to side like a fighter jet honing in on an aircraft carrier.

      The kid never asked for much. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Miss Meg over for pirate food. Sometime.

      Maybe.

      Not tonight.

      

      “Not tonight!” Meg wailed. “Not again!”

      It was at her third rapid step into the RV park’s darkened laundry room that the splash registered in her ears and water seeped into her low-cut flats.

      She whirled with the overflowing hamper in her arms and slopped back out onto the covered porch. Setting down her laundry, she peered into the dimly lit room once more. Yep. Two inches of water. Again.

      And wouldn’t you know it. She hadn’t had any time to do laundry that week, so it was getting to the do-it-now-or-wear-dirty-clothes stage. She was almost out of towels, too.

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