Hometown Reunion. Lisa Carter
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don’t know what you mean.”
Her mother flipped the basket lid shut. “Life is a journey. Like love. And you never know what might lie beyond the next bend.”
Darcy huffed. “Better paddle harder. I think I hear banjos.”
Her mother—pastor’s wife, former social worker and everyone’s favorite friend—crinkled her eyes at Darcy. “If nothing else, be kind to a lonely little boy who’s lost his mother and everything he ever knew.”
Bull’s eye. The chink in Darcy’s armor. Despite being an only child—maybe because of being a lonely only—she loved children.
And so fifteen minutes later, she stowed the basket in the SUV. Her mother waved from the front lawn.
Darcy told herself she was doing this only for Brody. She couldn’t get the image of his sad face out of her mind, and thoughts of the withdrawn little guy lay heavy on her heart. Getting an idea, she made a quick detour north on Highway 13 to the dollar store.
The vibe between Jax and his son continued to gnaw at her. Back in the car, she ventured off the main road toward Shirley’s wooded farmhouse, situated on an isolated neck of the inlet.
Was her mom right? Was this summer about more than merely keeping a business afloat? Turning off Seaside Road, the SUV bounced across the rutted drive.
On the football field, Jax had possessed a daring recklessness. Like each of the overachieving Pruitts—Ben the Annapolis grad, Will the firefighter, dad and brother Charlie deputy sheriffs—fear had never been a factor for Green Beret Jax.
But now? A memory arose in her mind of an incident that had happened a few years ago, after the hurricane tore through Kiptohanock.
A golden retriever had floundered in the harbor off the jetty. In the dog’s eyes she’d beheld the same expression she’d glimpsed in Jax’s face this afternoon when he gazed at his son. Despair and an overwhelming fear.
Steering the SUV through the grove of trees, she winced at the memory of that day. Losing strength, the retriever had appeared about to go under. Just like Jaxon Pruitt?
Disturbed by the comparison, she gripped the wheel. She’d dived into the churning water without hesitation to rescue the dog. And kept the retriever afloat long enough for a Coastie to jump in and get them both to safety. Later, the owners had gratefully reclaimed their pet.
Was that what God wanted her to do with Jax and Brody? Get them to a safe place? Was this summer about keeping them afloat until they gained a foothold of trust with each other? At stake was Brody’s relationship with his dad.
As to her own continuing proximity with Brody’s widowed father? Darcy released a slow trickle of breath. This wouldn’t end well.
Because where Jaxon Pruitt was concerned, it never had. Not for her.
Jaxon tucked Brody’s folded shirts and jeans into the bureau drawer. The socks and Spider-Man underwear went into another drawer. Hand on his hips, Jax glanced around the bedroom.
He’d purchased the rambling, three-bedroom farmhouse from his aunt as part of their business deal. At present, the house was furnished with only the bare essentials. As spartan and unsentimental as his aunt, it would be up to Jax to figure out how to turn the house into a home for Brody.
What Jax knew about kids—despite being the oldest of four brothers and one sister—wouldn’t fill Brody’s pint-size suitcase.
Stowing the suitcase in the hall closet, he headed down the creaking staircase to check on his son. And found him where he’d left him ten minutes ago. Knees planted in the sofa cushion, Brody kept his eyes fastened on the winding driveway. As if he was waiting for someone. Watching for someone—like his mother?—who’d never return.
Guilt twisted Jax’s gut. “What’re you doing, son?”
Brody didn’t turn around. “Hungwy.”
Him, too. “Let’s get chicken nuggets at McDonald’s.”
Brody shook his head, but his fixation on the driveway didn’t waver. “No ’Donalds.”
Jax was also tired of fast food. It had been a long day, starting with the drive over the Bay Bridge Tunnel. With the waves lapping the shoreline in Virginia Beach, they’d crossed the steel-girded artery which connected what been here, born heres called the Western Shore of mainland Virginia to their Eastern Shore home.
Brody probably should’ve had a nap. But perched high in his car seat, he’d studied the shorebirds wheeling overhead, the silent child as emotionally remote as Jax himself.
Apples and trees. Fathers and sons. He scrubbed his hand over his face. Bringing up the tree thing with Darcy had been a mistake. A tactical error in winning her support.
He needed her help or this attempt at a new life was doomed. But he’d gone too fast, pushing his business ideas on her. Neither of them were the same carefree kids they’d been. And now he’d blown any hope of friendship, much less a business collaboration.
And there remained his biggest dilemma—how to reach his son. As he knelt there staring through the window, Brody’s skinny shoulder blades stood out through his Power Rangers T-shirt.
“What ’bout cereal, Brode?”
Home less than a day, Jax had already slipped into his native speech. Bogue, fogue and dogue were sure to follow for bog, fog and dog.
“No...” An unaccustomed whine had crept into Brody’s too stoic voice.
Better forget Brody’s usual tub time. Jax wasn’t sure he had the fortitude to gator wrestle a two-year-old, slippery as an eel, into a bath. He’d feed Brody and put him to bed.
As for the upcoming kayaking excursion? He rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. He also needed to study the water charts for the Tuesday morning expedition.
“How ’bout pizza, son?”
An SUV rounded the curve in the driveway. Darcy’s SUV. Jax’s heartbeat accelerated. Brody launched himself off the couch and grabbed the doorknob.
Jax scrambled after him. “Wait, Brody.” But somehow the child managed to pry open the door. Who knew a two-year-old could be so fast?
As Jax stepped onto the wraparound porch, his son hurled himself at Darcy. His arms clasped around her legs, Brody buried his face in her jeans. “Me know you come, Dawcy. Me know.”
Darcy’s eyes went wide. Jax stood frozen. A wicker basket lay in the gravel beside her. A plastic shopping bag dangled from her hand.
Brody had been waiting and watching for Darcy? After what happened earlier, Jax had feared they’d seen the last of her. Yet here she was. And with a childlike faith, Brody had believed she’d come.
Jax moved to ground level. “Let me take something.” He grabbed hold of the basket.
“Thanks.”
His arms sagged at the basket’s weight. “Wow, how did you get this thing out of the car?”
“When will you learn, Pruitt, it’s all about girl power?”
She’d been telling him that since she was only slightly older than Brody. His mouth curved. “How could I forget?”
With her free hand, she cupped Brody’s head. But her gaze never left Jax. “See that you don’t, Pruitt.”
She drew back, though, when he reached for the plastic bag. “It’s a surprise for later.”
Letting go of her legs, Brody turned his face up to her. “’Pwize?”
She pointed to the