Good Guys Love Dogs (17 page)

“Pretty sad,
aren't we? he asked with a wry smile.

“At least we're
trying. Al you have to do is open the

paper to see what happens to
children who don't have

parents who care enough to stick
with them. She sighed

and ran a hand through her hair.
“I don't know. The older I

get, the more I realize that being a
good parent, a good

human being, is just plain hard
work. I'm human enough to

wish I could be selfish and say the
heck with it sometimes.

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But that's not what I want to teach
Lena. And from what I

can tell, it isn't what you want to
teach Luke.

Ian watched her silently, his gaze
lingering on her face. In

that moment, she felt the forging of
a bond that had been

developing between them since the
moment they'd met. It

scared the devil out of her. She
stepped back and motioned

toward the door. “I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to get on my

soapbox. It's late. I'd better get
going.

“You didn't. I've
enjoyed the evening. Might have

actual y learned something, he said,
his gaze direct, warming

her in a multitude of places.
Clearing her throat, she made her

way toward the door. He followed her
outside to her truck.

“Good luck with
Luke, she said, stopping at the

driver's side door. “I
hope things will work out for us both

soon. With the kids, I mean, she
added hastily, and then

felt like an idiot.

“I hope you're
right, he said in that steady, even way

of his.

She made a valiant effort not to
look at him again as she

started the truck, backed out of the
parking space and

headed toward the exit. But as she
pul ed out onto the

street, she couldn't resist one last
glimpse in the rearview

mirror.

He stood beneath the lamp post,
staring after her.

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26

hroughout the next week, Ian
attempted to put

Tsome of the information he'd gained
at the

parent-teenager lecture to use.

Teenagers are no longer children.
Consult with them. Ask their

opinions. Suggest. Don't order.

While Ian felt sure of the validity
of Dr. Watson's

advice, he wondered if things were
too far gone for any of

it to make a difference with Luke
and him. He thought

about what Colby had said about
parenting being plain old

hard work. She was right. Rebuilding
his relationship with

Luke meant working at it each and
every day, chipping

away at the boy's anger, hoping to
move a little closer to his

goal with each attempt.

One afternoon when Luke got off the
school bus, Ian

was outside with a ladder and a
bucket of paint, giving the

trim on the house the face-lift it
needed. He spotted Luke

coming up the driveway, his stride
long and relaxed until he

looked up and saw Ian watching him.
Insolence made him

slow his walk and frown.

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GOOD GUYS LOVE DOGS

Ian dipped his brush into the bucket
on the tray at the

top of the ladder, then careful y
stroked the paint across the

chipped trim beneath the roofline.
The boy's aloofness

stabbed deep, but Ian refused to let
him see it. When Luke

reached the top of the drive, Ian
waved and said, “I've got

an extra brush handy if you're
interested.

Luke didn't answer for several
seconds. “What are you

trying to prove, Dad? he final y
asked, his voice filled with

condescension. “Do
you really think moving me out to the

country and pretending to be
something you're not is going

to change us?

The anger in Luke's voice sent a
wave of despair

through Ian. Did his son's
resentment run so deep that he

might never get past it? The thought
scared him more than

anything in his life ever had. What
if it was too late to

make up for his mistakes? He
couldn't let himself believe

that. They just needed time.
Something Ian had plenty of

right now.

Refusing to let Luke see that he'd
rattled him, he said,

“If you change
your mind, the extra brushes are at the foot

of the ladder.

Luke swung around and stomped inside
without

answering.

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27

nbelievable.

UUnbelievable!

Luke dropped his book bag at the
foot of the stairs

and stomped down the hallway toward
the kitchen. No

way was that his dad out there on
that ladder. It had to

be someone impersonating him. His
father never had

time for things like house painting.
He hired people to

do that kind of stuff. For as far
back as he remembered,

Luke hardly ever saw his dad in
anything other than a

suit. Since they'd moved here, he
practical y lived in

blue jeans and running shoes.

His dad looked like a different
person. And he

acted different, asking Luke to help
with things,

wanting to spend time with him. Luke
couldn't get

used to it. He didn't want to,
because it wouldn't last.

He knew it wouldn't. It never had
before. He thought

about the times his dad promised to
come to a soccer

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match, only to be sidetracked by a
last-minute meeting.

Or the surprise birthday party he'd
arranged for him

and then been two hours late getting
to. From the

moment he'd been born, he'd been
nothing but a

burden to his father. He just wished
his dad would stop

pretending otherwise.

Inside the kitchen, the smell of
Mabel's homemade

chocolate chip cookies stil hung in
the air. A note on

the table said:

Luke,

I've gone to the grocery store.
Four cookies before dinner and

no more. Back soon.

Mabel

Luke rol ed his eyes and grabbed a
handful of

cookies from the glass jar she kept
on the kitchen

counter. Why was someone always tel
ing him what to

do? His dad, who never cared until
he decided it was

his duty to reform him. Mabel, who
acted like his

mother or something. And his
teachers, who cal ed

him capable of far more than he
showed in school.

What did they know?

Pulling a glass from the cabinet,
Luke poured

himself some milk and sat at the
kitchen table. No

one here real y knew him. If he had
anything to do

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INGLATH COOPER

with it, they wouldn't be here long
enough for it to

matter.

He hated it here.

He'd met a couple of okay kids.
Footbal players

who were actual y more concerned
about getting

col ege scholarships than getting
high. And a couple

of cheerleaders who'd made it clear
they'd like to get

to know him better.

But they were al boring compared to
the kids

he'd hung around with in the city.

And that Wil iams girl. Lena. Cute.
But she looked

at him as if she had no idea what to
say to him. As if

they were from different
planets—and they might as

wel have been. He'd passed her in
the hal several

times. He'd wanted to stop and talk
to her, but he had

no idea what to say. Not his type,
anyway. He liked

girls who knew the score. Girls who
didn't expect to

wear his class ring after the second
date.

All the kids at Jefferson High were
just too

straight for him. He wanted to go
back to the city,

where he knew how things worked. He
belonged

there, not here in this
stuck-in-the-fifties town.

If he played his cards right, it
wouldn't be too

much longer before his dad gave up
on him. He knew

his father's interest in him
amounted to nothing more

than a guilt trip. Until he'd gotten
into trouble, they'd

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GOOD GUYS LOVE DOGS

merely lived in the same house. His
father left for work

before he got up and usual y didn't
come home until

he'd gone to bed.

And now he acted like Ward Cleaver.
Painting the

house. Fixing up the barn. He'd get
tired of it before

long.

He finished his fourth cookie,
reached for a fifth,

then glanced at Mabel's note and put
it back in the jar.

For the briefest of seconds, he
wished that this whole

fake life his father had created was
true.

That he real y had grown up in a
house like this,

that he and his father had the kind
of relationship

where he went out and climbed up on
a ladder beside

him, where he told him about the
play they'd read in

English class that day. But they
didn't. And they never

would.

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28

n the fol owing Friday afternoon,
Colby made an

Oemergency call out to the Bowers
farm. A horse

had gotten into a half-ful grain bin
and eaten almost

enough of the sweet feed to kill
her. Luckily, Lou Ann

Bowers caught the mare before she
finished it off. As good

as the grain might have tasted,
Colby doubted the horse

enjoyed the dose of mineral oil that
followed it.

It was almost six o'clock by the
time Colby

unenthusiastical y headed back
toward town. With the end of

September, the leaves were beginning
to turn bright red

and gold on the mountains in the
distance. But Colby felt

too down to appreciate them. Lena
had her campout

tonight, so she had an empty house
waiting for her.

She passed the Walker's driveway
without stopping.

Normally, she would have stopped to
visit, but Phoebe

called the night before, needing to
talk to her about

Frank. Things still weren't normal
between them. She'd

stayed on the phone with Phoebe for
more than an hour,

and although she tried to sound
optimistic, Colby

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GOOD GUYS LOVE DOGS

thought maybe her friend had cause
for concern. She

suggested that Phoebe try to get a
sitter tonight so that

she and Frank could have some time
alone.

Just past Phoebe's house, Colby
spotted a large

yellow dog in her lane, barking as
if it had just cornered a

T-bone steak. She caught a glimpse
of a smaller animal

disappearing into the brush. Slowing
to a stop, she

recognized the dog as Smidge. The
McKinleys' dog.

She pulled over and got out of the
truck. “Here, girl.

The dog looked up, then trotted
toward Colby, her

tongue lolling to one side of her
mouth.

“What are you
doing way out here by yourself,

Smidge? From ten feet away, Colby
realized that the T-

bone had in fact been a skunk. And
Smidge came out the

loser in the confrontation.

“I have a feeling
you're going to be in big trouble,

girl, Colby said, holding her nose.
“Come on. In the

back. As much as I like you, I'm not
up to sharing the

front seat with you.

Colby let down the tailgate. Smidge
jumped up and

sat with her head over the side,
panting. Pulling back

onto the road, Colby considered
taking Smidge home

with her and calling Ian to come and
get her. The

entrance to Oak Hill loomed just
ahead on the right.

Friday night, and she didn't relish
the idea of running

into his fiancée again if she
happened to be visiting.

Ridiculous, though. So what if the
woman was there?

She'd picked the dog up off the
road, and now she would

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INGLATH COOPER

take her home. She would have done
the same for

anyone in Keeling Creek.

Nonetheless, she swung onto the
drive with the hope

that she could drop Smidge off and
leave unnoticed. No

such luck. At the top of the
driveway, she spotted Ian on

a ladder at the side of the house.
He turned around at the

sound of her truck, looking
surprised to see her.

Reluctantly, she got out while he
climbed down to meet

her. He wore a paint-splattered
shirt with jeans. His hair

looked appealingly disheveled, and
when he ran his right

hand through it, she experienced the
urge to do the same.

“I'm returning
your wayward dog, she called out.

“Although I'm not
sure you're going to want her anytime

soon.

Smidge bounded out of the back and
greeted Ian in

typical dog-love fashion. Tail
wagging, she lunged and

planted her paws on his chest, her
tongue swiping at his

jaw.

“Wait! Smidge,
don't— Colby tried to stop her, but

too late.

“Good grief, Ian
exclaimed, leaping back. “What on

earth did you get into?

Colby shouldn't have laughed, but
she couldn't help

herself, the look on Ian's face just
too comical. “She had

a one-on-one with a skunk, she said,
trying to cover up a

smile. “As you
can smell, the skunk won.

“You sure you
don't want to take her home with

you?

Colby smiled again. “Not
tonight, I don't think.