That Runaway Summer (7 page)

Dan figured he and Jill should have located the pair in about five minutes flat. It had been twice that long since he’d met Jill in front of the vet’s office, and so far they had no leads.

They spotted the bored-looking man sitting in the shade on a park bench outside a Main Street boutique at about the same time. From his seat, the man had a panoramic view of the downtown street where tourists strolled past restaurants, specialty shops and art galleries.

Jill reached him first, approaching with a smile, as she had every other person they’d questioned. She wore an Indigo River Rafters ball cap, quick-dry shorts, a T-shirt and old tennis shoes, yet still managed to look beautiful.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said in her unhurried drawl, “but we’re looking for a ten-year-old boy—”

“He hasn’t been found yet?” the man interrupted, his heavy dark eyebrows arching. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “He’s been missing for a good while.”

“Pardon me for asking, but how do you know how long he’s been missing?” Jill asked.

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for my wife to finish her shopping for what seems like forever. A fellow came by—” the man paused and scratched his chin “—oh, must have been a half hour ago and showed me a photo.”

Jill’s hand flew to her throat. Her face paled. “A man showed you a photo of Chris?”

Deep wrinkles appeared in the man’s forehead. “I don’t think that was the boy’s name. Or maybe it was. This old brain doesn’t work as well as it used to.”

Neither of them had been especially alarmed up to this point, assuming Chris was trying to elude them. Now Jill’s breaths came so hard, Dan could hear them. He took a step closer to her, placing a hand on her back. She was trembling.

“The boy in the photo,” Dan asked. “Did he have curly brown hair and brown eyes?”

He felt Jill’s body tense as the man considered the question. “Brown hair, yes, but I don’t know about the curly part. He was about…hey, there’s the guy.”

He pointed to a wiry, middle-aged man walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The man was accompanied by a woman and a tall, skinny kid with long, straight brown hair. The kid’s eyes were downcast and his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. Still, it was obvious he was in his early teens.

“We found him,” the man yelled, waving to the guy on the bench.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing me.” The kid’s comment was audible from across the street, even with the light midday traffic passing by.

“That the boy you’re looking for?” the man on the bench asked.

“No,” Jill said.

Dan felt the tension leave her body and wondered why she was so relieved. Her brother, after all, was still missing. “Like Jill said, the boy we’re looking for is only ten.”

“Guess that boy’s older,” the man said. “I couldn’t see his face real good with that hair in his eyes.”

“Chris is a lot shorter than that boy,” Dan said. “He’d also be with a pygmy goat with a cast on its leg.”

“A goat, you say?” The man chuckled. “Nope. Haven’t seen either of them.”

“You sure about that?” Jill asked. “Chris is wearing a white T-shirt and dark blue shorts. He looks a lot like me.”

“Lady,” the man said, “I might not have noticed the boy, but no way would I miss a crippled goat.”

“He has a point,” Dan remarked after they thanked the man and left. He moved his hand from her back to her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Chris is fine. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Indigo Springs is a safe place.”

“I know that,” she said. The sun shone on her face, illuminating the faint worry lines around her eyes and mouth. “It’s just that you read so many stories nowadays about child predators. I thought maybe some weirdo was going around secretly photographing kids.”

“Unless he was a pretty dumb weirdo, it seems unlikely he’d be showing photos of the kids around town,” Dan said.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said. “I over-reacted.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Dan had learned from experience that emotions didn’t always make sense when they involved a loved one. “What I don’t understand is how your brother gave us the slip. Like the man said, that goat’s an attention getter.”

He looked through the glass front window of an ice cream parlor as they passed, spotting neither Chris nor Tinkerbell. No surprise there. He couldn’t think of a single business in town, aside from his own, that would welcome a goat.

“Felicia said she’d call if Chris showed up at home.” Jill’s Southern drawl was more pronounced than usual. “So where do you suppose he is? We’ve been from one end of town to the other, and nothing.”

“It’s my fault,” Dan said. “If I’d checked to see if Chris was listening to my phone call, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“You don’t know that,” Jill said gently. “Chris would have found out sooner or later that farmer was coming to pick up Tinkerbell.”

“Then I should have figured out Chris would pull something like this.”

“How?” Jill laid a hand on his arm. Her eyes, when they touched on his, were gentle and without reproach. She smelled of shampoo and river water, a surprisingly agreeable combination. “I’m his sister and I couldn’t have predicted this.”

Her comment didn’t make him feel particularly better.

“Stop beating yourself up,” she said. “Like you said, we just need to figure out where a boy could hide a goat.”

They resumed walking, her shorter, quicker steps perfectly in sync with his slower, measured gait.

“Maybe Chris isn’t hiding.” Dan spoke his thoughts aloud. “Maybe he went to a friend’s house.”

“I’m afraid Chris doesn’t have any friends,” Jill said. “At least, not any he’d feel comfortable visiting.”

“Haven’t you and Chris lived here for a while?”

“We have.” She paused, as though searching for words. “It’s just that Chris is, well, shy. With the homeschooling, he’s not around kids his age.”

Not for the first time, Dan wondered at her reasons for homeschooling her brother. If he hadn’t been aware of the seconds ticking by, he would have pointed out there were other social outlets. Like sports teams and Boy Scouts. “How about
your
friends, then?” Dan asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “Chris usually stays home when I visit friends. About the only time I got him to come with me was when… Oh, my gosh! I bet that’s where he is!”

They’d reached a street corner. Instead of crossing, she made a ninety-degree turn and walked quickly toward a residential neighborhood of manicured lawns and grand old houses.

“Care to tell me where we’re going?” he asked as he kept up with her.

“Sorry.” She was practically jogging. “Do you know Annie Whitmore?”

“Sure,” he said. “She’s married to the doctor. Their daughter Lindsey brings her dog, Hobo, to the office.”

“Then you probably know Lindsey moved to town at the beginning of the summer to live with Annie and Ryan.”

Dan nodded. He wasn’t certain of all the details, but he was aware that Lindsey had been adopted as a baby and that the Whitmores were her biological parents.

“Well, I got Felicia to give me her recipe for double chocolate chip cookies and brought a plate over to welcome Lindsey to town.”

“And Chris came with you,” Dan guessed.

Jill turned up a sidewalk to the most impressive house on the street, a sprawling Colonial with yellow siding. The lawn surrounding it was of stunning perfection. The flower beds hugging the house were awash with color.

“He did,” Jill confirmed. “He and Lindsey hit it off. She taught him how to play Guitar Hero.”

“Guitar what?”

“It’s a video game, darlin’. All the young people…” She abruptly stopped talking and grabbed his arm, her lips curving into a smile. She wore no makeup, her skin was slightly sunburned and the sun made the freckles on her nose stand out. She’d never looked better. “Did you hear that?”

He nodded. “Sounded like a bleat to me.”

They followed the sound around the house to a backyard filled with more flowers, green shrubs and tall oak trees. Chris and Lindsey had their backs toward them, completely engrossed in the antics of the pygmy goat. Tinkerbell pushed an inflated beach ball with her nose, waited for the ball to settle, then ran after the ball to nudge it again.

Dan felt a surge of pride that the animal was getting along just fine on its mending leg.

Lindsey spotted them first, her pretty face breaking into a welcoming smile. “Jill! Dr. Maguire! You have got to come over here and watch Chris’s goat!”

Chris turned around then, too, his expression not nearly as welcoming. Tinkerbell did a one-eighty when the wind blew the beach ball in an unexpected direction. Lindsey laughed delightedly.

“He’s so cute I can’t stand it,” Lindsey said. “If I didn’t have Hobo, I’d beg my mom and dad to get me a pygmy goat, too.”

“Tinkerbell doesn’t belong to Chris.” Jill strolled up to the girl, slanting her brother a pointed look. “Isn’t that right, Chris?”

Chris said nothing, staring sullenly at the ground. There was something about him that was so vulnerable Dan couldn’t help but empathize with him.

“Really?” Lindsey asked. “Then whose goat is she?”

“We don’t know,” Dan said. “We think someone dumped her on the side of the road, but it’s possible she’s a pet that got loose.”

“Then she doesn’t live in a crate inside Chris’s bedroom?” Lindsey asked.

“Of course not,” Jill said. “Some people keep pygmy goats as pets, but they don’t live in houses. They’re more like farm animals.”

“Tinkerbell doesn’t want to go to some dumb old goat farm.” Chris thrust out his lower lip. “She wants to come home with me.”

“She can’t, Chris,” Jill said gently. She obviously didn’t have it in her heart to be angry at him any more than Dan did. “You know Mrs. Feldman doesn’t have anywhere to put her.”

“Then why can’t she stay with Dan like last night?” Chris asked. “Then I could come visit her.”

“We talked about this, Chris.” Dan pitched his voice the same low tone as Jill’s. “The Humphreys raise pygmy goats. They make a point of never selling just one. Goats are social animals that aren’t happy unless they have company.”

“I can keep Tinkerbell company!” Chris cried.

Jill went to her brother and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know how you feel about Tinkerbell, but she has to go to the farm.”

“She can’t.” Chris sounded triumphant. “It’s way past four o’clock.”

“That’s when Humphrey was supposed to pick up Tinkerbell,” Dan explained. He put a hand on Chris’s free shoulder so both he and Jill were bracing the boy for the blow to come. “I called the farmer and told him we’d bring Tinkerbell to the farm.”

“No!” Chris cried, shaking off their hands.

“You heard Dan about how goats like to be with other goats,” Jill said. “The farm is the best place for her.”

Chris’s shoulders slumped.

“Tell you what, Chris.” Dan met Jill’s eyes over her brother’s head, hoping he wasn’t stepping over any lines. “You can come with me. That way you can check out the farm and make sure Tinkerbell will be happy there.”

Jill mouthed a silent
Thank you.

“All three of us can go,” Jill said. “That is, if Dan doesn’t mind.”

Was she kidding? Dan would seize on any excuse to spend time with her, even though his intention had been to ease Chris’s distress.

“Of course you can come,” Dan said. “Lindsey can, too, if she’d like.”

“Thanks, but my mom and dad are taking me to that new pizza place.” Lindsey looked from Dan to Jill. “You two should go there some time. I hear it’s a cool date place.”

“We just might do that.” Dan kind of liked the idea. “Thanks for the tip.”

“But we—” Jill began.

“Need to get going,” Dan interrupted. “We want to get Tinkerbell settled with plenty of time before it gets dark.”

Only upon closer inspection did the differences become apparent. Between the barn and the house was an odd playground equipped with old tires, boulders, wooden cable spools and lots and lots of little goats.

Fifteen, by Jill’s count. All of them scampering and playing in the waning sun as though they were at the best place on earth.

All of them, that is, except Tinkerbell. The goat had been glued to her brother’s side since they’d taken her out of the crate they’d used to transport her.

“Tinkerbell doesn’t like it here,” Chris stated sullenly.

“Give her a chance, honey.” Jill couldn’t be angry at Chris about his lies and his disappearing act when his heart was obviously breaking. She’d eventually make her displeasure known and stress to him it was important she know where he was at all times, but not now. “We just got here. She needs time to get accustomed to her surroundings.”

“That’s exactly right.” Mr. Humphrey, one of the owners of Tiny Treasures Farm, was a big man in his seventies with massive shoulders, bushy eyebrows and a florid, friendly face. “You’re one sharp cookie, Jill. No wonder Dan married you.”

First Lindsey had assumed she and Dan were dating, and now this. Dan was just inches from her, where she could smell the pleasant scent of soap, shampoo and man. She increased the space between them.

“Dan and I aren’t married,” Jill said.

“Give it time,” Mr. Humphrey advised. “Some men are slow to pop the question. I should know. Took me a while myself after I met my wife.”

“But we’re not—”

“Let me show you ’round the place.” Mr. Humphrey seemed not to notice her attempt to correct his misconception. He strode across the grassy enclosure without looking back, as though he fully expected them to follow.

Dan cocked one eyebrow at her, then headed after the farmer, as silent as the sleeping tomcat stretched out under the picnic table. Come to think of it, he hadn’t said a word to correct Lindsey, either.

Jill fell into step beside Dan. “Why didn’t you tell Mr. Humphrey we weren’t dating?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“He didn’t listen to you,” Dan said. “What makes you think I’d have any better luck?”

She had to admit that made sense. “I just can’t figure out why everyone keeps making that same mistake.”

“It’s kind of flattering.” Dan smiled at her. Today he wore a short-sleeved casual shirt that showed off the musculature in his arms. The wind blew through his dark hair, lending him a dashing quality. “If someone as pretty as you were dating me, I’d be doing something right.”

Warmth spread through Jill, although the sun was no longer particularly bright.

“Over here’s the barn,” Mr. Humphrey bellowed, interrupting the moment.

Dan’s eyes gleamed. “We’d better catch up.”

Mr. Humphrey didn’t break his long, boot-propelled strides, not seeming to notice they weren’t directly behind him. “Inside are the stalls where the goats hunker down for the night.”

This was something Chris should see, too. She half turned as she walked, discovering her brother was rooted to the spot where they’d left him. He was rubbing Tinkerbell’s snout, the way he’d discovered the goat liked. Even beside the miniature animal, Chris looked small and sad.

“Chris?” she called. “Are you coming, honey?”

He shook his head. Resigned, she continued on to the barn.

“My wife—she’s away visiting her mother—treats the pygmies better than she does me,” Mr. Humphrey said when the three of them were inside a tidy barn that smelled of hay and grass. “I help her out on occasion, but this is her enterprise.”

He gestured to a row of stalls with open doors as he led them the length of the barn.

“The pygmies usually stay two to a stall,” Mr. Humphrey said. “We keep their hay and their water elevated. They don’t like eating where they sleep.”

He proceeded to outline a day in the life of one of his wife’s “little darlin’s,” as he said she called them. Their regime consisted primarily of eating, playing and sleeping.

“She tells customers her goats are as tame and affectionate as they come, although between you and me we occasionally get an ornery one.” Mr. Humphrey delivered the last comment in a lowered voice after they’d made a loop of the property and were heading back toward Chris. “When we sell ’em, she makes sure the pygmies go to good homes. Our customers are in the market for pets. She makes real sure her little darlin’s don’t go to any butchers.”

“Butchers!” Chris exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. He hugged Tinkerbell hard around the neck. “You sell your goats to butchers!”

“No, honey,” Jill refuted. “Mr. Humphrey said his wife makes sure
not
to sell the goats to butchers. The animals they raise here have good lives.”

Chris loosened his grip on Tinkerbell’s neck. His lower lip, however, still trembled.

“Fantastic lives. The does are breeding machines, but my wife sees to it they only have one pregnancy a year. She waits till they’re at least eighteen months old to breed ’em.” Mr. Humphrey bent at the waist and started to put out his hand to Tinkerbell, then withdrew it. “Something wrong with her left eye?”

“She’s blind in that eye,” Dan said. “Didn’t notice it myself at first.”

Mr. Humphrey sucked in a breath through his teeth. “That’s gonna change things. The wife’s goats, they’re all up to NPGA standards.”

“NPGA?” Jill asked.

“National Pygmy Goat Association,” Mr. Humphrey explained. “She prides herself on turning out animals that are a credit to their breed. She’d never breed this one. Or put her up for sale, either.”

Unease skittered through Jill. They all knew it was extremely unlikely Tinkerbell’s original owner would materialize and reclaim her, despite the feelers they’d put out. “Then what’ll happen to her?”

Chris positioned himself between the pygmy goat and the farmer, as though he meant to defend her.

“We can’t afford to have her around our studs in case that blindness of hers is genetic,” Mr. Humphrey said. “We don’t milk our goats here, but other breeders do. My wife could ask around to see if anyone else will take her.”

“You mean Tinkerbell will never be a pet?” Chris asked.

“The goat’s half blind, son. And I’m thinking hair might not grow back where that abrasion is,” Mr. Humphrey said, not unkindly. “My wife’s worked hard to develop this farm’s reputation. She can’t afford to be selling substandard animals.”

“Tinkerbell has standards!” Chris objected.

Mr. Humphrey cocked his head. “What?”

“He’s trying to say the goat would make a good pet,” Dan translated.

“Maybe she would, but our customers wouldn’t want her. Not when they can have perfection.” Mr. Humphrey gestured to the pygmy goats on the makeshift playground.

“Tinkerbell’s better than any of those stupid goats,” Chris said. “Tell him, Jill.”

“Tinkerbell’s a fine goat,” Jill said lamely.

“We don’t have to leave her here, do we?” Chris pleaded. “We can take her back home with us?”

Tears brimmed in her brother’s eyes, nearly breaking Jill’s heart. Chris had already had too many disappointments in his young life. She hated to deal him another.

“You know there isn’t any place for her at Mrs.

Feldman’s,” Jill said.

“But you heard him,” Chris said. “He’s going to give Tinkerbell to someone who’ll use her for milk!”

“Goats don’t mind being milked, son,” Mr. Humphrey said. “It’s natural.”

“Tinkerbell doesn’t want to stay here!” Chris said. “I know she doesn’t!”

Jill searched her brain for something she could say to calm her brother and came up blank. Her eyes flew to Dan. He nodded at her, as though he had everything under control.

“Tinkerbell doesn’t have to stay here, Chris,” Dan said. “I’ll keep her.”

Even as relief spread through Jill and her brother’s tears started to dry, she recognized that they had put Dan in a terrible position. He couldn’t possibly want a goat.

“We couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said.

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

“But didn’t you say goats need companions?” It wouldn’t be fair to him if she didn’t point out the drawbacks. “Isn’t that one of the reasons you contacted Mr. Humphrey?”

“It is,” Dan confirmed. “That’s why I’m buying another goat to keep Tinkerbell company.”