gathered around the coffeepot afterward, but Gabby was among them, and he tapped her on the shoulder and gestured her off to the side. “You’ve set us up to do something difficult,” he said.
“I’m sorry. It just came to me.”
She looked so penitent that he felt bad. “I’m not upset about it. It’s a good idea,” he said, and when her face brightened, his heart lifted, too. He needed to get himself under control. They were working together and that was it. “It’s definitely going to be a challenge, and we need to get started right away. Can you meet me this afternoon so we can start to figure out how we’re going to make it work?”
She glanced at Nana, still seated. “I think I can,” she said.
That made Reese realize that he hadn’t seen young Jacob at the church service. He wondered how things were going in the household.
Still, it was Gabby who had brought up this possibility, and Reese knew next to nothing about putting on a show. “I really need you to step up and help with it,” he said.
She nodded. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her voice subdued.
So now, rather than his usual quiet Sunday afternoon avoiding his aunt and uncle’s family gathering, Reese was going to be working with the very pretty lady who’d already broken his heart once.
He just had to make sure he didn’t let her do it again.
“I’m so glad Cleo’s Crafts and Café is still here.” Gabby sipped peppermint hot chocolate and looked around the cozy place. Steam blurred the windows, making the café its own little world. There were only about ten tables. Up front, a pastry case held Cleo’s famous concoctions, heavily leaning toward Christmas items at this time of year: chocolate pinwheel cookies and gingerbread boys and chocolate-pecan chess pie.
Reese looked around, too. “You haven’t been gone that long, have you?” He sipped his own flavored coffee. “I’m surprised you’re surprised.”
“It seems like forever ago.” Then she flushed, because she wasn’t referring to the last time she’d been home; she was referring to their high school years, when they’d been falling in love.
“It’s different because we’re different,” he said. Maybe he didn’t know it, but his hand went to his arm. Today, he was wearing a prosthetic, obvious because of the pincerlike hook in place of his right hand.
Curiosity won out over decorum. “Why do you wear a prosthetic some days and not others?”
“Getting used to it. It’s a process.” He leveled a steady gaze at her. “You seem different from when we were kids, too.”
I’m different because I’m a mom. “We should figure out the show,” she said briskly, trying to get back to business. And avoid telling him about Izzy. Which shouldn’t be a big deal, but she hated the thought of his questions. Despite all her counseling, she still felt a heated rush of shame at the idea of talking about it. “I feel bad to have volunteered you for something you don’t want to do, but I think it’ll be great.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Tell me what you were thinking. I don’t exactly have a vision.”
She pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Tell me about your boys. Ages, abilities, things like that.”
He nodded, sipping coffee. “Like I mentioned to Jacob, they’re eleven to fifteen. But skewed toward the younger side. I think we have...three each of eleven-and twelve-year-olds. Two thirteen-year-olds, and one each of fourteen and fifteen. Two fifteen-year-olds if Jacob joins.”
She nodded, making notes. “And how do the dogs fit in?” She’d seen them when she’d been in the barn before: the one Doberman that seemed to roam around, a row of kennels in the back of the barn and an open yard area separate from where the boys gathered in the front.
“In a way, the dogs are similar to the boys,” he said wryly. “Most have behavior problems and that’s why they were surrendered.”
“All breeds?”
He nodded. “But I try to make it so there’s one dog per boy. Their job is to train that one dog.”
She put down her pen. “Uh-oh. Will Jacob mess that up? Can he get a dog this late in the game?”
“There are always dogs that need help,” he said. “See, the overall vision is...” He trailed off, looking just a little shy.
“Tell me.” She set her cup down and leaned forward a little. Reese had always been a dreamer, the rare kind who could put his dreams into action. When she’d been falling in love with him in high school, his dreams had been of beautiful cabinets and chairs and tables he could make. He’d looked at a piece of wood, even scrap wood, and seen all its possibilities.
“Well. I got into training dogs, a little, in rehab.” He made a disparaging gesture toward his prosthetic. “They had therapy dogs, and I kind of bonded with one of them who was about to flunk out. Got him over his fear of prosthetics, actually. Showed a talent, so they gave me a couple other troubled dogs to train.”
“That’s cool, but how’d you learn to do it? I mean, your aunt and uncle had Fifi, but...”
He rolled his eyes. “Fifi. May she rest in peace after eighteen years of giving everyone nothing but trouble.”
“She wasn’t exactly trained, it’s true.” Gabby chuckled. “She did have a lot of cute outfits, though.”
“Don’t remind me. But you know...” He trailed off, looking thoughtful. “I’d guess that, now, with what I’ve learned, I could actually train Fifi.”
She was fascinated, because he’d taken on the same dreamy-yet-passionate look he’d had when she’d known him years ago. “How did you learn what you know?”
“Online videos. Books. After I got better, they let me take a couple of dogs through agility training.”
“All this was through the VA?”
He nodded. “Because while I thought I was rehabilitating dogs, I was actually getting rehabilitated myself.” He sipped coffee. “So when I came home, and there was no possibility of carpentry, there was a need for someone to take over a grant-funded after-school program for at-risk boys. I added the element of dog training, and...Rescue Haven was born.”
“I have a feeling there was more to it.” But she admired his sense of industry, going directly into another line of work. “Reese, can I ask...why’d you come back to Bethlehem Springs?”
He looked out the window. The street was busy with people: couples strolling, families with kids, Christmas shoppers overloaded with bags. “My aunt and uncle needed me.”
“But they always—” She broke off. “I’m impressed that you did that for them, is all.”
“Because they favored Brock? Didn’t really want to take me in? I know,” he said. “But when he passed, they were devastated. Aunt Catherine, especially. My uncle came to visit me at the VA hospital and asked me to come back for at least a year, just to try to pull her out of her slump.”
She stared at him, remembering the cold, snobbish woman who’d rarely had a kind word for anyone. “You did that for her.”
He shrugged. “Uncle Clive pulled strings to get me funding for the dog aspect of the Rescue Haven program,” he explained. “I figured, if I couldn’t do what I wanted to do, at least I could do some good.” He drained his coffee. “Come on. Let’s walk and talk.”
She remembered that about him, then, that he always preferred to be moving. It was why he’d wanted to work with his hands rather than in an office; it was part