Single Dad To The Rescue

“Take this for her.” Darla handed Rick a packet of paperwork and a small bag. “It’s an overnight-essentials kit and a checklist for what to do after a fire.”

Brooke settled the pet carriers in Rick’s truck and climbed into the front passenger seat. “You’re a captain?”

“Retired fire captain.” Rick switched on her seat heater. “I worked at Station Twelve for most of my career.”

That explained why he was in the area, volunteering and helping people like Brooke.

“Retirement took me off the mountain and in a new direction,” he said.

“Do you miss living on the mountain?” she asked.

“I miss nature’s quiet solitude, but I love being with my grandson and son.” Rick pulled out of the parking lot. “After my wife passed, it never felt the same up here.”

Brooke wondered if she’d ever feel the same again. Normal again. Nothing felt familiar, not even her worn running shoes and old sweatshirt.

Her muscles unknotted against the warm seat and forced a yawn out of her. She mumbled an apology and tried to swallow her next yawn.

“Might as well settle in.” Rick turned onto the ramp for the interstate. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

Brooke rubbed her eyes. “I never did ask where your son’s place is.”

“San Francisco,” Rick said. “Far enough so you can breathe in some fresh air and gather your thoughts.”

Brooke stiffened. Rick was wrong. So very wrong.

She couldn’t think in the city. She couldn’t breathe in the city. Not since...

“I can’t.”

She turned toward Rick, intending to tell him to take her back to the shelter.

“It may look impossible now.” His hand, warm and gentle, settled over hers. “But everything looks better after a good night’s sleep.”

A good night’s sleep. Brooke hardly remembered what that felt like. Most days she felt like she hadn’t slept in years. She closed her eyes. Concentrated on the quiet truck cab and the comfort in Rick’s simple touch. She was returning to the city. To a stranger’s house. To a past she never wanted to face again.

She’d stay the night and leave first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER TWO (#u317858f7-1d8d-5407-b1f1-3c4c43bd59f4)

DAN SAWYER STOOD in line at Zig Zag Coffee House waiting to pay for his order and stared at the name flashing across his phone screen: Valerie.

His stomach hardened and his jaw clenched as if he was preparing to absorb the abrupt attack of an assailant. He’d accept every shot, especially from Valerie, if that protected his son.

His ex-wife had decided six years ago that traveling the world was more of a priority than her marriage and her four-year-old son. Her last video-chat attempt with Ben had been after the New Year—almost eight months ago. Even that had been cut short after a poor connection interrupted the call too many times.

Valerie’s current call dropped into the missed-call list like so many things she’d missed in Ben’s life: his first day of kindergarten, his first soccer goal, his first time riding a big-kid bike. Visits from the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. Every year brought something new to celebrate and something unknown to guard against. Mismanaging Ben’s juvenile diabetes wasn’t an option.

Ben and Dan had worked too hard to overcome the obstacles of Ben’s autoimmune disease. Ben was in a good place. A healthy place.

Nothing, and no one, would disrupt that.

“Stare at your phone any harder, you’ll miss the world going on around you.” The all too familiar gruff voice and laughter-wrapped scold ended Dan’s stalemate with his phone, as if he’d been ordered to stand down.

“Dad.” Dan glanced at the older man, who matched him inch for inch. Those knots loosened inside him. “What are you doing here?”

“Ben is fine. Numbers were perfect this morning and he even tested himself.” His father put a hand on Dan’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dropped Ben off at school with his book report and completed poster board just a little while ago.”

That still didn’t explain his father’s unexpected arrival. His dad always claimed he preferred his own home-brewed coffee to the fancy, overpriced coffee houses in the city.

“It’s Tuesday.” His dad waved his hand around the trendy coffee house. “You always stop here before you drive Ava to her classes.”

Every Tuesday for the past six months, Dan left work, picked up his best friend, Ava, and dropped her off at school. It’d started by accident. Ava had called for a ride after her fiancé’s car broke down while Kyle was on the East Coast. They’d just carried on after that. The perfect time for the two longtime friends to catch up. Most recently the drive had been paired with party planning for their friends’ joint bachelor-and-bachelorette party, an event that Dan had convinced Ava they should put together as members of the wedding party.

But his father never came with Dan on Tuesday mornings. Or visited this particular coffee house. Not once in the past four years since he’d been living with Dan and Ben. Dan scanned his father, from his deep red hair to his weathered face and worn work boots. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” His dad sipped his coffee, which looked suspiciously similar to a white-chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream. “I brought home an evacuee late last night. Nice lady with a kind heart.”

That news could’ve been delivered via text. Dan searched his dad’s face, eyeing his neck as if Dan could read his father’s pulse. His dad stirred the whipped cream into his coffee with a wooden stirrer as if he wanted to design a picture in the liquid. “Thought you might want to know that she has pets.”

“Pets,” Dan repeated. “As in plural.”

His dad nodded.

That was definitely bad news. The type of news that could disrupt things at their house.

Dan had told Ben that he was allergic to animals to keep from having to get a pet. He’d started the white lie the year after Valerie had left. Dan had been afraid a pet would be too much for them; there was enough for him and Ben to get used to without adding the responsibility of a pet. After all, Ben’s illness wasn’t the flu or an appendix surgery that he’d recover from. Juvenile diabetes was an autoimmune disease that Ben would deal with his entire life. It required strict management every day. Thanks to help from Dan’s parents and Valerie’s mom, Dan had gotten Ben’s juvenile diabetes under control and adjusted to his role as single parent. One year later, his mom had died suddenly, his dad had moved in and Dan’s world had shifted again. Then Ben had started school and the truth about Dan not really being allergic to animals never came out.

But it wasn’t a big lie. Valerie had lied in her wedding vows: promising to love Dan until death did them part. Dan’s phone vibrated. Once again Valerie’s name claimed the caller ID.

“Our tenant has three pets to be exact. Shelters were full. Hotels, too. Couldn’t leave Brooke alone to fend for herself.” Rick settled his shrewd gaze on Dan and shook his head. “That’s not the Sawyer way.”

No. The Sawyer way was to always help. Even if it meant letting go. Like Dan had done with Valerie.

Their marriage had ended over couriered paperwork, stamped with international postage, and no disputes. Dan had gained legal and physical custody of Ben. Valerie had gained her freedom.

Despite their obvious personality differences, Dan had always believed they’d both agreed on parenting styles. How wrong he’d been.

Dan had stepped in to fill both parental roles. Valerie had stepped out and never looked back. Even with Valerie’s capricious nature, he hadn’t expected that. His young son had lost his mother. That wasn’t a wound that healed easily.

Now Valerie was blowing up his phone. And his father had invited a woman with pets into their rental apartment. The distractions were compounding. No problem. Dan just had to keep focused on their routine—the one he’d established to keep Ben healthy and safe.

Someone called Dan’s name from behind the pickup counter. Dan stepped up to the cashier. Shelby, with her heavily outlined cat-green eyes and even brighter purple hair, said, “Your order is already paid for.”

Dan gaped. That wasn’t part of the usual routine. The entire staff knew his order by heart. He never had to wait long—that was routine. “It can’t be. I haven’t paid yet.”

“Another customer covered it and told me to tell you thanks for all that you do for the community.” The jeweled earring in Shelby’s eyebrow twitched, as if she was daring him to challenge that people in the world could be kind.

Dan glanced around the coffee shop, searching for the Good Samaritan. No one stepped forward. Dan shoved his phone into the pocket of his cargo pants and walked to the pickup counter.