The Promise of Home

This was home.

* * *

With a flick of his wrist, Dev released the line on his fishing pole. Sunlight sparked off the lure right before it sliced through the gleaming surface of the water and disappeared. He turned the handle on the reel and immediately felt a tug of resistance.

“I think we’ve got one,” he told Violet.

The dog barked her encouragement, tail waving like a victory banner as Dev set the hook and brought in a bluegill the size of his hand. Not bad for the first cast of the day.

As he removed the hook from the fish’s mouth, a furtive movement in the reeds caught his eye. Violet noticed it, too, and immediately set off to investigate.

“If it’s black with a white stripe, leave it alone,” Dev called after her. “Remember what happened last summer. You lost in the first round.”

And Dev hadn’t been able to so much as look at a glass of tomato juice since.

Violet ignored him and plunged headfirst into the cattails.

“Hey!”

Her quarry—a barefoot, towheaded boy—scrambled out the other side.

Logan J. Gardner.

So. Just Jenna had actually stuck it out for a night. If Dev were a gambling man, he would have bet she’d packed her Gucci bag and headed to a five-star hotel before a person could say complimentary facial.

Violet barked at the pint-sized trespasser, who stood rooted in place, shoulders hunched, his cheeks red with embarrassment at having been caught spying on the neighbors.

“Don’t pay any attention to Violet.” Dev cast out his line again, acting as if there were nothing at all unusual about discovering a boy lurking in the reeds at seven o’clock in the morning. “Hide-and-seek happens to be number two on her list of favorite games.”

The tension in Logan’s shoulders eased a little. He reached out and gave the dog’s nose a tentative pat. It was all the encouragement Violet needed. She retrieved a piece of birch wood floating in the shallow water and dropped it at the boy’s feet.

Dev shook his head. “Fetching sticks is number one.”

With a sideways look at Dev, Logan dutifully picked up the stick and threw it. Violet sprang forward, massive paws churning ruts in the sand as she chased it down the shoreline.

Logan shuffled closer, pushing his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Did you catch anything yet?”

“Just getting started.” Dev tried another spot further from the lily pads. “Do you like to fish?”

The thin shoulders rolled in a shrug. “My friend Jeremy does. He said he’d teach me this summer, but I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

But he wanted to try. Dev could see it in Logan’s eyes.

“There’s one way to find out.” He held out the fishing pole.

Logan eased a look over his shoulder.

A look Dev instantly recognized. He’d been that age once upon a time.

“Does your aunt know you’re over here?”

Logan suddenly became absorbed in watching an emerald green dragonfly fanning its wings near his feet. “She said I could go outside.”

Dev took that as a no. He should have known Jenna wouldn’t approve of her nephew venturing down to the lake alone. Or crossing the property line.

But apparently Jenna didn’t know that one had to be specific when it came to small boys.

A memory somehow managed to slip through a tiny crack in the wall surrounding Dev’s grief.

When he wasn’t much older than Logan, Dev’s father had given him and Jason some leftover wood from one of the construction sites. He hadn’t told them not to use it to build a ramp. And he hadn’t told them not to ride their bicycles off the end of said ramp.

Dev had tried to point that out on the way to the emergency room while Jason sat in the backseat, cradling a broken arm. Unfortunately, his father hadn’t appreciated his logic.

You’re the oldest, Devlin. I expect more from you.

Those words had become a familiar refrain while Dev was growing up, playing in the background while he was being groomed to take over the family construction business. Dev didn’t mind. He’d embraced the challenges—and the advantages—that came with being the oldest son of Brent McGuire.

In college, Jason had chosen a different path. One that had had Dev shaking his head in confusion at the time. If only he’d had the opportunity to tell his brother that he finally understood.

“You’ve got another one!” Logan’s excited cry jerked Dev from the past with the same urgency as the fish tugging on the end of his line.

Dev set the hook and turned to Logan. “Do you want to bring it in?”

“Sure,” the boy said eagerly, his previous hesitation forgotten as he reached for the pole.

“Reel it in nice and slow…” Dev instructed as he bent down to retrieve the net.

Logan shot him a panicked look. “You should take it now. It’s going to get away.”

“No, it won’t. You’re doing great.”

“Look how big it is!” Logan’s eyes grew wide as Dev knelt down on the dock and scooped up the fish.

“Here you go.” Dev carefully removed the hook from the bluegill’s mouth and dropped it into a bucket of water. “It’s definitely a keeper. I’ll put it on the stringer so you can take it home.”

“Really?”

“You catch it, you keep it.”

Eyes shining, Logan squatted down to admire the fish. “Maybe we can have it for lunch.”

“Maybe.” A smile lifted the corners of Dev’s lips. If only he could see Jenna’s face when she saw the catch of the day.

“Logan?”

Dev glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a familiar voice behind them.

It looked as though his wish was about to come true.