A Tender Touch

And yet, his smile beckoned her like a warm wash of cleansing water, pure and complete and intoxicating.

Clay Dempsey was irresistible.

But Freddie refused to be tempted.

She looked mighty tempting, sitting there in her cutoff blue jean shorts and floral tank top. Freddie waved to him, but Clay could see the hesitant look in her dark eyes. Was she glad to see him? Or mad that he’d accidentally found her here on the beach?

He waved back, careful not to look too eager.

Samson, however, wasn’t so subtle. The dog raced toward Freddie, his bark one of “Hello” and “You’re the pretty lady who’s going to help me.” Then Samson looked back at Clay, as if to say “Look, dummy, it’s Freddie. Hurry up, will you?”

“Mommy, a doggie!”

Clay glanced at the little boy running toward Freddie, then called out a command to Samson. He didn’t think Samson would hurt the boy, but Samson still wasn’t back to one hundred percent, and if the boy accidentally hit on Samson’s tender spot, the dog might snap at him purely out of self-defense.

“Ryan, you know you don’t pet a dog without his owner’s permission,” Freddie cautioned as Ryan hurried toward Samson.

Both the boy and the dog stopped, obeying directions, both looking toward the man and woman with them, waiting for the sign to continue.

“Samson, easy,” Clay told the dog. Samson held back his enthusiasm, alerted to the little boy.

“Ryan, this is Samson and his human friend, Clay,” Freddie explained as her son came up to stand beside her. “Samson was hurt a few months ago, honey, so you have to be very gentle when you touch him. And you are only allowed to touch him if Clay tells you it’s okay.”

“All right, Mommy,” the little boy said, his big blue eyes practically imploring Clay to let him pet the dog.

“It’s okay,” Clay said as he came up to stand beside Samson. “Samson, sit,” Clay commanded. Samson sat down on his back legs, then tossed Clay an expectant glance over his left ear. “Ryan, you can pet him on the top of his head.”

“Be gentle,” Freddie said again, her eyes touching on Clay’s face with gratitude. “Samson is a—” she stopped, gave Clay a hard look “—he’s a K-9 dog.”

“A police dog?” Ryan said as he gingerly laid a hand on Samson’s head between the dog’s ears. “My daddy was a policeman, wasn’t he, Mommy?”

Clay’s eyes never left Freddie’s face. And he saw it all there in her reaction. Saw why she seemed so hesitant around him. “Yes, your daddy was a policeman,” she said to her son, her expression still fixed and hard, while her eyes asked Clay to understand.

Ryan looked up at Clay. “My daddy went to heaven.”

Surprised, Clay gave Freddie a sympathetic look, then bent down on one knee next to the boy. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ryan. Being a policeman is a hard job. Samson and I needed a break because we both got hurt at work. I’m sure your daddy was a real hero.”

“Yeah, that’s what Grandpa Ned used to tell me,” Ryan said, his little hand still stroking Samson. The dog sat still and watched quietly. “I miss Grandpa Ned and Grandma Pearl. And Uncle Todd.” He turned to his mother. “Do you think they could come visit us?”

Clay saw a cloud of fear moving through Freddie’s dark eyes. “I’m not sure, baby. They live a long way from here and they both work very hard.”

Ryan looked up at her through a fringe of dark bangs. “Catching bad guys?”

“Yes,” she said, that same hesitant nature causing her voice to go low. “Catching bad guys.” Then she ruffled Ryan’s hair. “But remember, we only live a couple of hours away from your other grandfather, my daddy.”

“Grandpa Wade,” Ryan said, excitement causing him to almost stumble over on the sand. “We can visit him!”

Samson watched the boy intensely, but stayed in a sitting position. Freddie Hayes held her own position, not looking to budge anytime soon from her disturbing stance.

Clay stood as her hesitancy turned to hostility while the sun turned to a rich golden globe to the west, over the bay. It was painfully obvious by the way she was looking at him now why Freddie Hayes seemed so distant at times. She didn’t want to become involved with another cop. Maybe because she was still mourning the one she’d loved and lost.

Clay sank back down in the sand next to Samson, and accepted that he didn’t stand a chance with this woman. But that didn’t stop him. Clay had always managed to take on a good challenge, just to show the world he could do it. And Freddie Hayes was definitely a challenge.

“We were just going for a quick walk before dinner,” he explained, hoping she wouldn’t think he was stalking her.

Freddie nodded, then sat on her knees to gather up their towels and Ryan’s toys. “We need to get home ourselves. Ryan goes to day care, so I have to get him up early tomorrow.”

“I start school in this many weeks,” Ryan added, holding up one pudgy finger. “I’ll be in first—a real grade.”

Freddie frowned down at her son. “Ryan, remember what I told you—kindergarten was a real grade, too. You learned a lot there, honey.”

Ryan bobbed his head. “Yeah, but Uncle Todd told me kindergarten is for babies. But I’m not a baby anymore, am I, Mommy?”

“No, sweetie, you’re growing up.” Freddie rubbed his thick hair off his forehead, a flash of mother’s love coloring her eyes a deep brown. “Too fast.”

“Not fast enough,” Ryan replied, standing up. “Look, Samson. See my muscles. One day, I’m gonna have big muscles like my daddy and Uncle Todd.”

The dog watched Ryan’s every movement, as if mesmerized by the little boy’s actions. He gave an answering low bark.

“I think he’s impressed,” Clay said, wondering why Freddie was still frowning. Probably because he was still here.

Freddie smiled then, but the smile looked forced, as if she was gritting her teeth. She finished packing up everything, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she settled back on the big beach blanket to look over at Clay. At least she wasn’t running away in a hurry.

Reaching out to rub Samson’s furry back, she said, “Ryan, why don’t you go get your sand-castle molds? And make sure you shake the sand out.”

Ryan hopped up, then turned. “Can Samson come with me?”

Clay nodded. “Sure. But don’t pet him. Just let him watch, okay?”

“Okay.” Ryan waited for the dog, one hand held out in a trusting gesture of age-old friendship. “C’mon, Samson.”

Samson looked to his master, his eager eyes making Clay smile. “Samson, go.”

Samson took off toward the ocean, barking at the incoming waves. Ryan giggled and followed, careful not to get too close to the prancing dog.

“Will they—”

“I’m watching,” Clay said in response to the worry he saw in Freddie’s eyes. “Samson knows his commands. He won’t bother Ryan. But he’ll watch over him. He’s always been especially sociable around children. We used to visit a lot of the schools around our precinct.”

That seemed to calm her. She looked away from her son, then back at Clay, her eyes the color of dark earth. “I guess I’m being silly and overly protective, but things have been difficult since his father died.”

“I’m sorry,” Clay said, meaning it. Getting killed came with the territory of being a cop, and lately, that had hit a little too close for comfort. “How are you coping?” he asked, wondering if the question was too forward. But needing to know.

“I’m hanging in there,” she said with a shrug. “One day at a time and all those other platitudes.”

He accepted the evasiveness in her eyes and voice. “But you don’t live by platitudes, do you?”

She looked surprised, but pleased. “No. In fact, I got so tired of hearing that sort of thing after…after Gary died, that I shut myself off from the rest of the world.” She shrugged again. “That was a mistake. I didn’t think about what that would do to Ryan.”