Her Sister's Secret Son

“Mom, Mom, come quick.” Dylan’s voice sounded confident that she would come because—well, because she always did.

Rachel arrived breathless. “What’s up?”

“It’s Sunny!” Dylan pulled on the dog’s collar but the yellow Labrador dragged him across the treed yard into the blackberry bushes.

Rachel caught Sunny’s collar. “Stay!”

At the sharp command, the dog stopped abruptly. Tail wagging, Sunny rested back on her heels. She inched forward.

Then, a rustling sound came from the bushes.

“Uh-oh!” Dylan groaned.

With one ferocious bark, Sunny tore loose, landing Dylan and Rachel in the dirt. They looked at each other and laughed as the dog disappeared into the thick bushes.

Dylan’s laughter warmed Rachel’s heart. Forgetting the dog for a moment, she leaned back on her hands. A faint breeze caught in the pine trees and whispered softly. Today was Saturday, the sawmill at this end of town was closed, and blessedly silent.

The dog let out a long series of high-pitched yelps. Rachel could hear her crashing around, but couldn’t see much.

Apparently Dylan could. “Sunny’s got something big!” He clearly hoped it was something huge. He’d been moping around for days—ever since the end of the trial.

Rachel felt the same. A restlessness still gripped her. She felt unsettled and wondered why the memory of a handsome face and a crooked smile should linger more than all the other images. She sighed. They could use a distraction—something pleasant for a change.

She whistled for the dog. “Here, Sunny.”

Dylan tried to whistle, then said, “I think it’s an alligator!” He sounded thrilled at the idea.

“Dylan, this is Maine. Alligators don’t live here.”

“But they could. I heard about people buying them at pet stores, and letting them loose, or flushing them down the toilet. It could be an alligator. Or a crocodile.”

“Mmm,” Rachel murmured with a straight face. She never laughed at his stories—his dreams—no matter how wild. She knew how important dreams were. Hers were so simple, but elusive. She wanted a place where she and Dylan could stay and put down roots—probably a first for a Hale, she thought with a smile as she recalled her parents’ wanderlust.

Tail wagging, Sunny came crashing out of the shrubs with a black plastic trash bag clamped in her mouth. She dragged it across the yard and dumped it at Rachel’s feet.

Obviously expecting praise, the dog sat back on her haunches and grinned. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a dead skunk this time. “All right, girl.”

The plastic bag moved.

Dylan stared at it. “That looks too small for an alligator.” He grinned at Rachel. “Maybe it’s a snake.”

Rachel hated snakes. With a shudder, she gingerly reached for the bag, then opened it. The inside was black, except for a couple of spots of white. Opening the bag wider, she exposed the contents.

Dylan looked over her shoulder.

“Puppies!” he breathed in shocked delight.

Rachel shared his shock. Someone had discarded an unwanted litter. She resisted the urge to cry at the careless cruelty. Weak and half-starved, the puppies were tiny, about the size of tennis balls, matted into smooth balls of fur. Their tiny claws had poked holes in the plastic bag to breathe.

When one shivered, she said, “Let’s get them inside.”

Dylan followed her into the house and watched as she fetched a wicker basket. “Are they going to be okay?”

Rachel lined the basket with a towel. “I hope so.” She hoped this wouldn’t lead to another disappointment for him. When she transferred the puppies to the basket, she noted how frail they were. One just lay there, its breathing shallow. If it didn’t survive, Dylan would be heartbroken.

Dylan still looked expectant. “Can we keep them?”

“Honey, they’re very young. We need to take them to the animal shelter. They’re going to need special care.”

The telephone book failed to yield an animal shelter, but there was an animal clinic. Rachel needed directions.

“We’re located about five miles out of town,” she was told by the woman who answered the phone. “Take a left at the end of Main Street, then a right, another left.” This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Although confusing on paper, the directions were easy to follow. Getting lost in Henderson was probably impossible, Rachel thought as she negotiated the one thoroughfare.

Until recently, she’d lived in Stillwater fifty miles away, not far in terms of miles, but each town had its own character. Henderson was isolated and rural, a farming and logging town. Stillwater catered to tourists; the population swelled each summer when families occupied the lakeside cottages. Sportsmen came the remainder of the year.

While Rachel drove, Dylan kept up a running commentary about the puppies. “They sure are small. What if no one else wants to take them?”

Rachel answered firmly, “I’m sure they have a list of people waiting for puppies.” She hoped.

The animal clinic was a surprisingly long drive out of town—uphill all the way. By the time Rachel got there, her small car was choking a bit, with that insistent knock in the four-cylinder engine that had her losing sleep at night. She could have used Drew’s car, but pride prevented her from accepting any form of charity, however well-intentioned.

Stones End, the signpost read.

Very apt, Rachel thought as she turned at the sign. Stone fences lined both sides of the farm road, then rambled into the fields, framing straight lush cultivated rows of deep-green potato plants stretching into the far distance. One nearby field had gone to seed, adrift in a gaudy sea of wildflowers, as if someone had thrown caution to the wind and let nature take over.

While admiring the view, Rachel almost missed the animal clinic, which blended into the scenery. She parked the car, and they got out. Dylan carried the basket of puppies as if they were breakable. They climbed the porch steps.

Obviously new, the scent of cedar shakes clung to the building—a long low structure set against the shelter of tall flaring pine trees. In the distance, a collection of farm buildings topped the hill. The place was oddly silent, peaceful. The stillness was broken by a baby’s cry.

The human sound startled Rachel. She opened the screen door and entered a reception area.

A bell stood on the receptionist’s desk. One ring brought someone rushing into the room. With a baby thrown over her shoulder, the young woman smiled. “Hello, I believe we spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, that’s right.” At the sound of Rachel’s voice, the baby turned to look, and grinned a toothless smile.

His mother chuckled. “This is Nathaniel. He’s not usually cranky, but he’s teething.”

“He’s lovely,” Rachel said. And he was—robust and rosy-cheeked, with dark hair. His mother had fair hair; but the infant had her soft rainwater-gray eyes.

The woman smiled. “We like him.” She transferred his weight to her hip. “I’m Jessie Harding by the way. You’re new in town. Welcome to Henderson. I hope you’ll be happy here. Where are you from?”

Liking the woman’s directness, Rachel introduced herself and Dylan. “My aunt and uncle ran the Stillwater Inn until they retired recently.”

“I know the place. Isn’t it closed for repairs?”

“Yes, indefinitely.” Rachel didn’t add any details about her move. Explanations were awkward.