CHAPTER 12
It was past the lunch hour when Ford walked out of the Bear Claw Bakery, a hot pastrami sandwich in hand. Only instead of finding Bullseye in the Jeep where he’d left him, the dog was sitting on a bench in front of the shop, with a stray teddy bear next to him.
“Where did you get that one?” Ford asked.
Bullseye immediately began grooming his new friend.
“Not happening.” Ford grabbed the stolen stuffed animal right as Bullseye was about to start gumming his ear. Based on the amount of saliva dripping off the toy, he’d already given him a tongue bath. “This doesn’t belong to you, so tell me where you got it, and we are taking it back.”
Bullseye looked up at him with puppy eyes, as if saying he had no idea what Ford was talking about. When that didn’t work, he started howling. Loud and drawn out and a damn fine acting job. Everyone in the bakery looked out the window to see what the big, bad man was doing to that sweet dog.
“Fine, but if some kid goes to bed crying because he lost his Woobie, that’s all on you.” Bullseye didn’t give a rat’s ass. The second he sank his teeth into the bear’s neck, Ford could have sworn he giggled, which wouldn’t be a surprise since he was carrying the toy to the truck like a mama carrying her baby. Head high, spring in his step, tail straight up as if flipping Ford the bird.
Bullseye and Company jumped up through the open passenger door—the dog was too lazy to use the doggy door but he could open a truck door—and curled up with his new buddy.
With a stern look that was completely ignored, Ford closed the passenger door and then slid in behind the driver’s seat and unwrapped his sandwich. The warm scent of freshly baked rye bread and melted cheese filled the car, and Ford’s stomach grumbled. After three days of power bars and jerky, hot food was pretty close to heaven.
Not as close as kissing Liv, he thought, remembering the feel of her lips working his. She had great lips.
He was going for the first bite when someone tapped on the window.
Ford turned to find Harris’s mug in the window, stank face in full effect. He was in athletic shorts and a DADDIES AGAINST DAUGHTERS DATING muscle shirt, and a couple of strands of sparkly beads were around his neck.
Ford ignored him and lifted the sandwich to his lips.
“We can do this here or while you’re packing your bags.”
Ford set his sandwich down and unrolled the window. “My mom warned me never to open my window to a man offering beads.”
“It was Mommy-Daughter Day at Emma’s dance studio. We were crowned Best Dance Duo, which means I get to throw the next class party, so don’t fuck with me,” Harris said, running a hand down his face. “And did your mom also warn you about what happens when you do an unsanctioned search without telling your boss?”
Ford took one last look at his sandwich and wrapped it up. “I had two days off, and a buddy from Shasta called asking for backup, so I went.”
“On a type-two search. You aren’t cleared for a type-two search.”
“I went as a volunteer. On my own time.”
“Thank God you didn’t go as the SEMR community-outreach officer. That guy seems to have wandered off and left some moron in his place, because no way would my guy, who’s one wrong move from mall security, gear up when he’s been benched. By two departments.” Harris was quiet for a moment. “I mean, that would be as reckless as trying to charm the panties off a citizen who’s in the middle of an active project with the department.”
“It’s not like that.”
“You brought her a cupcake! From Shasta!”
“They also had ones with little pacifiers on it,” Ford said, resting his elbow on the window. “Want me to go back and get you one?”
Harris lifted a brow, and Ford let out a breath.
Ford was the easygoing one of his team. He had to be to do his job, and he took a lot of pride in his ability to not let things rattle him. This thing with Liv, though, had him rattled. And not in a good way. “It’s not what you think.”
“Good, because I’d hate to have to bring up the single-mom code again,” Harris said, clearly not buying Ford’s brand of BS. “Because kid-free coed outings that involve morning walks on the beach, coffee on your back porch, and locking lips are definitely off-limits.”
“Ty told you?”
“You just did,” Harris said, shaking his head. “This is Sequoia Lake—that kind of shit gets people talking and women thinking. And women like Liv are new to all of this. She didn’t date a lot before Sam, and she hasn’t dated once since. A kiss to her might mean something different than a kiss to you.”
If his friend was going for the guilt angle, it was working. Ford had injected himself into a subject’s life, then began steering it in a direction that was in his best interest and not hers, knowing he was leaving in a few weeks.
What kind of mess had he gotten into?
“She’s in the driver’s seat—trust me.” And it didn’t take a genius to figure out that, after last night, she was considering dropping it into a lower gear. He’d seen the look on her face, knew they’d gone too far.
“I bet that drives you nuts.”
Ford rolled his head to the side until he met his friend’s gaze. “Why do you think I took the search in Shasta?”
“I thought it was to piss me off,” Harris joked, then went serious. Dead serious. “Remember, you have the ability to pull the emergency brake—”
“Which you think I should do because you’re worried about her getting hurt.”
“Sam and I played baseball growing up,” Harris said. “So, yeah, when Liv came to town I made a point to get to know her, and since then she’s become a good friend. So I will always worry about her.” Harris rested his hands on the roof of the truck and leaned in. “Right now, I’m more worried about you.”
“Me?” Ford laughed. “I have three more weeks in Mayberry, then I’ll take my cert test, be back on the travel squad, and everything will be back to normal.”
“Right in time for avalanche season,” Harris said. “I guess you have it all worked out, then. Which explains why you tried to get a permit for a kids’ zip line approved.”
Ford straightened. “What do you mean, tried? Wait. Are you rejecting it?”
“You proposed a zip line and ropes course in Poppy Alley. For kids. To impress a girl.” Harris snorted. “Of course I’m rejecting it.”
“This isn’t about impressing Liv. This is about finishing strong here, and my department does these kinds of kids’ courses every year. A lot of departments do,” Ford pointed out.
“We’re small town, city boy.” Harris laughed, and Ford wanted to punch him. “We don’t have the kind of crew to work that kind of event right now.”
“I only need six guys.”
“You do realize you’re asking for half of the local division?” Harris asked.
Ford hadn’t considered that. He was used to Reno, where, between the outlying counties, he had access to more than a hundred deputies at any given time. And the ranking to pull guys as needed.
But he wasn’t in Reno, and unless he got recertified, he’d be one of the guys getting pulled around. “I can call in some favors, bring some guys in from my department up north.”
“Are you going to cover the overtime as well?” Harris asked. “With Wagon Days, our budget is already thin.”
Right.
“What about department-approved volunteers?” Ford asked. “The way I laid out the course, I’d only need two extra officers to help with the zip line. The rest can be local guys who want to get involved with the event.”
“So two guys are standing between you and—”
“Liv losing that promotion. That’s all.”
Harris thunked his head against the side of the truck. “Glad this isn’t about a woman.”
It wasn’t about a woman. It was about a particular woman with melt-your-soul eyes and a rusty laugh who made Ford want to play hero. And he hadn’t felt that urge in a while.
That was the problem with playing, he reminded himself. At some point real life levels the playing field, and all you’re left with is a badge.
“I can cover two guys, but that’s it. The rest will have to be volunteers. I’ll take another look at the volunteer applications, and maybe we can get a few recruits to help with the simpler stuff to free up some deputies.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“And I will collect. But in the meantime, think long and hard about what you’re doing,” Harris said, and then with a smack to the roof of the car, he headed back to his Jeep, his beads glittering in the sunlight.
Appetite gone, Ford stuck his lunch back in the bag and started up the engine. Only instead of looking over to find his partner asleep on the passenger seat, he was met with nubby fur, two plastic eyes, and an opened passenger door.
“Bullseye,” Ford called out, wondering what toddler his AWOL partner was mugging now.
Shutting off the engine, Ford hopped out and scanned the parking lot, the nearby stores, even going into Pins and Needles, because for all Ford knew, Bullseye was taking a crafting class on stuffed dolls.
Coming up clean and not wanting to be late to another briefing, he pulled out his phone and opened his Fido Finder, an app made by a search-and-rescue volunteer out of Montana to help locate scenting dogs—dogs like Bullseye who had a habit of following scents when not on the job.
Within seconds, a red dot appeared on the digital map, and Ford looked down the street toward the park. On the edge of the field, a boy stood petting Bullseye, who was practically sitting on top of the kid—like a professional search dog with his find.
Ford walked over to find a boy, clearly with the camp, wearing a red cape and shoes that blinked every time he hopped. And the kid was hopping as high as he could. With his arm in the air, a stuffed toy in hand, doing his best to keep it out of Bullseye’s reach.
“If you sit on the grass, I’ll give it to you,” the boy said, but Bullseye just gave him a wet lick to the face. The boy laughed.
“Try using one-word commands,” Ford said, then looked at the culprit. “Sit.”
Bullseye sat still as a statue. So did the boy. His eyes big as saucers, his lips pressed firmly together, and clutching his toy to his chest in a defensive gesture that would have taken Ford out at the knees. Except the boy’s identity had already leveled him.
Ford had caught a few glimpses of Paxton over the years, but the last time he’d been this close to the boy, Ford had been cradling him to his chest on a helicopter headed for Mercy General. Near hypothermia, spotted in his dad’s blood, and tears staining his pale cheeks, the kid never made a sound. Not one during the entire twelve hours they were trapped in that cave.
He’d even cried in silence.
“Hey there,” Ford said, crouching down to his level. “You’re Paxton, right? This is Bullseye.” Ford gave Bullseye a rewarding pat to the head, then proceeded cautiously. “I’m Ford, a friend of your mom’s.”
Ford waited for some sign on how to continue. Tears, fear, a spark of recognition. The first two made his palms sweat, but the last made him want to pack up and leave town. The kid gave him nothing to work with, leaving Ford with two choices: convince him to go back to camp or call his mom.
The first would be a challenge because Ford already knew how Paxton felt about camp—so thrilled he’d rather sit in a field alone. He didn’t know Liv’s schedule, so the second might pull her out of work.
And possibly blow Ford’s biggest secret.
“Why don’t we go find the other kids?” Ford asked, holding out his hand.
Paxton looked at it and then stuck his own thumb in his mouth.
Ford scanned the park, looking for a camp counselor who could explain how a kid was standing next to a busy street unsupervised. He spotted a cluster of capes and brightly colored tights on the jungle gym, a good football field away.
“Are you allowed to be over here?” he asked, and was met with silence. Time for a new strategy. Ford leaned in and whispered to his stuffed animal. “He’s good, Superdog. You told me he was an accomplished superhero and that he wouldn’t break, but I have to get Deputy Bullseye here back to headquarters, and I can’t leave until I know the location of the camp.”
Paxton didn’t speak, but his eyes took on an excited twinkle.
Relieved he was getting somewhere, Ford quickly looked both ways, then as if imparting a direct order from Superman himself, said, “I need to get a message to someone in the camp. She has blue eyes, blonde curls, and goes by the name Ballerina Girl. Do you know her?”
Superdog remained tight-lipped on the subject, and Paxton kept sucking that thumb, but his head moved in a tiny nod.
“You do?” Ford made a big show out of wiping the sweat off his brow. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that. They said you were good, but that’s impressive.” Ford pulled out his department-issued notepad and pen and scribbled a note. Folding it in half and half again, he scanned the park a third time. “Can you help Bullseye get this to her?”
Paxton looked at the note and then at the group of kids who were hanging from the bars and playing tag. He swallowed hard and then with a shaky nod, pulled his thumb out of his mouth and reached for the note.
“Thanks, Superboy.” Ford handed him the secret message. “Now, she won’t take it unless Bullseye gives her the secret handshake. Verification is important in our line of work.” And because Ford knew that when it came to boys, the only thing cooler than superheroes and fast cars was a dog with a few tricks under his collar, he said, “Now, watch carefully. I’m about to show you the secret handshake. Ready?”
Paxton nodded, but his eyes were peanut butter on jelly, never looking away as Ford demonstrated.
Putting Bullseye on his leash, Ford stuck out his fist, made firm eye contact, and said, “Give me rocks.”
Bullseye threw his head back and barked, then tapped his paw to Ford’s fist. And then, because that was only the beginning, Ford made a sound of fireworks exploding, and Bullseye wiggled his paw as he pulled back.
“Like sparks of an explosion,” Ford said, and Paxton’s face lit with excitement.
Giving Bullseye a good rubdown, Ford handed Paxton the leash and then stepped back. “Now it’s your turn.”
Paxton tucked the note under Superdog’s cape, Superdog under his arm, and then made a fist with his free hand. He looked at Ford, who gave him a go-nod, and he stuck it out for Bullseye. When the dog did nothing, Ford said, “Try it again, and this time say, ‘Rocks.’”
Paxton’s tongue peeked out in concentration, and he tried it again. With no command, Bullseye eyed the fist and let out a big yawn.
Paxton dropped the leash and toed the ground.
“Don’t give up,” Ford said, coming up behind him. “Bullseye wants to be your friend and trust you, but most of all he wants to give you what you need, but you have to tell him what to do.” Ford stuck his fist out again, and Bullseye looked at him like, Really, bro. “He doesn’t know if I want him to shake my hand or do the super handshake. That’s why it’s important to be clear about what you need. Now, make a fist.” Paxton did, and Ford guided his hand forward. “Then you say, ‘Rocks.’”
Bullseye let out a bark and then performed the trick, explosion and all.
“That was great,” Ford said, and Paxton soaked up the praise. He didn’t look at the ground or the sky—he looked directly at Ford and beamed so brightly Ford could feel the warmth seeping into his chest. “We used the right word, so he didn’t misunderstand what we need from him. Now this time you take the leash and try.”
Paxton looked back and forth between the leash and Bullseye, as though this were a trick to get him to talk, and if he didn’t, their fun day would be ruined. Then he dropped the leash and stepped back.
Ford put a hand on the boy’s slim shoulders. “You got this, buddy. And if you get nervous, just remember Bullseye’s got your back.”
Ford wanted to say he did too, but he was leaving, and the kid didn’t need another person disappearing in his life.
“Now, get to it, Superboy,” he said, using the name he’d called him that night, because silent or not, that kid had gone through an ordeal that most adults couldn’t have survived.
With a breath big enough for Superman, Paxton stuck out his fist with force, pausing only to look over his shoulder at Ford, who pretended to be busy, making important notes in his pad.
Confident that he wasn’t being watched, Paxton squared his shoulders. Ford did his best to give Paxton the room he needed, and that’s when he heard it. A soft but fearless “Rocks.”
It came out more walks than rocks, but Ford didn’t care. Bullseye obeyed his command, and Superboy had overcome two pretty large obstacles today. His desire to find a connection was stronger than his fear of disappointing someone.
“Good job,” Ford said, cool and confident as if he had no doubt in Paxton’s skills, when inside he was shaking with relief. “Now go with Bullseye, and when you give the note to Ballerina Girl, let go of his leash and I’ll call Bullseye back, but you need to stay there and keep an eye on Ballerina Girl until camp is over.”
And wouldn’t you know it, Paxton raised his hand like a salute, and then with the leash in his grasp, he raced off. Ford watched after him, his little shoes blinking as they got smaller and smaller, and the emotion in Ford’s chest grew larger and larger until swallowing became impossible.
Because that little guy had managed to do the one thing Ford couldn’t—accept that he needed connection.
The sun was actually still shining when Liv pulled into her driveway. Because of a last-minute schedule change, she was able to get out of work two hours early—and make it home in time for family dinner.
Grabbing the pizza from the passenger seat, she walked around to the front porch. Paxton was sitting on the top step, wiggling with energy, as if he had to use the boys’ room. He wore red tights, a blue shirt, and a cape tied around his neck.
“Mommy! You’re home!” he said, full of excitement and animation. “I was waiting for you.”
“I can see that,” she said right as Paxton charged down the front steps and into her arms, clinging to her legs like a sloth. She bent down and gave him a big squeeze, holding him close so she could breathe him in. Only he was too excited to endure the hug, and he was already wiggling out of her arms. “Did Grandma tell you I was coming home?”
“Uh-huh. She also told me you were bringing pizza.”
“And cupcakes. Where is she?”
“Talking to her friend.” Liv hoped he was on the phone and not in her front room. “I came out here to show you this.” He shoved a folded piece of paper in her face, but before she could read it he was walking in circles around her. “It’s a secret message from headquarters. I got to deliver it to Ballerina Girl—that’s Emma’s superhero name—during camp.”
“You did?” she asked, her heart melting. Today marked the first day he’d come home from camp happy. Maybe Ford was right and all he needed was time.
“Yup. She had to give rocks to get it. That was the rules. And she did it. In front of everyone. Then she showed me some cool moves.”
Paxton did some kind of disco move, and Liv bit back her smile.
“That is cool. But what is ‘rocks’?” Liv asked, knowing she was going to owe Harris big-time. She didn’t know what he’d said to Emma, but she’d never seen Paxton so excited about playing with a kid. Not even Tommy, the little boy who sometimes came over to trade comic books.
“Like this.” Paxton punched the air like he was some kind of ninja. “Now bump my fist when I say so.” He looked at her. “Rocks . . . That means go, Mommy.”
“Oh, okay. Rocks.” Liv bumped fists, and Paxton fell back on the grass as if the explosion was too much to be contained. Kind of like the joy pumping through her chest.
“Then everyone was like, ‘Cool, do it again,’ so we did. Like a hundred times again, and then Captain Jason called us in for a power chat.” He jumped up, fist-pumped the air, and held the pose before continuing. “And he tolded us our Super Assignment. And guess what it is? Guess—you won’t guess it right.”
Liv gave her best perplexed look. “You all have to make your own superhero pose?”
Paxton rolled his eyes. “Poses are for babies. Us big kids get to come up with a secret handshake for the last day of camp. Captain Jason said it should show our superpowers, so we all have to have one, but no one can have the same one. And no one will have mine.”
Liv agreed. Her kid had more superpowers than DC and Marvel put together. He might be shy and slow to warm up, but he had more heart than anyone she knew.
“What does yours look like?” Liv asked, heading Paxton up the stairs and inside the house.
“It’s a secret,” Paxton said in the same God, Mom tone he’d used when she’d asked who was stronger, Superman or Batman. “But me and Superdog are going to practice it a million times. It will be even cooler than rocks.”
“I bet it will.” Liv set the pizza on the counter and poured Paxton a glass of juice. He crawled up onto a stool and took a big gulp. “So every kid teaches it to the whole camp?”
“Yup.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just like me and Bullseye did today.”
Liv froze. “Bullseye was at camp?”
“Yup, I was waiting for Grandma, and he found me. I thought he wanted Superdog to chew on, but then Ford told me they had to get a secret message to Ballerina Girl, and he needed me to deliver it. But first I had to learn the secret handshake and then do it with him in front of the whole camp. And look.” Paxton yanked at the cape, flipping it around to the front and pointing to the huge patch safety-pinned to the center.
“Super Star,” Liv read, her heart rolling over.
“Every day one kid gets to be the Super Star, and today it was me, so I get to wear this until tomorrow, and then somebody else gets to be Super Star.”
Liv had been wrong. Her son didn’t need to be around people. He needed to be around the right people. And today that person had been Ford.
Let today be enough, Liv told herself. It didn’t matter that Ford was kind and thoughtful and made her legs turn to mush. When the season ended, so would his time in Sequoia Lake, and he’d be gone, off helping another family.
Carolyn walked into the kitchen with a stern brow raised in Paxton’s direction. “Which is why we should take the cape off and hang it up.”
Paxton shut down faster than a ski lift in a blizzard. And the kitchen turned equally as frosty.
“I don’t see why you can’t wear it,” Liv said encouragingly, but Paxton was sipping his juice. Well, the glass was to his lips, but he was just breathing into the cup and watching the glass fog up.
“At least take it off at the table so you don’t get food on it,” Carolyn said, walking to the cupboard to get three plates, then setting them around the table.
“Sweetie, why don’t you grab a slice of pizza and take it the front room while Grandma and I talk.”
Paxton didn’t wait for Carolyn to weigh in on the decision, just grabbed a slice and ran as fast as his blinking shoes could carry him.
“He’s never going to talk if you don’t encourage family dinners,” Carolyn said, moving the pizza box to the table.
“He was just talking.” Like a happy, normal kid who’d had a great day at camp.
“Well, he hasn’t spoken a word to me,” Carolyn said primly, taking a seat at the table and spreading her napkin across her lap. Great. Apparently they were going to sit for this discussion.
“He just has to get used to you.” Liv sat down. “The more you’re around, the more he’ll open up.”
“I’ve been here for three weeks, and he’s said more to that stuffed dog than he has me.”
“He doesn’t feel judged or anxious when he talks to his toys,” Liv explained.
Her mouth tightened. “Are you saying it’s my fault?”
“No,” Liv said, resting a hand on Carolyn’s, and she realized the older woman was trembling. “This is nobody’s fault—it just is. But the more time you spend together, the more comfortable he’ll feel around you, the more relaxed he’ll become, and then he’ll start talking.”
Reason number one why Liv had asked her in-laws not to move across the country. She’d moved here so Paxton could have a stable group of people in his world, but Carolyn needed space from the loss. And Liv got that, but space created distance, and distance didn’t allow for the relationship to bloom.
“I can’t even count the times I’ve offered to bring him to Palm Beach to spend the holidays or the summer with me,” Carolyn said, placing a slice on each of their plates. “It’s like you don’t want me to get to know him.”
Liv closed her eyes and counted to ten. When that didn’t help, she got up and poured herself a glass of wine. After a fortifying sip, she grabbed another glass—and the bottle—and brought the bottle to the table.
“I want you to know him, more than anything,” Liv said, pouring her mother-in-law a glass of wine, because they were both going to need it to get through this conversation. She waited for Carolyn to take a sip before adding, “But you need to want to get to know him for who he is right now, with all of his quirks and uniqueness, and that means meeting him on his terms. And with you coming here for a few weeks at a time, it might take a while.”
“You make it sound as if I’m not trying,” Carolyn said dramatically. “If Sam were here, he would be horrified by these terms.”
It was like an arrow sliced through her chest, creating a wound that would never quite heal. One more to add to the collection.
Liv set her glass down and focused on keeping it together. Yelling wouldn’t help, and she was past crying. Sadly, she was just tired. The kind of soul-deep tired people got when they’d taken so many beatings they couldn’t remember where the last one ended and the new one began.
“Sam isn’t here,” Liv said steadily. “And these terms aren’t here to hurt you—they are here to help Paxton overcome his loss, adapt to his new reality. And I know we have all had to adapt to a world without Sam, but when it comes to Paxton, his journey had to come first.”
Carolyn’s face puckered as if she’d eaten a lemon, but Liv knew the taste in her mouth wasn’t bitter—it was pain. And Liv wished she knew how to make the melding of this family easier, but she meant what she said. Paxton came first.
Always.
Carolyn carefully folded her napkin and placed it on the table, taking the time to smooth over the seams. “Maybe if you had put Paxton first, Sam wouldn’t have come home alone that Christmas.” Carolyn looked up, tears pooling in her eyes. “And maybe we wouldn’t all be in this situation.”