One Day in Apple Grove(14)

The sweet sound of Caitlin’s voice was like a beacon in the black of night across storm-tossed seas. He tried to focus on it as he struggled to conquer the pain and ignore the roiling in his gut. He’d learned his iron-clad control in the military; it served him well now.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Fine.”

“You look a little green around the gills.” Caitlin rubbed her hand on his back, an instinctive healing touch—one a mother would use on her child.

The ball of fur started nipping his chin, drawing his attention back to their little problem. “Guys are supposed to stick up for one another,” he scolded. “Not maim them.” As if he had told the dog how much he adored him, the puppy switched from nibbles to kisses, bathing his face with his tiny pink tongue.

“He’s a rapscallion.” Caitlin’s soft laughter surrounded him like a hug.

“I could think of a few other names for him,” Jack said quietly.

She chose to ignore his meaning, frowned at him, and said, “We should name him—and not Butch.”

“I thought you had to go home.”

“Not quite yet.” Her eyes met his and she asked, “Unless you’re kicking me out?”

“Hell no,” he said, and could have kicked himself. He’d have to work harder if he were going to control his salty language now that he’d returned to Apple Grove. “Um…sorry for swearing.”

Caitlin’s belly laugh charmed him. “That’s nothing compared to what Meg has been known to say.”

He grinned. “She always had the knack for it when we were in school, but I would think she’d have had to watch what she was saying—especially now that she’s a mom.”

Cait agreed. “She does. It used to bug her when Grace reminded her that no swearing on the job is our company rule.”

“I bet it did.”

“How about Mack or Fido?” she suggested.

He laughed when the little dog tilted his head to one side and shook it. “I don’t think he likes either of those names.” He chucked the dog under the chin and stared into its dark brown eyes. “You look more like a Jameson…Jamie.” The dog leaped up and licked Jack’s face with abandon.

Caitlin reached over and began to stroke her hand along the puppy’s back again. “I guess you’re Jamie, then.”

Jack agreed. “OK, Jamie.” Holding the dog like a football in the curve of his arm, he pushed to his feet. Once he stood up, he held out his hand to Caitlin. She looked down at his hand and then up at his face before she put her hand in his and let him help her stand. When she trembled, he saw confusion mixed with want in her eyes. The same tangled emotions bubbling inside of him. He’d bide his time—but life was short. He didn’t want to wait too long.

She made no move to close the distance between them, but instead thanked him and scratched the dog’s face. “What are we going to feed him?”

He liked that she was still thinking in terms of them as a unit. “I’ve got some rice in that cabinet over there. My mom had Mrs. Murphy stock the cabinets with dry goods for me.”

She walked over to where he was pointing and reached for the box as he bent to pull a small saucepan out of the cabinet by the stove.

“Nice lady, your mom—Mary Murphy too.”

“Thanks,” he said. “There was a note left on the counter from Mary reminding me to stop by and pick up the grocery order my mom had left with her just in case I didn’t get to the store first thing this morning. I’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.” The dog was content to be held against Jack as he got the measuring cup and filled it with water, dumping it in the pan and flicking on the burner. “Hey, can you put a cup of rice in here?”

“Is that all you’re going to feed him?”

“I was going to add some of the leftover turkey to it. I’ll nuke it first though. I’ll have to remember to pick up some chop meat too—not sure if it was on the list.”

“You planning on making burgers?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Puppies have a tendency to eat things they shouldn’t. We always had chop meat and rice on hand. It’s easier for them to digest.”

She scrunched her face and wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste at his suggestion. “Did you fry the meat and add the rice? It might help cover the flavor since you aren’t using real rice.”

“Hey, I grew up eating this kind of rice—and no, you boil the meat.”

Cait sighed. “Meg was big on instant anything, but I have discovered how yummy long grain rice tastes.”

Jack frowned, remembering the hard years Meg and her family lived through after their mother died. “This cooks faster.”