The One Safe Place. Kathleen O'Brien

he won’t let her, you know, so I had to bring him with me. I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean, you did say—”

      “It’s fine,” he said, shaking off his bad mood long enough to bend down and let the baby wrap his fat hand around Reed’s thumb. “Everything’s fine.”

      But was it? As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, he was already having second thoughts about giving Justine this job. For one thing, she was an incurable flirt. Reed had a fairly healthy ego—after all, he had won Melissa, hadn’t he? And since Melissa’s death plenty of women had shown themselves eager to help him recover.

      But Justine was only nineteen. To her, a thirty-two-year-old widowed vet, however fit, however nice-looking, must seem ancient. Still she couldn’t open her mouth without flirting.

      And, though she had assured him her mom would keep the baby whenever she could, whenever her father wasn’t home to forbid it, half the time Justine showed up dragging the diaper bag and baby carrier behind her.

      But how could he have said no? The kid had been desperate, an exhausted former beauty queen with no husband, a hungry infant and a father who had disowned her loud enough for the whole damn Glen to hear.

      The judgmental old bastard. What kind of father pinned a scarlet letter to his own daughter? Mayor Alton Millner’s kind, of course. Rumor was he’d wanted Justine to give the baby up, and he couldn’t forgive her for defying him.

      That showed some serious backbone. And she clearly wasn’t stupid, in spite of the fatherless baby, the compulsive flirtation and the tight sweaters, which were probably all parts of the same self-esteem issue.

      So Reed, aware that he was one of the few employers in the Glen who didn’t need to curry favor with Mayor Millner, had hired her.

      The baby was sucking his finger. Reed pulled it free carefully, making a deft substitute move with the plastic pacifier. Then he straightened and headed toward the back.

      “Mr. Tremaine is in room one,” Justine called after him. “He’s brought Frosty in for his shots.”

      “Is that so?” Reed changed course, heading for room one with a purposeful stride. “Mr. Smooth-talking Tremaine. Just the man I want to see.”

      He swung through the door with a firm push. Parker was sitting comfortably in the corner chair. Frosty, a beautiful golden retriever about a year old, stood on his hind legs beside him, paws dangling over Parker’s lap, getting a lazy ear rub that had sent the dog into sleepy-eyed ecstasy.

      “Uh-oh.” Parker smiled, obviously recognizing Reed’s foul mood and deducing the cause. “I hope we’re not having second thoughts about our new housekeeper and her nephew.”

      Frosty bounded over to greet Reed, whom he adored. Of course, Frosty adored everyone, so Reed didn’t let it go to his head.

      “No,” he said, petting Frosty but glaring at Parker over the dog’s head. “We’re not having second thoughts. I am. You’re not involved in this. You’re not the one whose house is being invaded.”

      Parker returned his glare with complete innocence. But Reed wasn’t buying it. He straightened and narrowed his eyes. At six-three, he was a full inch taller than Parker, which drove his friend crazy.

      “And I have to ask myself, why is that? If this Good Samaritan deed is so important, why isn’t Parker Tremaine the one doing it?”

      Parker stretched out his long legs and put his hands behind his head, the picture of ease and a perfectly clean conscience. “We went over this, Reed. I’m not the one with a huge house and a million extra bedrooms—”

      “Two,” Reed corrected, lifting Frosty up onto the table and checking his ears, which were spotless, of course. This was one well cared-for animal. “Two extra bedrooms.”

      “Right. Two,” Parker agreed pleasantly. “Which is the perfect number for two people. And I’m not the one who needed a housekeeper, which is the perfect cover for a woman in hiding. I’m not the one with fifteen open acres for a kid and his dog to play in. In fact, I’ve got a relatively small house, a new wife, a new baby and two dogs tearing up the place already.”

      Reed checked Frosty’s teeth, which were fine, and began clipping the dog’s toenails.

      “Yeah, but you’re the superhero with all those years in the Secret Service, and a stint as sheriff, to boot. You’re the one who’s trained to protect and defend. If a murderer shows up here, what am I going to do, neuter him and give him a rabies booster?”

      Parker laughed. “With this guy, that might be the best approach. But he’s not going to show up here, unless he’s a mind reader. There’s not a single thing to tie Faith Constable to you or Autumn House. Jim Bentley and I did Secret Service duty together five years ago, and he asked a favor. I suggested you. That’s a convoluted path not even a lunatic could trace.”

      Reed’s assistant brought in the inoculations and stayed to help Reed hold Frosty in place while he administered them. Not that Frosty was wriggling. It was actually unnatural, this dog was so well behaved. Must be the result of living with a teacher and a lawyer. If Sarah, the teacher, couldn’t make Frosty behave, Parker could talk him into it.

      While the assistant was in the room, Parker kept quiet, but as soon as they were alone, he started in again.

      “So what’s really bugging you, Reed?” Frosty was back on the ground, and Parker stroked the dog’s head absently, his intense blue gaze fixed on Reed.

      Reed turned to wash his hands, buying time.

      “I’m not believing that the bad guy makes you nervous,” Parker said. “I’ve seen you bring down a charging bear with one well-placed tranquilizer dart. I’ve seen you rope a crazed bull and wrestle it to the ground. That’s one reason I thought of you. You’re young, you’re fit and you’re not afraid of a damn thing.”

      Reed flicked a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Parker grinning.

      “Hell,” Parker added, “I’ve even heard it said that you’re a whole inch taller than I am, although that part’s a dirty lie.”

      Reed dried his hands, then turned around slowly.

      “Okay,” he said. “You’re right. I don’t give a damn about this Lambert character. A guy who sneaks up on women and breaks their necks is clearly a coward. I suspect I could handle him if I have to. My real problem is that—”

      He paused. Like most men, he and Parker didn’t discuss their emotions much. They’d known each other so long they really didn’t have to.

      “What?”

      Reed took a deep breath.

      “I guess I’m just hoping you don’t have some hidden agenda here. I hope you’re not thinking that, because of Melissa, I’ll be able to relate to these people in some special way. I hope you don’t think I have some gem of wisdom to offer them about surviving the loss of a loved one.”

      Parker smiled. “Sorry. Frankly, ‘wisdom’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I think of you, old buddy.”

      Reed knew what he meant. If anything, he had handled Melissa’s death with a spectacular lack of good judgment. In fact, he’d been a mess. He’d refused to see anyone except his patients. He’d barely left the house. He had drunk himself to sleep for a full year.

      But damn it, he had been married only two years. Two years. Melissa had been only twenty-seven. And to see all that beauty, all that life, eaten away by cancer…

      Well, it didn’t really surprise him that he’d drunk himself to sleep. It only surprised him that he hadn’t somehow managed to drink himself to death.

      “Yeah, but I know you, Parker. You probably think that, because I did survive, I learned something.”

      He wiped his hands on the paper towels so hard his skin burned.