Tempted By The Single Dad. Cara Colter

many years.

      Still, Allie was aware that not only was she not sure what the type who became involved in a parental abduction would look like, but that she had an unfortunate history of placing her trust in people who had not earned it. While other people could trust their instincts, she had ample and quite recent proof that she could not.

      Determined to not be naive, she put on her headphones to block out the noises coming from the bathroom and typed Sam Walker into the search engine on her tablet. Not too surprisingly, there were thousands of Sam Walkers. She changed tack and put in “recent abductions.” Also, sadly, way too many of them, though no photos of a curly-headed little boy who looked like Cody. No abducted children with dogs.

      Giving up, Allie Googled the legal ramifications of rental contracts, only to find out lawyers were quite cagey about dispensing free information over the internet.

      After that, she went through her grandmother’s documents, stored in a box under Allie’s bed, hoping for the rental contract, but found nothing.

      Through the headphones, she heard the muffled sounds of the bath ending. She took them off and listened.

      The bed in the room next to her creaked, a small creak, and then a larger one. Too easy to picture.

      “Get off, Popsy, you stink. And you’re next for the bath. Don’t even think of hiding. Okay, where is Woozer, Wizzle, Wobble? Here it is.”

      One bedtime story, read three times.

      Again, that deep, sure voice, sliding over those silly words was all too endearing: “‘And then the witch said, woozer, wizzle, wobble and turned the toad into a donkey.’”

      Ashamed to realize that she was acting like an eavesdropper and that the little scene playing out in the bedroom made her ache with that same weak longing the family on the beach had caused in her earlier, Allie put the headphones back on. She turned the music up.

      She pointed her finger at her silent guitar. You are not my only source of music.

      Then, she stretched out on her bed, and let the faint breeze play over her skin. Without any warning, the three nights of not sleeping suddenly caught up with her.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      CODY FELL ASLEEP before Sam had finished the third reading of Woozer, Wizzle, Wobble. He knew better than to stop. His nephew could rise out of a deep sleep, his neck swiveling like he was trying out for a part on an exorcism film, if he thought he’d been cheated of the entire third reading of his favorite book. For a kid who had given up on talking, Cody was remarkably adept at making his thoughts—particularly displeasure—more than apparent.

      Sam finished the book, then slid out of the bed. Carefully, he undid the string that fastened the superhero cape around Cody’s neck. A tender protectiveness for his nephew rose up in him, but it was followed with brutal swiftness by his awareness that when it had mattered, he had not been able to protect Cody at all.

      As happened sometimes, the memory hit him without warning. His brother-in-law, Adam, laughing, as he and Sam chased after a shrieking Cody trying to get the cape off him for Sue to put in the laundry. Cody, fresh out of the bath, had been naked, save for the cape.

      The dog had been there, racing joyously beside them, as they went in circles around the house, out into the yard, back into the house. Popsy had no idea what the game was, but loved it, nonetheless. They all had. Sue had pretended disapproval, but snickered anyway, when he and Adam had finally captured Cody and dubbed his garb “the Pooperman cape,” a name that stuck.

      What Sam hated the most was at the time he’d had no idea—none—how precious those moments were.

      What he hated the most? Was that he had no idea if it—spontaneous joy—ever would come back. For any of them left living.

      He was exhausted—which was probably why the uninvited memory had snuck in—but the dog was going to stink up the whole house if he didn’t look after it.

      He peered under the bed.

      Popsy stared back at him, the picture of innocence. His face clearly said What smell? Sam made a swipe for him, and missed, which made Popsy retreat farther under the bed. Naturally, the dog made him crawl all the way under. At least he didn’t growl—he saved that for when he was protecting Cody from the horrors of bath time. When Sam finally did manage to get him out and had him pinned in his arms, the dog trembled. Then he whimpered, a high, squeaking sound akin to the wire on a barb wire fence being tightened.

      “Shhh,” Sam told him, nudging open the bedroom door with his foot, “you’ll wake Cody up.” But what he was really thinking was She’s going to think I torture you.

      He stepped out into the hall. The house was dark and silent. Her bedroom door was firmly shut and no light came out from under it.

      He tiptoed down to the bathroom. He had kept Cody’s bathwater, and he slid the dog in. The dog yelped and squirmed, so with a deft motion, still hanging on to the dog, Sam managed to get his shirt off before he ended up completely soaked.

      “This isn’t my first rodeo,” he informed the dog, who scrabbled to get out of the tub and, as he had predicted, totally soaked him within seconds.

      He managed to keep hold of Popsy. The smell intensified—wet dog and vomit—as the water saturated the dog’s fur. Sam reached for Cody’s baby shampoo, somehow managing to hold the dog and dispense shampoo at the same time.

      He lathered up the dog. Popsy resigned himself, giving a good demonstration of where the expression “hangdog” came from. Soon, the sweet smell of the baby shampoo began to smother the more noxious odors.

      Sam splashed up water to get the lather off, and realized he was going to have to let the old water out of the tub to do a proper rinse. His guard went down ever so slightly and in a flash, the dog leaped out of the tub, nudged open the bathroom door and flew down the hallway, leaving a trail of water and soap in his wake.

      Popsy burst through Allie’s closed bedroom door, with Sam hot on his heels. In the murky darkness, Sam watched as the dog leaped onto the bed, landing with a squish on a rather delectable female body, lying on top of the covers. Even in the bad light Sam could tell she was wearing, well, next to nothing.