The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(14)

“It’s a shame you and your wife didn’t have kids. You’re so good with them.”

“It’s pretty easy to be good with a kid like Noah. He’s dealing with what can be a disabling medical condition and just suffered an enormous loss, and yet...” He shook his head. “He’s a bright spot.”

“I guess we’re going to have to get a dog,” she said weakly. “I’ve always traveled so much for work, I couldn’t manage a dog even though I love them.”

“I travel all the time but I have a sister in Denver. On my way to the airport, Romeo goes to play with his cousins—two nephews, a niece and two canines—a golden and a poodle.”

“Well, that’s convenient. Kudos to you for thinking ahead.”

“I wasn’t thinking ahead,” he said with a laugh. “I saw some jackass dump a dog by the side of the road. Chained him to a tree, left a bowl of water and sped away. It was all I could do to keep from chasing him down and punching him in the face, but instead I loaded this hair bag into the back seat. I wondered what kind of dog this was—I thought he was full grown. The vet pronounced him a five-month-old Great Dane who would double in size. He probably ate his first owner’s house. He tried to eat mine! But it took me about two days to know I’d never give him up. Romeo has a good soul. He’s talked me through many a rough patch.”

“He’s so sweet,” she said, her hand on his big head.

“So, your job...?”

“It seems so long ago already. I’m in sales for a medical equipment and supply company. It’s highly competitive and fast-paced and I was getting a little burned-out. The last time I was at your house it was with a few salesmen. It was a team-building retreat that went south fast. We failed at team building and I defected. I went home to a breakup with my fiancé. I had barely cleared him out of my house and canceled all the wedding plans when we lost Erin. Inheriting a five-year-old involves a lot of reorganizing, moving, legal paperwork...”

“And you’ve been off work this whole time?”

“I took family leave. It was my only option. I may not have given birth but I did become a mother.”

“How much time do you get?”

“Up to three months paid, up to three more months without pay. If I need it, I can push that to six months. Our other two best friends have offered to keep Noah when I have to leave town, but there’s a lot of other stuff to figure out. They’re working mothers. A vacation is one thing but we have to get established with a new medical team and physical therapists. And school will be a challenge—I want to be available for him if I’m needed. Am I going to have to go the private school route? So, I’m thinking about what kind of career adjustment I can make so I don’t travel as often. The future still looks pretty foggy.”

Owen leaned forward. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of person who can figure things like that out pretty easily. Efficiently.”

She laughed. “Efficiency—the bane of my existence. I find myself thinking things like ‘I better eat something now so I don’t forget later.’ Or ‘I should hurry and fall asleep so I can get up and start working again. That would be efficient.’”

“You never leave work on your desk?” he asked.

“And you know what that usually gets you? More work. They give it to the person who can get it done. And that’s not always synonymous with who gets the promotion.”

“That’s old news,” he said. “It’s always been that way.”

“Do you have a boss, Owen?” she asked.

“I have obligations,” he said. “I’ve signed contracts for which I have to produce work on a schedule. But I’m a lot like you—I do the work that has to be done. I’m not driven but I’m motivated. And my only boss is me, if you don’t count Romeo. He has needs.” Romeo, relaxed, had sprawled on the deck, rolled onto his back, feet in the air. A huff of laughter came out of Owen. “He leads a very stressful life.”

“I bet when you have your room, he sleeps on the bed with you.”

Owen stiffened. “Was your comforter dirty or hairy?”

“No,” she laughed. “Everything is perfectly clean. Sterile.”

“That’s Mrs. Bourne. She and her daughter and daughter-in-law do the cleaning. They’re amazing. Except they have no concept of time zones. Even though I tell them where I’ll be, it isn’t unusual for Mrs. Bourne to call me at three in the morning to ask me if I’m ready to have the duvet washed or the refrigerator emptied out for the next round of guests. They could call the Realtor who manages the rental schedule, but no.”

“They sure do a great job on the house. Do you ever live in it?”

“Oh, yes, for weeks or months at a time. I only rent it out about twelve weeks a year, when I’m away. Mrs. Bourne takes care of the barn, too. I have become an extremely lazy man.”

“I bet you’re not,” she said. “Tell me what you’re working on now.”

“I’ll show you tomorrow if you have time.”

“If I have time?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m here to do nothing and I’m already exhausted. Tell me about it.”

“I’m working on a few things. I love collections. Sometimes they become books with accompanying essays. I did one on trees. Who cares about trees? It turns out a lot of people. And in chasing them down, I’ve learned of cultural regard for trees, mystical beliefs, spiritual relationships with trees, trees that covered ten generations with their branches, trees that were murdered for money and the land beneath them died and went fallow. There are places in Mexico where maidens marry trees to fight back deforestation and to protest illegal logging. Who knew?