The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(9)

“And your name is?” Owen asked.

“Noah,” he said, hanging on to Romeo. “I didn’t never have a dog.”

“He’s a good dog,” Owen said. “He’s a rescue. He’s been with me five years now and he’s almost six years old. That’s his full adult height and he’s off the charts, but he’s gentle. And sweet. It’s just that he’s clumsy, like I said. He sometimes knocks people over just saying hello.” Then he said to Hannah, “Let me help you get your stuff inside, and then I’ll leave you to your vacation.”

“You’re living in that barn there?” Noah asked.

“Yes, it’s nice inside and I have everything I need. I love the house but I admit, sometimes it just swallows me up.” He pulled a couple of grocery sacks out of the back of the SUV.

“Come on, Noah, let’s get you up the stairs onto the porch while I unload,” Hannah said. “You can call Romeo to come with you if it’s all right with Owen. Once you’re up the stairs.” Then she handed him the crutches.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Owen was frozen, watching Noah walk stiff-legged toward the stairs. He frowned and met her eyes. She smiled at him.

“It’s all right with me and I am sure it will be fine with Romeo,” Owen said.

Hannah got Noah situated on a deck chair. Then she clicked her tongue against her teeth to call the dog. He lumbered up the stairs and slowly went to Noah, sitting down politely beside him, patiently accepting the boy’s petting.

Hannah tried the door to the house. It was unlocked, probably because Owen was home. She’d been told the key would be under the mat—great security system. Then she went down the steps to unload their groceries and luggage. “Don’t let that big dog eat you,” she told Noah on the fly.

It took a few trips, even with Owen’s help, to get everything out of the SUV and into the house. She left the bags near the master bedroom door and began putting away the groceries. “Thank you for your help, Owen. Can I call you Owen or would you prefer Mr. Abrams?”

“Owen is great.”

“And I’m Hannah. I appreciate the help and the use of your very beautiful home. Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Do you mind me asking about your son’s—”

“He’s not my son,” she said in a whisper. “Not yet. He’s my best friend’s son. She passed away a few weeks ago. It’s been very hard on both of us, Noah and me. And on Erin’s other close friends. It was sudden and unexpected—complications from the flu. I guess that’s the best way to explain it. It was a bad flu and went downhill from there. As for Noah’s condition, the leg braces. He has cerebral palsy, a very mild case, and with good medical care and therapy he will overcome most if not all of the problems associated with it. He’s getting stronger every year. He’s the best kid. Right now we’re really missing his mom.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “Is there anything more I can do to help you settle in?”

Hannah grinned. “Can we borrow the dog for a couple of weeks? That’s the biggest smile I’ve seen on Noah’s face in weeks.”

“I’ll be around,” he said. “And when I’m around, Romeo is around. Just be careful because he’s—”

“I know. Clumsy.”

He pushed his shaggy hair back with a big hand and smiled shyly. The man was so tall, Hannah was staring into his chest. “I can relate to the poor guy’s problem. I’m a little clumsy, too,” he said.

  One of the issues with having a trauma buried in your past was obsession. Owen was at his computer for hours while Hannah and Noah settled into the house. He researched her car license, her name, and while he didn’t know Noah’s last name, he soon found it. Erin Waters of Madison had been survived by her son, Noah, her mother, Victoria Addison, her half brother, Roger Addison, many friends... Hannah’s name and Noah’s turned up in the obituary. It also turned up on LinkedIn. Hannah’s name popped up here and there in business-related stories and while there was no media coverage of her taking custody of a little boy, he became comfortable with the idea that she was legit and he was not dealing with a kidnapping.

But he’d watch the situation closely. He had that undercover agent, Romeo. If anyone could make a kid talk it was a big Great Dane.

Then he read for a couple of hours about cerebral palsy and what appeared to be diplegia—he read about physical therapy, about prognosis. It was quite hopeful.

The next thing he knew, Romeo was whining to go out in the early morning before it was even entirely light. Owen held him off as long as possible. When he did open the door, Romeo ran barking onto the lawn and chased a couple of does. When he came back a moment later, he looked like he was grinning.

“That was just plain rude, Romeo,” Owen said. “They were girls, for one thing. And they weren’t bothering you.”

“And one of them looked very preggers,” came a voice from across the yard.

There sat Hannah on the porch, a cup of coffee balanced on the arm of her chair. He walked over to her. “She was pretty quick, though, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, she skedaddled. Would you like a coffee?”

“You’ve got a pot on?”