When We Met by Susan Mallery Page A

I know, things I’ve done. Camping, sure. Knots and map reading, I’m good. But the rest of it? No way. These are little girls. They need a woman. Or at least a man with a daughter.”
    Denise’s mouth straightened. “Angel, I understand your fear.” She paused. “All right, I don’t, but I believe it’s real to you.”
    Talk about not being very supportive, he thought grimly.
    â€œMost of the girls who have signed up for FWM this year come from either broken homes or they have suffered some kind of loss. While I want to believe nothing bad ever happens in Fool’s Gold, that’s not true. Mayor Marsha and I talked about this at length. We believe you’re the right man for the job.”
    She put her hand on his forearm. “You said you’d take this on and I’m going to hold you to your commitment. Not only do I think it will be good for you, but there isn’t anyone else I can get at such short notice. Please take the grove through this first short season. If at the end of that you want to be done, you can walk away.”
    He hesitated, torn by guilt. He had given his word, dammit. “Fine. Two months and then I’m done.”
    â€œWe’ll discuss that when the time comes.” She pulled an index card out of her handbag. “In the meantime we’ve come up with what we think will be an excellent civic project for your girls. Max Thurman runs K9Rx Therapy Dog Kennels just outside town. Have you heard of it?”
    He nodded slowly. “Dogs that visit sick people. Stuff like that.”
    â€œIt’s slightly more complicated, but that’s close enough. Max has a new litter of puppies that need to be socialized. I think seven-year-old girls are perfect for the job. My daughter Montana works for Max. She’ll be in touch with you to set up the schedule.”
    She rattled off a few more bits of information. Angel made note of them on his phone, then, when they were done, grabbed his pink notebook and escaped.
    He walked out into the afternoon and told himself it was way too early to get drunk.
    Girls. He was going to be responsible for seven-year-old girls. He paused by the curb and stared at his motorcycle. He rode a Harley. What if there were trips with the girls and he was expected to drive? People could die in a car accident. His scarred heart was living proof. He swore again, this time loudly and with emphasis.
    He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed a couple of buttons.
    â€œIt’s me. What’s your afternoon like?”
    He waited for Consuelo to tell him she was too busy to bother with him, but she surprised him by pausing and saying, “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing. Everything. I’m screwed.”
    â€œWhat do you need?”
    He stared at the Harley. He loved riding it. Loved the feel of the wind, the speed. The sense of freedom.
    â€œI need to buy a car.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI need something safe. That holds a lot of people. Like an SUV.” Or a minivan. Only he couldn’t even say the word. “One of those three-row ones.”
    He could feel the walls of life closing in on him.
    â€œDo I want to know why?” Consuelo asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay. See you at home in fifteen minutes.”
    * * *
    T ARYN STARED AT the simple dark chocolate truffle that had been delivered to her office, along with a note. There was a restaurant name and a time. No signature, no greeting. Just Henri’s and seven o’clock. Either Angel was showing that he was into making an effort or he really didn’t like to pick up the phone.
    Before she could decide, Kenny and Jack walked in. Kenny dropped a massive backpack onto her desk and grinned.
    â€œYou’re back,” she said, stating the obvious.
    â€œWe are back and we’re the best,” Kenny told her.
    Jack sat on the corner of her desk and shrugged. “We can’t help it,” he said