She wished her mother had given her an age-appropriate explanation about how mental illness and depression could sometimes lead unhappy people to take desperate action.
If she could have talked about Lyle more, remembered good times, received counseling when she was a vulnerable teenager struggling with the loss and pain and missing her father, perhaps she wouldn’t have this gaping hole in her heart.
How could she bring it up to Ian? And how would he respond to having a woman who was virtually a stranger question his parenting skills?
She knew one thing at least. Once she told him she thought he was wrong to discourage his children from dealing with their grief, he would probably no longer look at her with that glimmer of awareness in his eyes.
CHAPTER SIX
HE WAS BECOMING addicted to these mountain evenings.
After the children were in bed, Ian walked outside the house toward the allure of the lake, with the gently lapping water and the glitter of stars overhead.
The grass was wet and rustled under his feet, the air sweet with the scent of pine and water and night.
He drew it deeply into his lungs, wishing he could bottle that scent and take it back with him for those times when the demands of the life he was stepping into became too much.
In England, he didn’t take nearly enough time to simply be. He was always too busy caring for the children, working with students, handling the day-to-day details that filled a life.
He was not sure the last time he had a moment simply to think.
The owners of the house he was renting had thoughtfully placed a bench just on the lakeshore. He sat down and looked out at the moon reflecting on the water, its glow shimmering on the surface of the lake.
A fish jumped in the water and he smiled a little, wondering whether it was one of the salmon he was studying.
He felt tension trickle out of him with every passing moment. Ian released a breath, closing his eyes and listening to the water and the breeze.
The children seemed to have had a good day. The best in a long time. They had returned home from caring for the puppies with a new energy, bubbling over with stories about what the little dogs had done and how cute they were.
“They’re the most precious puppies in all the world,” Amelia had said firmly.
“I wish we could take one home,” Thomas said, his tone wistful.
“I would choose Coco,” Amelia had declared.
“No, Oscar. He’s the littlest and the cutest.”
He had loved seeing their animation as they debated the merits of each puppy. It made him realize how subdued they had all become, as if afraid to let too much light and joy into their lives.
He would have to seriously consider getting them a dog, as he had promised, when they moved into the small cottage at Summerhill. His parents had their four dogs at the main house that would fill some need in the children to have an animal to love and care for, but his parents’ dogs were older, set in their ways. Perhaps the children needed a dog of their own to train, to feed, to walk.
What sort of dog? A retriever was a good family pet, hardy and calm. He’d had one himself when he was young and had adored it.
Would it be better to find a dog shortly after they moved or wait until the children had a chance to acclimatize to their new schools, new home, new surroundings?
He sighed, looking out at the water and considering his options.
Trying to, anyway. There was a small chance he may have become too comfortable out there on the bench. One moment he was thinking about the lake and about the children and retrievers and fitting the demands of a puppy into their life when they would already be dealing with so much upheaval; the next he gradually became aware he wasn’t alone.
He opened his eyes to find a little brown-and-black dog watching him, as if his canine musings had conjured her.
Samantha’s dog, Betsey, he realized.
“Hi there.” He scratched her ear and was touched when she immediately jumped up to settle beside him on the bench.
Where was her owner? He looked about for Samantha Fremont and couldn’t see her. Not quite sure what to do with the dog, he continued to pet her and she rested her chin on his thigh, seeming perfectly content to snuggle next to him.
It wasn’t a bad thing at all to sit out on a cool evening next to a vast lake, petting a little lapdog. Perhaps this was the sort of dog they needed, something small and cute and cuddly.
“I think you’re supposed to be somewhere,” he said to Betsey. In answer, she edged closer to him.
A moment later, he heard Samantha calling her. Betsey lifted her head but didn’t move from his side.
“Over here,” Ian called softly. He should probably send the little dog on her way but he was enjoying himself too much for that. If he were honest with himself, he could admit he didn’t mind the idea of her owner coming out, as well, to share his bench and the beautiful night.
Samantha approached him, carrying a leash. “Betsey. What are you doing, bothering our neighbor? I opened the door for only a second and she raced out here as if she were late for an appointment. I’m sorry.”
“She’s no bother. I’ve been enjoying her company.”
I would enjoy yours more, Ian wanted to say but the words caught in his throat.
“She is very calming, isn’t she? I thought so from the moment I brought her home. Until I found out she was expecting puppies, anyway, and would deliver them in less than a month. Since then, I’ve been the opposite of calm.”
“Seems like a fairly important detail her previous humans should have shared.”
“One would think, right?”
“You didn’t know about the puppies when you got her?”
She sighed. “No idea. I didn’t
