CHAPTER SIX
THE WEEK AFTER they’d looked at properties sped along, busy with preliminary plans for the program they were calling Victory Cottage, and therapy sessions for Paul, and all the ordinary school and shopping and cleaning of daily life. Suddenly it was Thanksgiving week, and Paul hadn’t thought about what to do for the holiday, except that he didn’t want to go to his in-laws’ house like in years past. Wendy had been the youngest of three, and her sisters had older kids. Georgiana and Ferguson wouldn’t be alone.
He and Davey needed to establish new traditions—that was one thing his counseling session had helped him to clarify last week. He just hadn’t figured out exactly what those traditions should be.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to make a decision and do it all himself, because Pleasant Shores wasn’t the kind of place where you could spend a holiday alone. Half the people in town went to a community Thanksgiving dinner at one of the churches, and since he and Davey had attended services, they got called and nagged and harassed into coming.
As soon as they walked into the Fellowship Hall in the church basement, two little girls ran up to Davey. “We’re playin’ in the gym,” one of them said. “Come on!”
“Go ahead,” Paul encouraged.
But Davey held on to Paul’s hand. “Come in with me?”
“Sure.” Paul followed his son into a big room set up for children to play, with a ball pit, low basketball hoop and easels for painting. At first glance, the place seemed chaotic, packed with kids and teens. But Paul soon figured out that the teenagers were helping the little ones under the supervision of Trey, the cop he’d met on his first awful night here in town, and his wife, Erica.
Had they really been here almost three weeks already? The time had flown by.
Davey clung to Paul’s leg, obviously intimidated by all the noise and action, so Paul knelt down beside him. “Want to just watch for a while?”
Davey nodded and leaned into Paul, and a sudden wave of love for his son made his chest hurt. Whatever happened here in town, whatever happened with his career, wherever he ended up, Davey was the center that governed it all. For the hundredth time he vowed to himself to protect his son at all costs, help him grow up strong and happy.
“C’mon, Davey!” This time, a little boy ran over and stood in front of Davey and Paul. “We’re playin’ cops.” He held out his finger and thumb like a gun.
“Cool!” Davey pulled away from Paul and followed the boy toward a cluster of kids on the far side of the room.
Paul’s gut twisted a little, but that was what kids did: they tried on roles, pretended to have weapons, played fighting games. He didn’t want to make that type of play forbidden fruit, and he couldn’t let his own issues stand in the way of Davey growing up like any other kid.
“Looks like you’ve gotten settled.” Trey had come over and was standing beside him.
Paul stood and shook his hand. “Getting there. Davey likes his pre-K class and I’ve started working on a project for Mary Rhoades.” He hesitated, then added, “Listen, thanks again for what you did for us when we arrived in Pleasant Shores. I’m seeing a counselor and Davey may get some play therapy, too. I’m working on my issues.”
“Good man.” Trey thumped him lightly on the back. “Go relax, mingle. We’ve got Davey until dinner starts.”
Paul didn’t like to leave his son—not only for Davey’s safety, but because Davey could be a buffer against people who wanted to know his business or get too friendly. He knew he needed to loosen the strings, though, so he waved Davey over and told him he’d be next door, and that Davey could stay and play until dinner was ready.
He walked through the Fellowship Hall and into the kitchen. Both places were abuzz with people talking and laughing and working together. Nice. Pleasant Shores was too small to hold anything for him long-term, whether he returned to police work or started a new career, but it seemed like a good place to regroup. On Thanksgiving Day, he needed to remember to give thanks for the opportunity.
“Give me a hand with these tables?” a bald man asked, and Paul realized it was Kirk James, the man who’d tried and failed to give Mary a puppy. Paul found himself setting up a whole row of long tables while listening to the man, who kept up a running commentary on all the women they saw. “There’s Ria. Pretty, but married. Kim Johnson, she’s cute and loves to go out. A little too young for me, but I have her number and I can give it to you. Goody, she runs the ice cream and sandwich shop and I wouldn’t advise messing with her. Have you met Lisa Bates? She just went through a breakup and would really appreciate some attention from a man.”
“I’m, uh, really not interested in dating just now,” Paul said.
Kirk waved a hand. “Heard you lost your wife. Sorry about that. Get back in the saddle, that’s what I always say.” He grinned. “It’s always been my philosophy. All I ask is you stay away from her.” He gestured at Mary, and his expression went moody. “She’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”
Mary was one of the most attractive older women Paul had ever seen: slender, with classic bone structure and flowing silver hair. “Pretty sure she’s out of my league, anyway,” Paul said.
“You’re too young for her. Tell you what, you go for the under fifties, and I’ll go for the overs.” Kirk frowned. “Actually, I’ll go for as low as forty-five. Nobody ever believes I’m sixty-eight.”
“You don’t look it,” Paul said truthfully. “Listen, thanks for the tips. I’m
