Dreaming of Home

He watched his son race down the winding dirt path, arms outstretched as he wove from side to side like a fighter jet honing in on an aircraft carrier.

The kid never asked for much. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Miss Meg over for pirate food. Sometime.

Maybe.

Not tonight.

“Not tonight!” Meg wailed. “Not again!”

It was at her third rapid step into the RV park’s darkened laundry room that the splash registered in her ears and water seeped into her low-cut flats.

She whirled with the overflowing hamper in her arms and slopped back out onto the covered porch. Setting down her laundry, she peered into the dimly lit room once more. Yep. Two inches of water. Again.

And wouldn’t you know it. She hadn’t had any time to do laundry that week, so it was getting to the do-it-now-or-wear-dirty-clothes stage. She was almost out of towels, too.

Zipping her sweatshirt against the encroaching chill, Meg gazed across the heavily treed campground, trying to decide what to do next. “A thinning number of oversized “land whales,” pop-up tents, trailers and campers dotted the landscape, their windows aglow as twilight slipped into darkness. Seasonal guests at this more-than-a-mile-high elevation had diminished considerably after Labor Day and more departed with each passing week as nighttime temperatures dipped into the low forties.

She sighed. Would she be wintering here herself or soon be heading back home to Phoenix? Until a few hours ago when Joe Diaz announced his intention to apply for the teaching job, she’d been certain of God’s leading. But now?

The Log-O-Laundry was not far down the road, but first she needed to make management aware of the water problem. Lugging the hamper along, she made her way to the log-sided office building. The door was locked, and only dim light emitted from the vending machines at the rear of the main room. She knocked, hoping someone might be in a back office or the rec room, but it was apparent Vannie Quintero, the White Mountain Apache teen who worked weekends, had closed for the evening.

While she hated to bother the campground’s owner, someone needed to know about the laundry room crisis. Again hoisting the hamper, she stepped off the porch and headed around the side of the building to a neat, but aging, modular home where Bill Diaz resided. The wooden deck creaked as she ascended the stairs and approached the metal-rimmed screen door. Red-and-black buffalo plaid curtains at the front windows looped aside to reveal a cozy, golden-hued interior. Meg glimpsed the owner reclining in an easy chair, the lantern-based lamp next to him illuminating an open newspaper gripped in his hands.

She knocked, and momentarily the door swung open.

“Grandpa, it’s Miss Meg!” Davy, incongruously dressed in cowboy-themed flannel pajamas and the brigand’s hat from earlier in the afternoon, hopped from one bare foot to the other as he opened the screen door. “She’s come to have pirate food with us.”

The scent of fresh coffee mingling with an acrid odor of burned food caught her attention. “Thank you, Davy, but I’m not here to eat. I need to see your grandpa a minute.”

Meg glimpsed the boy’s father in the adjoining kitchen, his unexpected frown directed right at her. She hadn’t thought to ask Sharon where the two younger Diaz males were staying, but she should have known they’d be at Bill’s. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he nodded a wary response. Great. He probably thought she was stalking him or something.

A newspaper crackled, and in a moment the stocky, mustached Bill Diaz appeared behind his grandson. Placing one hand on the boy’s shoulder, he held open the screen door with the other. Soft light glinted off salt-and-pepper hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hawklike nose. She could now see a resemblance to Joe through the eyes, but suspected his son might take more after his mother.

“Hey, Meg. What can I do for you?”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the laundry room’s flooded again.”

Bill scrubbed at his face with his hand and reached for a ball cap lying on a table near the door. “I thought that was taken care of. Let me take a look at it.”

“Dad.” Joe’s disapproving voice cut in from the adjoining room. “It’s time to eat. Can’t that wait?”

“It can wait if you don’t care if your old man gets sued by a litigation-happy camper.” He turned to Meg with a grin. “Now step on in here, young lady. Get out of the cold while I turn off the water and lock up.”

“Thanks, but I need to get going. Besides, my shoes are sopping wet.”

Bill glanced down at her feet, illuminated in the light spilling from the open door. “Davy, run and get a pair of my socks. Clean ones. And a towel.”

“Dad—” Joe’s voice warned again.

“Can’t have her catching her death of cold right on my doorstep.” Bill cast an obstinate look in his son’s direction as he pried the laundry hamper from Meg’s fingers and set it inside the door. “Come in, come in.”

“No, really, I—”

“We’re having fish sticks,” Davy called as he paddy-footed to do his grandfather’s bidding. “You can have some. I’m only having one.”

“Thank you, but I—”

“Of course you can have some.” Bill reached for her hand and tugged her inside. “Unless you’ve already had dinner?”

She hadn’t eaten yet, but she doubted anything on the bachelor buccaneer menu would match her dietary restrictions. Her gaze collided once more with Joe’s across the room. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Big lunch.”

“Nonsense. You’d blow away in a strong breeze.” Bill handed her the towel and socks Davy had retrieved. Motioning to the kitchen area of the open-planned house, he leaned over with a confiding whisper. “I’ll be right back. Keep Joe company. Make sure he doesn’t burn anything else.”

Joe shook his head and turned back to the stove, but not before she caught a twitch of a smile. Thank goodness. She’d barely towel dried her feet and pulled on Bill’s socks when Davy grasped her hand.

“Dad burned the potatoes.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe that lovely aroma was his aftershave.”

Grinning, Davy pinched his wrinkled-up nose.

Joe glanced over at them. “Wash up, Davy. And ditch the hat, please.”

“But Dad—” The boy rolled his eyes and gave Meg’s hand a squeeze before releasing it to skip from the room, his enthusiasm at the prospect of her company apparent. An enthusiasm his father evidently didn’t share.

After a moment’s hesitation, Meg approached the tiny kitchen. Stuffing her hands into her sweatshirt pockets, she leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner.”

“Hope you’re into packaged seafood.” He motioned with a spatula to the box of frozen fish sticks. “Not exactly fresh from the Pacific.”

“Catch of the day is highly overrated, don’t you think?”

Joe flashed a smile that once again sent Meg’s heart skittering, and it was with more than a little reluctance that she pulled her gaze away to take in her well-worn, rustically furnished surroundings. Black iron woodstove. Heavy oak pieces. Leather upholstery. A Navajo-patterned, throw-sized blanket tossed across the arm of the sofa. Masculine without a doubt, with no evidence of a woman’s touch. She knew Bill was divorced. Quite some time ago, if the house bore true testimony.

Her gaze continued around the room until, with a stab of recognition, she glimpsed teaching certification application forms spread out on the coffee table. With some effort, she turned to Joe. “This is nice. Cozy.”

He nodded as he scattered the fresh batch of cubed potatoes around the frying pan. “It’s home. Or used to be thirteen years ago.”

“Nice,” she repeated, then took a quick breath and lowered her voice. “Look, I want to apologize about this afternoon.”

Joe cocked his head. “And this would be for—?”

“For making that flippant comment about Davy’s mother. About her being relieved that you didn’t want to get the girl. I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Davy looked confused when I said that. I’m usually more careful about making assumptions.” She didn’t mention that the ring on his left hand contributed to the misunderstanding.

“No harm done. He hasn’t mentioned it. I didn’t think twice about it.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the loss of your wife. Sharon Dixon told me.”

He kept his eyes on the stovetop. “Thanks.”

“Has it…been long? I mean, as Davy’s Sunday school assistant it might help if—”

“He doesn’t remember her.” Joe jabbed at the sizzling potatoes. “Not much, anyway. Except for what he’s been told. Photos. Videos. He wasn’t quite three when…you know.”

Meg nodded, not wanting to pry further, and was grateful when she heard the front door open as Bill returned. A gust of fresh, crisp air permeated the room.

“The laundry’s a mess all right. I’ll get someone out here on Monday to take a look at it.” He pulled off his shoes as Davy reentered the room. Together they set the table, and Meg caught the older man in a momentary pause as, lips pursed in concentration, he looked around in search of something. Then with a few quick steps to an overstuffed bookcase, he pushed aside a piece of native pottery and plucked up a vase filled with faded red silk flowers. Dusting them off with a sleeve, he returned to the dining area and plopped the container in the middle of the oak table with a satisfied grunt.

Davy’s eyes approved as he placed folded paper towels under mismatched silverware. “That’s cool, Grandpa.”

Bill patted the boy’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Meg’s. “We have a lady joining us tonight.”

Her heart warmed as he pulled out a chair for her. Within minutes Joe placed hot pads on the table, one for the skillet of browned potatoes and another for a pan of oven-baked fish. A chipped yellow Fiesta dinnerware bowl cradled canned green beans. Another, canned pears. Davy contributed a bottle of ketchup and stepped back to view his handiwork. He looked every bit as satisfied as his grandfather did upon locating the flowers.

No, the meal didn’t fit the dietitian’s recommendations, but one night wouldn’t hurt. Meg shared a smile with the excited boy.

Once seated at the oval table, across from Joe and between Davy and Bill, Meg bowed her head as Joe’s dad offered thanks. Then upon Davy’s hearty “Amen,” the boy leaned forward to address Bill.

“Grandpa, can I have a sleepover at Miss Meg’s?”

What? Stunned, she could only hope she hadn’t gasped aloud.

“Davy.” A coffee mug halfway to his lips, Joe’s appalled tone echoed through the room. He cast an apologetic glance at her.

“I’d say that would be up to her, young man,” Bill interceded on behalf of his grandson. “Did she invite you?”

Davy slumped for a moment in his chair, shaking his head. Then he perked up, turning a beaming smile on her.

“Will you invite me?”

“David William Diaz!” The timbre of Joe’s voice registered displeasure at his son’s chutzpah. “We don’t invite ourselves to other people’s houses.”

“It’s not a house, Dad,” Davy whispered in an aside, as if embarrassed by his father’s misunderstanding of the situation. “It’s an RV.”

“It may not be a house, but it is Miss Meg’s home.”

All eyes turned to her for confirmation.

She wet her lips. Yes, as weird as it might seem to most people, the RV was her home. A retreat where she could be alone with her thoughts. A hideaway to shut out the world. A refuge when life’s realities became too overwhelming.

“A sleepover is—” She took an uncertain breath as she looked from father to grandfather to grandson. “Is…fine with me.”

What was she thinking? This was not a good idea.

Clutching his fork in a fist, Davy leaned in. “Please, Dad?”

“Come on, Joe.” Bill pinned his son with a meaningful look. “You could use a night off. Why not tonight?”

Tonight? Meg took a shaky sip from her water glass. What had she gotten herself into?

“Tonight?” Joe set down his coffee mug. “We’re talking about tonight?”

Meg focused steadily on Davy’s hope-filled eyes, and her insides melted. She hadn’t the heart to disappoint him. “Tonight’s okay with me.”

“All right!” Davy’s fist punched the air.

Staring at her, Joe picked up his fork, laid it down and then picked it up again.

As if reading his son’s mind, Bill spoke up. “I’ve known Meg for months. Love her to pieces. She not only babysits for your cousin Reyna’s kids, but she cleared the background check for school and the church.”

“What’s a background check?” Davy looked to his grandfather, but Meg responded.

“It means I’m a certified good person to be around kids.”

Davy considered that for a moment before turning to his father with a doubtful look. “Are you certified to be around kids, Dad?”

Bill chuckled, and she bit back a smile.

“Not yet. But I will be. Soon.” Joe cut into a fish stick. “And certification has nothing to do with being a mom or dad. It’s only for when you have a job with kids that aren’t your own.”

“Might not be a half-bad idea, though.” Bill sent a wink in Meg’s direction.

“So, can I go, Dad? Please? Because Miss Meg’s certified?”

Joe cleared his throat. “Let’s eat while I think about it.”

Davy wiggled in his seat, then dived into the pirate food with gusto.

Still baffled at her own willingness to host a sleepover for a child she hardly knew, Meg cast a furtive glance in Joe’s direction before turning her attention back to her meal.

Chapter Three

Joe didn’t like it. Not one bit. But with the three of them ganging up on him, what was he to do? It was clear Davy had his heart set on a sleepover. But even though his dad vouched for her, he didn’t want his kid imposing on Meg—or getting attached to her or any woman for that matter. Not right now. They needed more man-to-man bonding opportunities. Needed to make up for lost time.

He and Davy had been together only a few weeks, much of that time at the home of his wife’s parents in San Diego as he attempted to regain his land legs and get reacquainted with his son. They’d been in Canyon Springs but a week, and now the little guy was already making off with the cutest chick in town—and leaving Daddy in the dust without a backward glance.

Okay, so it wasn’t surprising his son would be drawn to her. Maybe he did miss his mom. His grandmother, too, with whom he’d lived the past two years while Joe was halfway around the world. But not long ago Davy’s grandmother contacted him with troubling news that the situation was about to change, and Joe needed to come home.

Immediately.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a fist gripped his heart, determined not to think about that tonight. About his sister-in-law’s scheming intentions to take Davy away from him. Yeah, there was plenty of time to get to know the neighbors later. He and Davy needed uninterrupted father-son time.

Listening to the chatter around the table, it struck him that Meg’s interest in everything Davy had to say seemed genuine. From the Pacific beach he loved to romp on, to the puppy he was convinced he needed, she talked to him like he was a grown-up, not a baby.

But he’d picked up mixed signals on the sleepover deal. When Davy made his bold suggestion, he didn’t miss the sudden stillness that came over her expression or the hand that froze as she reached for her glass. Did she want a little kid she didn’t know bunking with her? Once she recovered from Davy’s rude proposal, though, she seemed to support it. Women. Go figure.

Okay. He could handle this. It was only one night, right? Tomorrow, in private, he’d deal with Davy—and his own interfering dad—about putting people on the spot. He stood to clear the table, taking a deep breath as he prepared to give the sleepover his reluctant blessing.

“You know what I think we ought to do, Davy?” Meg leaned forward, her gentle eyes on his son.

“What?”

“Instead of a sleepover, I think you should come to my place for dessert tonight. Then you and your dad can decide when you can stay overnight another time. Maybe when you can stay longer.”

Joe’s grateful eyes met Meg’s.

“But I want to come tonight.” Davy’s lower lip drooped.

“I know, but it’s already getting late. Probably almost your bedtime, right, Dad?” She glanced up at Joe. “If you stay tonight, all you’ll do is sleep, and we won’t get to play.”

“How about it, bud?” Joe prodded. “I bet Miss Meg makes a mean dessert.”

A frowning Davy pushed back in his chair and focused a challenging glare on his father. Joe braced himself.

Meg leaned forward as if oblivious to the father-son standoff, her tone playful. “Guess what I have, Davy.”

Eyes still clouded with disappointment, the boy turned. “What?”

“I have a blue fish named Skooter.”

“Blue?” Davy’s eyes brightened. “Is it real?”

“Yep.” She glanced down at her watch. “And I bet he’s getting hungry right about now. Should we go feed him?”

Davy turned back to his father, this time with a smile. “She has a blue fish.”

“You can see it if you go get your shoes,” Joe instructed, relieved the issue could be so easily resolved. No arguments. No tears. No tantrums.

On either of their parts.

The boy slid out of his chair, then with a bouncing gait headed to the hallway.

Joe focused again on Meg. “Now you’re sure you’re okay with this? If it’s not convenient—I mean, it is Saturday night. You probably have plans.”

“Hot date?” Bill teased.

Joe frowned.

Meg shook her head. “I was going to do laundry, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay. But I don’t like him inviting himself like that.” Joe cut a look at his father. “Or third parties aiding and abetting.”

Bill pushed back from the table and waved him away. “He’s five years old. If he was eighteen and invited himself to a sleepover at Meg’s, then you could have a serious talk.”

Joe responded with a sneer but couldn’t ignore the gut-punched sensation in his midsection. He didn’t want to think about Davy turning eighteen.

“An RV’s kind of an exciting place to a kid,” Meg pointed out. “Like a tree house or a tent. A dessert night will let him get a taste of adventure.”

He looked down at her. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“She’s sure, Joe, or she wouldn’t have suggested it.”

Davy appeared in the room again, arms laden with a huge stuffed bear.

“Hey, mister, you don’t need to take that thing.”

Davy clutched the plush creature. “He’s not a thing. He’s Bear.”

Joe took a step toward Davy, intending to confiscate the animal, but his son clasped the fuzzy critter tighter and spun away.

“Excuse me.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Whatever.”

Meg rose. “Let me help clean up. That’s the least I can do to thank you for inviting me to join you.”

“Thanks, but we might want to get going. I can tell someone’s getting cranky.”

Meg moved to the door to reclaim her shoes and laundry, but not before Joe glimpsed a quickly suppressed smile. Was she laughing at him? Implying he was the one getting cranky?

“Let’s go, bud.” He grabbed the throw blanket from the sofa, wrapped Davy up and swept boy and Bear into his arms.

Outside, Meg led the way through the moonlit RV park, weaving among the massive-trunked pines casting dense shadows on the threesome. Dried needles and leaves crunched under their feet. Crisp, faintly wood-smoked air assailed Joe’s senses, bringing back long-buried memories of his growing-up years in Canyon Springs. How odd to be here. The last place on earth he ever thought to be again. And certainly not as a single dad.

“This is it.”

Meg stepped under the lighted, striped canvas awning of what he knew to be a Class-C motor home. About a 20-footer from stem to stern, the midsized kind that fit over the top of a small pickup cab. She unlocked and opened the door, then flipped a switch. Welcoming light illuminated the compact interior. Joe set Davy down over the threshold, released him from his woolen cocoon and tossed the Navajo throw over his own shoulder.

The boy looked around. “Where’s Skooter?”

Meg remained outside but leaned in to point. “On top of the counter. Introduce yourself. We’ll feed him in a minute.”

Permission didn’t have to be offered twice. Davy abandoned Bear to scramble up on a built-in, upholstered seat for a closer look at the contents of the round fishbowl.

“Wow. He is blue!”

Meg turned a bright smile on Joe, and a curious tightness wrapped around his chest. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

“Thanks for bailing me out back there. You know, with the f-i-s-h ploy?”

“No problem. I could tell you weren’t comfortable with the sleepover idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to it without your okay, but I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“Believe me, I can sure relate to that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But please don’t take my reluctance personally. It’s just that Davy and I—”

Meg held up a palm. “No need to explain. But if you do ever want to let him come for a sleepover, I’m fine with it. Experienced with nieces and a nephew.”

“Battle-hardened?”

“You could say that.” Her gaze lingered. “I’ll bring Davy home in—what?—an hour?”

Joe took a step back and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “An hour’s good. But I’ll come get him. You don’t need to be out by yourself in the dark.”

“Dad. Look at me.” Davy waved from where he kneeled on the seat, his forearms on the counter by the fishbowl. “Isn’t this RV cool?”

“Like a pirate ship’s cabin.”

“Yeah. A pirate ship.” Smiling, the boy turned again to the colorful aquatic creature as it whipped around the bowl in apparent delight at having company.

Meg lifted the hamper into the RV, then stepped up inside. “Guess we’ll see you in a bit.”

Joe shifted his weight and stretched out an arm to lean against the RV as he looked up at Meg. “I still can’t believe Davy invited himself like that. Diaz men do not go around begging favors from women.”

“Listen to you!” Meg hunched her shoulders, gave a little swagger and lowered her voice to a respectable bass. “Diaz men don’t—”

She broke out laughing.

“Okay, okay.” He hung his head for a brief moment, but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Just make fun of me.”

Laughter lit Meg’s eyes. “I’m committed to never pass up the opportunity.”

No kidding. He hadn’t missed her earlier comments about his aftershave and the burned potatoes. He narrowed his eyes. “I can see this is already getting to be a bad habit.”

Their smiling gazes met for a long moment, and then he sobered. “Thanks for letting Davy visit tonight. But if he gives you any trouble, just—”

“I won’t be trouble, Dad.” Now standing on the upholstered seat, Davy leaned in to creep his forearms closer to the fishbowl.

Joe snapped his fingers and pointed at his son in light reprimand. “Hey, you, no eavesdropping. And don’t stand on Miss Meg’s furniture.”

Davy dropped again to his knees.

Meg remained in the doorway, and Joe searched for another topic of conversation. It seemed she was lingering for a chat and his spirits lifted at the prospect. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to relax into a comfortable conversation with an attractive, single woman. No, he wasn’t looking for an entanglement. But he enjoyed her company, and she didn’t seem opposed to his. What would it hurt?

Meg tilted her head and her eyebrows rose as if in question.

Then it dawned on him that he blocked her from pulling the door shut. He stepped back, and she reached for the handle.

“Be good,” he said loud enough for Davy to hear.

Meg’s eyes twinkled. “We will be. See you soon.”

She pulled the door shut. A lock clicked into place. The exterior light went out.

So much for prolonged conversation. He’d sure misread those signals. Dimwit. Shouldn’t be playing with fire anyway.