Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,7

this point, wasn’t it?

In her family life and in her relationships and responsibilities? To simply stand her ground.

And maybe not get skunk smell on her house shoes.

She reined in the dog and smiled at Sam. “Forget the sandwich, honey. Payt went to get the tomato juice so we can bathe the dog in it.”

Sam’s expression went from worried to bewildered.

“The juice gets the smell out.” She struggled to keep Squirrelly still, which was about as easy as trying to hold a kite motionless on a windy day. “Or at least that’s what Aunt April said when I called her for advice.”

“You’re going to give Squirrelly Girl a bath in tomato juice?”

“We’re going to try.”

“This I want to see!”

Hannah glanced down at the lean, muscular animal and winced. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m counting on you to help.”

“I like to help.” Sam grinned. “In fact, I wish you’d waked me up so we could have all gone to the grocery store together!”

“I almost did, but then…” But then she’d come to her senses.

They’d chosen Loveland and this particular subdivision in the town for the closeness to schools, shopping and church. They could find all of those things within a few blocks of the house. This helped them “create the ambience of community while still enjoying the larger context of the city setting.” At least that’s what the Realtor had told them.

And it had sounded grand at the time. After all, Hannah and Payt had grown up in a small town with its own unique “ambience.” They had returned to that town for Payt to put in his years as an intern and a resident. They liked community.

Up to a point.

Hannah, at least, liked it in theory. And in the way it made her feel safe and not cast adrift in the unknown territory of her new life. And that it made the world a cozier place to raise her children, but…

But they’d moved to Ohio hoping to escape some of the very things close proximity to everyone provided. She hated thinking that the people across the street might call out to her some Monday morning, “Hey, we didn’t see you in church yesterday, is someone sick? Should I bring over a casserole?”

She could do without that, thank you very much. Well, except for the casserole. That she—and those fated to eat her cooking—might actually appreciate.

But the idea of living so totally exposed and available? Hannah shivered. Would it mean that any given evening, as she snuggled up to her hubby on the couch in the few moments of private time they managed to snatch out of the day, a knock could come at the door and the head of the PTA could be standing there with a box of envelopes that needed stuffing? “Hi. No one showed up for my committee this afternoon, but I saw your lights on and knew you wouldn’t mind contributing a little of your time.”

Her shiver transformed into a shudder.

“Honestly, Sam, honey, I didn’t wake you up because I can’t go anywhere around here without running into someone I know.” That meant she always left the house primped, pressed, armed with a repertoire of small talk. And ready with a list of polite and reasonable excuses for not being able to stop and indulge in any talking—small or otherwise. “I never set foot outside this house without looking fresh and fabulous. Even if I just need to run out for a case of tomato juice to de-skunk the dog.”

Hannah lifted the leash, and the dog responded by spinning around and sending the odor wafting out in all directions.

“Ugh.” Sam wrinkled up his nose.

Hannah spun counter to the dog to keep the poor thing from making things worse by adding getting tangled in her own leash to an already-trying morning. In doing that, Hannah caught a glimpse of herself in the sliding-glass door. “Make that a double ugh.”

She yanked first at one, then the other, of short, frayed braids sticking out from either side of her head, trying to even them out a bit. It didn’t help. “Guess you can see why I couldn’t just roust you and Tessa out of bed and go along with Payt, not with me looking like Pippi Longstocking on a bad hair day.”

“Pippi who?”

“Never mind. The important thing is—”

“The important thing is that we’re the best hiders in the whole neighborhood?” Sam beamed up at her.

“Hider?” Her pulse did a quick jig. “Sam, I’m not trying to hide from anyone.” Well, not