Feliz Naughty Dog - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,36

it. Lucas made her dizzy and that was all there was to it.

“Because of them.” He notched his chin in the general direction they’d come from, way back at the food court. “I can tell you have a special relationship with your grannies, so I trust you.”

That made her smile. “I do, but I’m not sure why that would make you trust me.”

“Because you get…that kind of relationship.” He shifted in his seat for a second as if he was uncomfortable for more reasons than half an eighty-pound dog on his lap. “I miss my nanny, and if you laugh, I swear to God, Tor and I will jump off this train.”

His nanny? “I’m not laughing,” she said, looking hard at him. “I’m not even smiling. You have a nanny, or is that what you call your grandmother?”

“No, I mean my actual nanny. Like Mary Poppins, only imagine her older and with a thick Colombian accent. When I was little, Drina was my nanny and our housekeeper. As I got older, we just became…” He shrugged. “Like you and your Gramma Finnie. My parents, even before they split up, were never—and I do mean never—around. I don’t have any siblings, just a few steps I can’t stand. But back when I was little? It was basically me and Drina, all the time in that massive house in the hills.”

“Drina. She has a pretty name.”

“Had.” The word came out thick, and she wasn’t sure she understood. “She died.”

“Oh, Lucas. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his, and for once the contact wasn’t electrifying, but warm and, she hoped, comforting. “What happened?”

“She went to Florida for a vacation with her sister. While she was there, she adopted Tor, because she was nuts like that.” He grinned and pet the dog, whose tail flipped when he heard his name. “Seriously, one of the most fun people I ever knew. Life was one adventure after another, and there was nothing that woman loved as much as helping other people.” He stroked Tor’s head. “And some dogs.”

“Aww.” She watched his expression soften, amazed that this gentle side of him was even more attractive than the fun, good-looking guy she’d been getting to know all day. “What happened?” she asked. “Was she sick?”

“Not at all. She was only back from Florida for a week or so, and she just…” He shook his head. “She had a stroke and died the next day.”

Pru put her hand over her mouth, unable to do anything but imagine that kind of pain, closing her eyes to think of Gramma Finnie’s soft hands and sweet brogue and the way she always smelled like talcum powder. “I’m so terribly sorry for you.”

He swallowed noisily and nodded, clenching his jaw like he was fighting back emotion. “She was seventy-five, but really young at heart. Still cleaned my dad’s house and took care of everything, but I know she wanted to retire. Wouldn’t do it until I went to college, she said, otherwise I’d be alone.”

Pru’s heart practically shattered. “Lucas, I’m sorry for you.”

“The day after Drina’s funeral, my dad said he was taking Tor to a shelter. I think he knew what I’d do when he said that.”

“Run away,” she guessed.

“I didn’t run away,” he said. “That implies leaving someone who cares.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, wishing she could erase the bitter tone.

“But Drina’s sister was there for the funeral, Ivette Hernandez. She invited me to come to Bitter Bark and to bring Tor.” He shrugged. “So I did.”

“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s…”

He turned his hand to thread his fingers through hers and give her a warm look. “I knew I could trust you. I know the ‘my nanny died’ story isn’t quite the same caliber as the rumors that have been flying since I got to Bitter Bark High.”

She laughed. “You do have a bad-boy look about you.”

A smile pulled at his lips. “And you have a good-girl vibe.”

The train stopped again, and Tor pushed up, shook off, and raised his front paws to the bench, sticking his head between them to watch the kids get off and the next set arrive, kind of blocking their view of each other, but they still held hands.

Suddenly, Tor barked and leaned forward, sniffing and letting out a soft whine.

They turned to see what had his attention, peering through the mix of kids and parents getting on board.

Tor barked again, pushing higher, trying to climb into the next car of the train.

“No, boy. No.”