stopped, I reached for the handle.
“Reggie should stay here,” Owen said.
“He doesn’t play well with others?”
“His idea of play is work and vice versa.”
“What does that mean?”
“He lives to play with his ball after he finds deadly explosives. Got a grenade you could hide for him?”
Reggie stared out the window, panting. Play. Run. Chase.
“He wants to play,” I said.
“He tell you that?”
Instead of answering, I opened the door. Reggie vaulted out of the truck and chased Moose into the high grass. I listened for growling, yelping, or snarling. When none came I cast Owen a glance, but kept the “told you so” to myself. I had bigger fish to fry.
Both of whom stood on the porch, having been alerted to our arrival by the security system known as Moose.
“Should I stay in the truck?” Owen asked.
“No need.”
I certainly wasn’t going to bring up witchcraft, time travel, spells, and the like to my parents. All I wanted was the truth about my past, and I didn’t mind Owen hearing it too.
We crossed the yard. My mother hurried down the steps and threw her arms around him as if he were a long-lost child who had at last come home. He kind of was.
“Owen,” she said, the same way she always had.
In contrast, my father’s scowl seemed completely out of place. Though Owen’s arms had gone around my mom and held her close, his gaze had gone to my dad. He wasn’t smiling either.
“What’s up with you two?” I’d asked before, but neither one of them had answered. I was pretty sick of it.
“You tell me,” my father said, eyes still on Owen, who’d released my mom, though she’d taken his hand as though afraid he’d disappear if she didn’t hold on to him tight. I understood the feeling. “He broke your heart. Now he’s back and that’s just fine and dandy?”
I certainly didn’t want to discuss how broken my heart had been, how long it had taken me to get over Owen—the truth being that I never had—in front of my parents.
In front of anyone, ever, not even him.
“I’m not here to talk about Owen.”
“Then feel free to run along,” my father said to him.
“No.” I took the hand my mom wasn’t clinging to and clung a bit myself. “He stays.”
“You afraid he’s going to disappear if you don’t keep an eye on him?”
“A little.”
“He’s going back wherever he’s been, Becca. You shouldn’t get too attached.”
I’d started for the house, but his words made me stop. “How do you know that?”
My father’s mouth tightened, as if he didn’t want more damning words to flow free.
I glanced at Owen. “How did he know that?”
“We ran into each other.”
“You’ve been here a day.”
“He stopped by the cottages this morning.”
My gaze narrowed. “You said you had to mend fences. That was a euphemism for talking to Owen?” Didn’t appear like they’d mended much. More like they’d broken things even more.
“Dale?” My mother released Owen’s hand. “What did you do?”
He took a step back; his face flushed, and I knew.
“You told him to leave,” I said. “Not just today but ten years ago.”
It wasn’t a question, so neither one of them answered.
“Mom, did you know about this?”
“No.” She stared at my dad. I knew that expression. He was in so much trouble.
“Why?” I asked.
“You were my little girl,” my father said.
“Was I?”
His gaze flicked to my mother’s. Owen’s fingers tightened around mine, and I knew that truth too.
I wasn’t.
* * *
Though Dale cast Owen a withering “go away” glare, Owen followed everyone into the house. He might be leaving eventually, but he wasn’t going to leave now. He owed Becca that.
Besides, she was holding on to his hand as if she really needed it. He couldn’t take it back and walk away.
As he climbed the porch steps, Becca pointed at his leg. “You aren’t limping.”
He rubbed at the ache. Still there, but a lot better than when he’d arrived. Had that only been yesterday?
“It’s a good day,” he said.
The doctor had told him some would be better than others. Until today, none of them had been. He’d enjoy the reprieve while it lasted. Tomorrow would be worse. Had to be. It wasn’t as if he could heal overnight, even though it felt like he had.
Come to think of it, Reggie had run off with Moose like a puppy, when the dog had been gimping just last night. Owen never would have thought a Wisconsin autumn was conducive to healing. Usually the cool, damp air made