A Ready-Made Family. Carrie Alexander
path blocked by Jake.
He kept his eyes on Howie. “Now you can stand. Do it slowly. That’s right. The skunk’s okay, just going for a stroll. He’s not even looking at you.”
Lia stooped to see past the obscuring evergreens. Jake was right. The animal was ignoring Howie because it was waddling toward Jake. She held her breath.
Jake didn’t move. His voice remained calm. “Keep going, Howie. Walk past me toward your mom. You’ll be fine.”
Jake waited until Howie had crept by, then rose slowly off his heels, keeping himself between the boy and the skunk. His boots scuffed the ground as he edged backward, widening the distance.
Lia caught Howie’s eye. She gave him an encouraging smile. He grinned sheepishly, hitching his thumbs in his belt loops and swaggering just a little, as if he’d never been frightened in the first place.
Kristen pushed against Lia’s leg. “Can I pet the skunk?” she whispered.
“That’s not a good idea with an untamed animal.” Lia reached down and swung Kristen up in her arms in case the girl got it into her head to run toward the small striped creature.
“But it’s pretty.”
“We’re in the wild, honey. It’s not like a petting zoo.” Lia turned back in the direction of the car, keeping her eye on Howie to be sure he was following. But he’d stopped, too busy looking up at Jake with awe to worry about escaping from the skunk.
Which was when disaster struck.
“Hey, guys!” Sam’s shout was impatient. The sudden blare of the car horn shattered the silence as she punched it over and over again.
“Sam!” Lia shrieked. “Stop it!”
Too late.
The skunk’s tail had shot straight up. Jake let out a shout and sprang backward, his arms pinwheeling as an overwhelmingly putrid, eye-watering stench coated the air.
CHAPTER TWO
JAKE PLUNGED INTO THE cold water of the river, a bar of soap in hand. His eyes and nose stung with the acrid stench that rose off his body. He dived for relief, surfacing quickly as he remembered that he wasn’t alone.
The boy stood shivering at the shore, stripped to shorts and T-shirt. He’d hadn’t received the full brunt of spray like Jake, but had insisted that he needed to bathe in the river, too, once he’d seen that was what Jake intended. The kid’s mother had been hesitant, staring up at Jake with big, blue, scaredy-cat eyes. And sure enough, he could see her through the trees at the top of the hill, wringing her hands as she watched over them.
“Jump in,” Jake said.
Howie waded deeper. “How come it’s so cold?”
“It’s a fast, deep river. It’s always cold, even in July.” Jake began scrubbing with the soap. Little good that would do except maybe take the edge off. The skunk smell was so strong he could taste it.
The boy’s eyes were watering. He squeezed his shoulders into his neck and took another wobbly step deeper into the swirling water.
His timidity made Jake impatient. “C’mon. Get dunked.” He thought of his father, Black Jack, roaring with laughter as he tossed a five-year-old Jake and his even younger brother into the deep water although they could barely dog-paddle at the time. Your mother doesn’t want you drowning, he’d said. Be men, not pansies. Swim!
Jake had swum. He couldn’t remember if he’d been scared like Howie, but he supposed that was possible.
“Stop thinking about it. Jump.”
The boy sucked in a breath and surged forward, sputtering and flailing as the current swept him toward Jake. He paddled strenuously, holding his head high out of the water like a nervous dog. Up on the hill, the woman started down, then stopped as Jake reached out and plucked her son from the water, setting him upright near a heap of rocks that protruded into the river.
“Good man.” Jake passed the bar. “Soap up.”
Without his glasses, Howie looked owlishly at bare-chested Jake, then stripped off his own shirt, exposing a skinny white torso. He rubbed himself into a froth and they plunged into the deep water again to rinse themselves clean. The scent of skunk was not so easily defeated.
Jake urged Howie out of the water. He collected their discarded clothing into one reeking armful.
The boy fumbled for the glasses he’d tucked in his shoe. He put them on and studied Jake’s tattoos with fascination. After a minute, the corners of his mouth jerked into a tight little smile. “Hey, Jake. You still stink.”
“So do you.” Jake squeezed water from his boxer shorts, then chafed his arms and legs. “And you look like a drowned cat.”
“My mom’s gonna be mad.”
Jake didn’t think so. She seemed more like the fussbudget type. “Not your fault the skunk found you.”
“I was exploring in the forest.”
“So you’re saying that it was you who found the skunk?”
“Sort of. I think it followed me.” The shivering boy looked up with a worried face. “I’m sorry you got sprayed.”
Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “Not the first time. No big deal.”
“But you really stink. Worse’n me.”
“It’ll wear off.” Jake shoved his feet into his boots and started up the slope to the house. “C’mon. Your mom will have dry clothes for you.”
She did. Towels, too, unfamiliar to Jake. “Yours?” he said, taking the one she offered—a faded beach towel printed with some kind of cartoon character.
“I had them in the car.” She was vigorously rubbing down her son, and the poor kid stood there and took it, jiggling like a bobblehead doll.
“Uh, thanks, but I’m liable to ruin it.” Jake tried to hand back the towel. “According to Howie, I still stink.”
“Yeah, you do.” She screwed up her face. “But go ahead and use the towel anyway. It’s an old one.” Her glance bounced off him. “And you look pretty cold.”
Jake had dropped the pile of ruined clothes. He stood before her in nothing but unlaced boots, soaked cotton shorts, tattoos and dog tags. He was probably showing a little too much of the raw package down below. While he had no modesty left after decades as an Army Ranger, she obviously wasn’t as easygoing.
He dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his hips. He watched her help Howie step into a pair of jeans and asked, “What was your name again?” even though he remembered she was Leah…something.
She looked up from a kneel. “Lia Po—Howard. Lia Howard.”
“Huh.” He looked at the boy. “So you’re Howie Howard?”
Howie opened his mouth. Lia thrust a polo shirt down over his head. “Howie’s a nickname.”
Her daughters came around the corner of the house, holding hands. They stared at Jake.
He eyed them. The little girl was a cutie. The teenager clearly had an attitude, considering the way she thrust her chin and glowered at him, the sun glinting off the silver stud pierced beneath her lower lip.
She made a choking sound and pressed the back of her hand to her nose. Black polish was chipping off her nails. Around one thin wrist was a wide leather band, heavy chain link on the other. “That smell. I can’t stand it.”
Lia frowned. “Sam, don’t be rude.”
“But, Mom, he reeks.” The girl gagged, then gagged again with her hand pressed over her mouth. “Gross. It’s making me sick.” She turned and ran off. They