The Moment Of Truth

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” he asked, wiping her chin and slowly running one finger down Michelle’s linen-clad knee.

Her therapist had already been there that day, and would be in again before bedtime, to massage every muscle in her body and move her limbs, to keep her as toned as they could for as long as they could.

Because he’d deemed it so. He wanted her to be as comfortable as she could be.

And the irony was not lost on him. If he’d paid even a hundredth of the attention to Michelle then that he did now, none of this would have happened. It was an inarguable fact—and the reason Josh took full blame for the probable attempted suicide that had left Michelle in her current state.

What kind of fool left his deliriously drunk fiancée alone to sleep it off while he went back to party some more? True, he hadn’t known that Michelle had consumed enough liquor to make alcohol poisoning a risk. He hadn’t even paid enough attention to know she had a low tolerance for alcohol. He knew she drank with the rest of them; he hadn’t bothered to notice how much. Or, in her case, how little. As her future husband, he should have noticed. And if he’d stayed with her that night, tended to her, paid even a little bit of attention to the symptoms of alcohol poisoning that she’d already been exhibiting, he could probably have saved her.

“Remember that New Year’s party we went to at the Montford mansion the year I turned twenty-one?”

He’d been there with a blonde whose name he couldn’t remember—someone he’d brought home from Harvard to show his father he was his own man. Another woman he’d treated kindly but had callously used for his own end. Michelle had had a date, too—a pompous ass a few years older than them who’d looked down his nose at all the alumni from their elite high school. Forty-eight of the fifty kids he’d graduated with had been there. And many from Michelle’s class, two years behind his, had attended, as well.

“A bunch of us got drunk and my date threw up on the porch steps,” Josh continued, sparing himself nothing—telling her something she already knew. “Thank goodness it was the back porch steps and Bart liked us enough to get it cleaned up before anyone found out.”

Bart—his maternal grandfather’s live-in help. A man who’d run the Montford city estate since before Josh had been born.

Josh had escaped besmirching the Montford name that time. But he hadn’t learned his lesson.

Michelle’s head tipped forward, and with his fingers around her chin as he’d been shown, Josh righted her. And rubbed her cheek.

On some level, he told himself, she had to know that he was there. That she was surrounded by tenderness. By anything and everything money could provide.

She had to know that the only thing she’d wanted—his attention—was hers.

“One day when Sam Montford was away from the mansion on business, his wife and baby went out and found a lynch mob waiting for them on the front steps outside their home,” he said, looking out in the distance, to the harbor seventeen stories down and about a mile over from them. Unlike his shame of ten years ago, that long-ago event had taken place on the front porch—not the back.

“The mob killed them both,” he said evenly, hardly feeling anything at all. Just like Michelle. They were alike in that way. Dead to any kind of real living. “Hard to picture Boston’s elite in any kind of a mob, isn’t it?” he said. “But things were more primitive then. People took matters into their own hands. And didn’t stand calmly by when others tried to change the rules by which they lived.”

Michelle’s gaze was turned on him and his breath caught in his throat. Until he remembered that he’d repositioned her head.

“But to kill a woman and an innocent baby...”

If only Michelle would recover, even a little bit, if he could talk to her, find out what she’d been thinking the night she’d nearly drunk herself to death, to know for sure that he’d been the reason she’d consumed such a dangerous level of alcohol the night of their prewedding party.

He hadn’t loved her. Her heart was breaking.

And he’d been too self-absorbed to notice that anything was wrong.

Alcohol poisoning, loss of oxygen and a careless fiancé had all contributed to Michelle’s predicament. He’d been the only one who could have saved her.

“When his wife and baby were killed, Sam Montford left town,” he blurted. “He took up residence with an Indian tribe out west. And later, after marrying the daughter of a missionary he met on the reservation, he founded a little town in the middle of the Arizona desert.”

It had just been in the past couple of years that his mother had developed an interest in genealogy, helped along by the readily available resources on the internet. That research infused her with the need to get to know her distant relatives—relatives she’d heard about but never met. Being able to look them up, learn details of their lives, made them seem real to her, although she hadn’t contacted any of them yet. The two branches of the family had not been in touch since old Sam Montford left Boston. After his sojourn with the Indians, he’d founded Shelter Valley. But he’d never reconnected with the Boston part of his family.

While researching her family tree, Josh’s mom had discovered the names of cousins several times removed, as well as birth dates, marriages and deaths. The need to meet them intensified.

And because Josh had agreed to make his home there, she’d finally given her blessing to his plan to move away—at least for a while—rather than travel for an extended period until the news of Michelle’s tragedy and his subsequent broken engagement died down a bit. “It’s a town that welcomes losers,” he added.

Not quite what his mother had said. She had framed it as a town that would welcome him.

Because she thought he was going to arrive in town a Montford. Or even a Redmond. She thought he’d been in touch with the newfound—and long-estranged—branch of her family. He’d never told her so. It was just what she’d have done—and expected him to do.

He wasn’t moving to Shelter Valley as a Montford.

He was going as Josh. To accept the junior-level position his Harvard business degree had qualified him to have in the university’s business operations office.

“That’s where I’m going, sweetie,” he said. “Out to Shelter Valley, Arizona.”

He wiped away more saliva. And could hardly remember what it had felt like to kiss her lips. Wished they stood out from all of the other lips he’d kissed.

Or even that he could remember the last time he’d kissed her.

“We didn’t get to the altar, to exchange our vows.” He bowed his head. “But I’m promising something to you now. I will change my ways, become more aware of those around me and do what I can to make this world a better place.”

He wasn’t actually sure if Michelle was into the whole bettering the world thing as much as the Montfords were. They’d never really gotten around to talking about it. Still, she’d been involved in charity work. He wasn’t sure how much. But during their two-year engagement, he’d accompanied her to several black-tie affairs for different causes.

He’d written generous checks.

And spent most of the evenings making business contacts. Or doing other things like planning the mountain-climbing expedition he and several of his friends had taken over Christmas the previous year.

“I’ve got a few thousand dollars with me to get started,” he told her. “I sold the Mercedes. And the 4x4. I bought a used SUV with a hitch and loaded a trailer with stuff, and that’s all I’m taking. The rest of the stuff I sold with the condo, and that money went into your trust, too. My monthly stipend will also go into the trust. It’s there for as long as you need it.

“My mother’s agreed, for the time being, not to get involved,” he said, thinking of the days ahead. “I told her I’d handle the first contact with the Arizona Montfords on my own—or I wouldn’t go. If she interferes with my life while I’m there, I’ll just move on. The point is for me to get away from here. It doesn’t matter where. She’s the one who wants me in Shelter Valley, and this is the only way I’ll do it.” There wasn’t going to be any big family reunion in the near future.

What his mother didn’t know was that his “visit” with the Montfords was going to be short and sweet. He wasn’t one of them.

He was starting a new life. Not going on vacation. He was going to live like a regular guy. One who had to work and sweat and save. One who was humbled enough to pay attention to the people around him. He couldn’t do that if his old life followed him. Making things easy for him.

“Sweetie? Michelle? Is there anything I can do, or say, anything that...”

His voice broke. Looking down, Josh breathed and waited for the emotion to pass. It always did. One of the many things he’d learned over the past couple of months.

He hadn’t meant anyone any harm. Hadn’t meant to ignore the needs of those around him. He just hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Redmond, I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll come back later....”

Sara, one of the three full-time caregivers he employed to see that Michelle had everything she could possibly need, stepped back through the archway leading to Michelle’s bedroom.

“No, it’s okay, Sara,” he said, standing. “You can come in. I was just leaving.”

“I hear you’re leaving town, that you won’t be coming by here anymore,” the middle-aged widow said. He knew Sara best. She lived in the suite with Michelle.

“That’s right.” She could castigate him for his callousness. All Michelle had left was his visits. Her parents couldn’t bear to come. Couldn’t bear to see her this way.

And her sisters, all their friends...they considered Michelle dead and buried.

But Michelle didn’t need him there as much as the rest of them, her family included, needed him gone.

“It’s about time,” Sara said, smiling at him with a warmth he wasn’t used to seeing. People in his world banked their emotions, their expressions, showing the world a blankness that preserved their ability to walk in and out of rooms, do the business they’d come to do, without drama.

Or shame.

Without anyone getting one up on them—or being able to manipulate them.

Their walls protected their reputations.

And they protected the money.

The gray-haired woman moved quietly to Michelle’s side, running her fingers tenderly through the young woman’s hair. “We’ll be just fine without you,” she said. “Missy here has no idea you’re killing yourself over something you didn’t do. She ordered those drinks and she drank them. You wasn’t even in the same room as her. And she gets no benefit from these visits. But you...you’ve got a whole life to live. Things to do and people to help. It’s time for you to let go.”

Let go?

Michelle had taken that last irrevocable step—she’d drunk herself into a stupor, but she’d done so because of his negligence.

And she’d been without oxygen for so long because he’d left her alone in a nearly comatose state. If he’d been committed enough, devoted enough, even aware enough to stay with her, they’d be on their honeymoon now.

Let go? Never.

No matter what Sara said, Michelle had lost her life because of him. It was a fact that couldn’t be denied. Or changed. And her family had made that plain to him.

His friends, too, had blamed him, even as they commiserated with him. He’d have to live with the aftermath of guilt, and the whispers that condemned him for having left her alone that night.

But Sara was right about one thing. He had to get out into the world. To live among those he’d spent his entire life ignoring.

To find something human in the selfish bastard he’d become.

CHAPTER THREE

DANA AND LORI fed the dog.

“We should name him,” Lori said as they watched him gulp down a bowl of instant rice with canned chicken mixed in.

“Uh-uh.” Dana shook her head. “You name him, you take on ownership—and he’s not ours.”

She couldn’t keep him. He wasn’t house-trained, as they’d already discovered. And as he grew he was going to need more space than her little duplex would give him.

They bathed him. And fed him again.

Or attempted to. As soon as Dana put down the second bowl of chicken she’d boiled for the puppy, Kitty Kari darted out from behind the refrigerator and over to the bowl.

“You have a kitten! How cute.” Lori grinned, watching the tiny calico put her front paws on the bowl and dip her head inside until she reached her goal.

The puppy, easily five times her size, cowered back and watched as the kitten ate his food. And Dana felt a kinship with him.

“Kari, that’s not yours,” she said, reaching over and plucking the cat out of the bowl. “Little Guy’s a lot hungrier than you are,” she explained.

“Did you bring her with you from Indiana?” Lori asked, reaching over to pet the kitten.

Shaking her head, Dana watched the puppy, hoping he’d head back to the bowl on his own. It was best if siblings could find a way to coexist.

Not that he was, or would be, a member of their family. Still, while he was in their home...

“She was left on the side of the road in Missouri. I’d stopped for the night on my trip out here and saw the box on the entrance ramp to the freeway. There were three kittens inside, but only Kari survived.” Holding the cat up to her face she said, “And you’re doing just fine, aren’t you, girl? Healthy and sassy as can be.”

Kneeling, Lori coaxed the puppy slowly to the bowl and told Dana that she’d never had a pet, which led to a conversation about the younger woman’s life in Bisbee living alone with her miner father after her mother died.

Dana had no idea who her real father was. But she didn’t offer up that information.

Over a glass of iced tea, while they sat on her back patio waiting for the little guy to do his business, Dana offered the younger woman her spare bedroom for the night. And any night that her roommate had her boyfriend over. Marissa couldn’t get away with sneaking a boy into an all-girls’ dorm too often. And Dana understood Lori’s predicament. Sometimes you had to choose to look the other way for the greater good.

* * *

TWO DAYS AND TWELVE HOURS later, on Friday morning, Dana was almost late for her freshman English class because she’d had to clean up two puppy messes left by Little Guy in the fifteen minutes between taking him outside first thing in the morning and getting out of the shower. Lori, who’d caught a ride with her back to campus in time for their English class on Wednesday hadn’t been over since, but had offered to babysit the dog over the weekend.

Dana was hoping she wouldn’t need her. After class on Friday, she headed straight home to the bathroom where she’d been locking up the puppy while she was away, groaned at the toilet-paper-strewn floor, scooped up the unrepentant offender, and the jarred sample she’d collected from the backyard that morning. Leaving the mess, she headed back out the door.

Cassie Tate Montford, owner of the Shelter Valley animal clinic, was waiting for them and she didn’t want to be late.

Zack Foster, the only other veterinarian on Cassie’s staff, had taken care of the kittens for her when she’d arrived in town, and she’d called him first thing Wednesday morning only to find that he was out of town. The clinic’s receptionist had assured Dana that Dr. Tate would handle their situation.

Driving with Little Guy wasn’t easy. Luckily, she didn’t have far to go and arrived at the clinic five minutes ahead of her one-thirty appointment. And five minutes after that, Dr. Tate entered the examination room.

The middle-aged redhead wore her long hair piled into a twist. With her white coat and efficient air, she was a bit intimidating, until her brown eyes landed on the creature in Dana’s arms.

“Hello, friend, what can you tell us about yourself?”

The gentleness with which the older woman handled the stray, the way she treated him like a person, instead of a lesser being, endeared her to Dana.

“He looks to be in perfect health,” the doctor said after a thorough examination. “I’m guessing he’s somewhere between four and six months old. Temp is normal, heart sounds good. Gums are healthy. Teeth, too. No fleas or skin infestations, no signs of internal parasites or worms in the sample you brought in. His eyes and ears are clear. His coat’s healthy. He’s certainly got a good disposition.”

Dana could vouch for that. Standing at the table, opposite the doctor, Dana asked, “What breed do you think he is?”

“He’s got some Lab in him. And, I think, poodle.” Dr. Tate smiled. “Do you have any interest in keeping him?”

“I can hang on to him for a little while. But I live in a duplex. And he’s going to get big, isn’t he?” Please tell me I’m wrong, that his big paws are just a fluke.

“I’d guess at least fifty pounds. Maybe more.”

“He’s got a rabies tag,” Dana pointed out.

“I know,” Cassie Tate Montford said. “We’re checking on that now, but since no one’s called looking for him, my guess is he’s been abandoned.”

He was too sweet to have been abandoned. Someone loved him. Was worried about him. Probably putting up lost-dog signs all over the neighborhood. She hadn’t seen any, when she’d driven around town looking for them after class on Thursday. But she probably just hadn’t landed on the right neighborhood. “I have a kitty...”

“Right. Kari. I read Zack’s notes on her. And a hamster, too, I saw.”

“Some kids in my freshman biology class were talking about having gotten him for their dorm and then found out they couldn’t keep him.”

“Freshman biology?” the doctor asked. Petting the dog, she said, “If you’re in school full-time, and working, it might be hard to take care of a new puppy.”

“I don’t work,” she blurted. “I’m here on a full scholarship, including living expenses. And I’ve been working in my family’s furniture business back home for the past six years. I’ve got savings....”

When she realized she was babbling, she shut up.

Curiosity flashed across the doctor’s expression. “You’re scholarship includes living expenses?” The veterinarian sounded surprised by that fact.

“Yes.” So? Little Guy was getting restless, and Dana lightly scratched his chest in between his two front paws. It was his favorite spot—as she’d discovered during the middle of the night when she couldn’t get him to stop whining in the bathroom and go to sleep. He’d done just fine in her bed.

“Did you apply for the scholarship?”

“No.” She frowned. “Why?”

“It’s just that...I know someone else...the fiancé of a friend of a friend.” Cassie Tate Montford chuckled. “He’s also here this semester on a scholarship with full living expenses included, and those kinds of scholarships are few and far between. He didn’t apply for his, either, and he has no idea where the scholarship came from. He’s convinced his grandmother set it up, but if you got one, too, that’s probably not likely. Unless you know him. Mark Heber?”

“I’ve never heard of him. Is he from Indiana?”

“No. It’s probably just some kind of national program set up by a private benefactor. Private meaning whoever donates the money wants to remain anonymous. I’ve just...no one here has ever heard of this before and now we have multiple recipients in one semester.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. Dana didn’t really care how the scholarship had come to be—only that it was. “I’m pretty sure my mother applied for it on my behalf,” she offered because of the tenderness the older woman was showing to Little Guy. “Anyway, I’m fine, financially, as long as I watch my spending. I can certainly afford dog food and vet bills until we find a home for him.”

“We have a pet placement program here at the clinic. If you were to keep him, it probably won’t be long before—”

“I, actually...wanted to talk to you about that,” Dana said. Zack had mentioned the pet placement program when she’d brought the kittens in to be seen. And again after she’d joined his and his wife’s pet-therapy program at school. “Dr. Foster mentioned that you needed someone to temporarily house unwanted pets. Also people who’d be willing to travel to new adoptive homes to make sure the new owners weren’t overwhelmed and to check on the general well-being of the pet.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s right. We’re looking for another pet placement counselor. But the job is volunteer only. I’m assuming Zack explained that there aren’t any funds to pay you. Are you interested?”

“Yes,” Dana said without hesitation.

“Great, since Zack already offered you the position, I don’t need any other reference. I’ll have our receptionist, Hope, sign you up.” Dr. Tate grinned and added, “We have a pet-therapy program, too. It’s part of a club through the university. Zack and his wife head it up. I’m guessing he mentioned it to you?”

“He did,” Dana said. “I’m already a member.”

The doctor nodded. “In the meantime, let’s wait until we hear back about the rabies tag and go from there. If you’d like to see Hope about the counselor position while you’re waiting, we’ll be all set.”

Dana was settled in a chair in the waiting room, a packet filled with pet counselor information on her lap. She was watching a rerun of a dog whisperer show on the flat-screen television on the wall, when the door to the clinic opened.

Little Guy jumped down from her lap and darted the full extent of his leash to jump up on the man who was taking off his sunglasses as he walked toward the reception desk. Dana yanked on the puppy’s leash just as the stranger stepped back, right onto Little Guy’s foot. The puppy squealed and peed on what looked to be a very expensive leather shoe.

Before she had time to react, the inner door opened and Dr. Tate Montford emerged.

“Ms. Harris? We just heard... Oh!” The doctor noticed the stranger. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the bell and Hope’s out back. Can we help you?”

By the time her eyes dropped to the man’s shoe, Dana had grabbed a wad of paper towel from the dispenser on the wall and, with the little guy’s leash tightly held in one hand, was cleaning up the man’s expensive leather with the other.

“I can take care of that,” the man said, his voice friendly as he bent down to her level.

She held on to the towel. “I should have watched him better. I’m so sorry.” Dana looked up from the shoe and into the most soulful pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen, just inches from her own.

“It’s fine,” the man said, the warmth of his fingers transferring to hers as he took the towel from her and finished cleaning the toe of his shoe. “It’s just a pair of shoes. I have more.”

Staring, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she stood up. And hoped someone would do something to break the awkward moment.

“I’m Josh Redmond,” the stranger said to Dr. Tate, upright again. “I’m new to town, working at the university, and was hoping to have a word with you, when you’re free.”

“I’ve got half an hour for a late lunch, if you can wait for about five minutes,” the doctor said easily enough.

Stupidly, Dana experienced a pang of envy. The man was gorgeous, but she didn’t give much credence to looks. It was his eyes that got to her. They had a depth to them, as if they were searching. As if he’d lost something.

She was a sucker for strays.

Kitty Kari and Billy the hamster were it for her. Their small duplex had reached its capacity.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor turned to Dana as Josh Redmond took a seat. “I was just coming out to tell you that we traced the tag to an address out on the reservation. Sheriff Richards knew the place. It’s been boarded up for about a week. The family left no forwarding address.”

So Little Guy had been abandoned.

“You want to keep him until we find a home?” Dr. Tate asked Dana. “I’d take him myself but our collie is getting up there in years and her health is failing. I’m afraid of what an energetic puppy would do to her at this point.”