Serenity Harbor Page 2

  “How about Milo?”

  Big blue eyes widened with shock. “No,” he said, though his tone gave the word the opposite meaning.

  “Milo. Hi there. I like your name. I’ve never met anybody named Milo. Do you know anybody else named Kat?”

  He shook his head.

  “Neither do I,” she admitted “But I have a cat. Her name is Marshmallow, because she’s all white. Do you like marshmallows? The kind you eat, I mean.”

  He nodded and she smiled. “I do, too. Especially in hot cocoa.”

  He pantomimed petting a cat and pointed at her.

  “You’d like to pet her? She would like that. She lives with my mom now and loves to have anyone pay attention to her. Do you have a cat or a dog, Milo?”

  The boy’s forehead furrowed, and he shook his head, glaring up at the man beside him, who looked stonily down at both of them.

  Apparently that was a touchy subject.

  Did the boy talk? She had heard him say only “no” so far. It wasn’t uncommon for children on the autism spectrum and with other developmental delays to have much better receptive language skills than expressive skills, and he obviously understood and could get his response across fairly well without words.

  “I see lots of delicious things in your cart—including cherries. Those are my favorite. Yum. I must have missed those. Where did you find them?”

  He pointed to another area of the produce section, where a gorgeous display of cherries gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

  She pretended she didn’t see them. Though the boy’s tantrum had been averted for now, she didn’t think it would hurt anything if she distracted him a little longer. “Do you think you could show me?”

  It was a technique she frequently employed with her students who might be struggling, whether that was socially, emotionally or academically. She found that if she enlisted their help—either to assist her or to help out another student—they could often be distracted enough that they forgot whatever had upset them.

  Milo craned his neck to look up at Bowie for permission. The man looked down at both of them, a baffled look on his features, but after a moment he shrugged and reached a hand down to help her off the floor.

  She didn’t need assistance, but it would probably seem rude to ignore him. She placed her hand in his and found it warm and solid and much more calloused than a computer nerd should have. She tried not to pay attention to the little shock of electricity between them or the tug at her nerves.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, looking quickly away as she followed the boy, who, she was happy to notice, seemed to have completely forgotten his frustration.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHAT WAS GOING on here?

  Bowie followed the gorgeous woman with the sleek fall of honey-blond hair, listening to the steady stream of one-sided conversation she seemed to be having with his heretofore nonverbal little brother.

  He felt as if he had just slid down a rabbit’s hole, into a bizarro world where it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary for a woman to take a strange kid under her wing in the grocery store and where a pretty smile could divert an out-of-control boy from a full-blown meltdown.

  He didn’t know what to think. Who was she? And how had she managed to reach his brother so quickly and so efficiently?

  He certainly hadn’t been able to pull it off in the three weeks since Milo had been dumped in his lap—the brother he never knew existed, from the mother he hadn’t seen or heard from in nearly two decades.

  He was no closer to knowing how to avert the frequent meltdowns than he’d been the day he got that phone call from Oregon Social Services and flew immediately to Portland—despite extensive research and training on behavior modification.

  Rabbit hole. That accurately described where he’d been the last three weeks, falling down one blind chute after another.

  A month ago, he thought he had his world pretty figured out. He had a fantastic job he loved that offered the sort of challenges he craved. Maybe he hadn’t been completely thrilled about leaving the excitement and dynamic energy of Silicon Valley at first, but after his first few months in town, Haven Point had been growing on him.

  The town was small but charming, with a vast lake and soaring mountains that offered an abundance of recreational opportunities for a guy who loved the outdoors. He had been thrilled to take on the challenge of overseeing all the research and development at the new Caine Tech facility in town.

  If he ever stopped to think about it, he couldn’t help a spurt of pride at how far he had come, all through his own talent and drive—from a fifteen-year-old homeless kid on the streets of Portland to a major shareholder and the director of R&D at one of the country’s most influential and innovative tech companies.

  And then had come that phone call less than a month before and the difficult decisions with which he still wrestled.

  “Before she died, his mother named you guardian to your brother,” the social worker had said. “It’s not legally binding as you had no formal agreement.”

  “How could we?” he had shot back. “I haven’t known where she was for years, and I certainly didn’t know she’d had another kid, twenty-five years after she had me.”

  If he had known, he wanted to think he would have tried to rescue Milo, to find some kind of stable situation where his half brother could get the medical and therapeutic treatment he so obviously needed.

  “You’re under no legal obligation to take custody of Milo,” the social worker had gone on as if Bowie hadn’t spoken. “If you refuse, he will simply remain in the foster system. You should be aware that he will probably end up institutionalized in a special school, as he’s been...difficult.”

  And just like that, he knew his life was about to change. He couldn’t do it. He had spent enough time in and out of foster homes, between Stella’s brushes with the law or her frequent court-ordered rehab stints or those times when she simply disappeared for weeks at a time.

  How could he inflict the same kind of life on another kid? Somehow warehousing him somewhere—out of sight, out of mind—didn’t seem the answer either.

  Bowie’s skills with a computer had paid off handsomely in shares and patents with Caine Tech, and he had more money than one man could ever spend. Since he had the resources to provide a better life for Milo, how could he live with himself if he walked away and tried to forget he had a half brother tucked away in an institution somewhere?

  He still wanted to think he had made the best decision, going through with the guardianship papers. That didn’t necessarily make it an easy one—nor did his almost unlimited resources help him find qualified caregivers who would stick, as the last few days amply demonstrated.

  “You think those are better than these? Hmm. You might be right. These are from right here in Idaho.” The woman with the dimpled smile held out a clear plastic bag near the cherry display. “I need to fill this bag about halfway. Can you help me do that?”

  Milo nodded with an understanding and eagerness that shocked Bowie, who had seen nothing similar in his own interactions with him.

  “Thank you, Milo,” she said with an approving smile when she apparently judged she had enough cherries. “That’s perfect. My friends will really love these. Can you help me find the bananas now? Do you know what a banana is?”

  He didn’t nod or smile or otherwise give any indication he understood, but he led her directly to the stacks of greenish-yellow bananas.

  She followed him there and was reaching for a bunch when a girl with red braids and a couple of missing teeth raced over to them.

  “Miss Bailey! Miss Bailey! Hi, Miss Bailey!”

  Milo’s new friend beamed at the girl, who threw her arms around the woman’s waist. “Hannah Lewis,” she exclaimed as she hugged her back. “Hello! Look how tall you are
! And your hair’s gotten long. It’s still such a beautiful color. Are you sure we can’t trade?”

  The girl giggled and tossed her red braids. “I haven’t seen you in forever! Since last summer, anyway. Are you going to be back teaching this year? I hope so! Mrs. Chatterton, the lady who replaced you, is nice and stuff but not as nice as you. My brother’s going into the second grade, and he was so sad that you weren’t going to be his teacher. Maybe now you can be!”

  For a moment, sadness flickered across the woman’s lovely features, but she appeared to make an effort to wipe it away.

  “I’m afraid I’m not coming back to Haven Point Elementary right now.”

  “Why not? Don’t you like being a teacher? You’re so good at it! I liked having my third-grade teacher last year, Mrs. Morris, and I learned my multiplication tables really good from her, but you’re still my favorite.”

  Miss Bailey—at least he had that much of a name—looked touched. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Hannah. Thank you. I’m afraid I’m not back to stay, only for a month, for my sister’s wedding. I’ll be gone again before school starts up in the fall.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.” Hannah looked as if she wanted to say more, but her mother called her over with a smile and friendly wave at Miss Bailey. “I’d better go. My dad’s waiting in the van, and we told him we would only be a second. Bye.”

  “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

  She hurried away, and Bowie finally spoke. “You’re a teacher. That’s why you knew just what to do with Milo.”

  She looked down at the boy, who was fully concentrating on trying to twist together three ties from the produce bag rack.

  “I was a teacher. I taught second grade at Haven Point Elementary School for three years. Well, I guess I’m still a teacher. I’ve spent the last year teaching English in South America. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before I took off with Milo to buy cherries. I’m Katrina Bailey.”

  “Bailey. Any relation to Mike, who runs the auto body shop?”

  “That’s my uncle—and my stepfather. It’s a long story.”

  He held out a hand. “Bowie Callahan. You’ve met my brother, Milo.”

  She shook his hand, not bothering to hide the surprise in her expression. “Your brother.”

  “Half brother. That’s an even longer story.”

  “Well, Bowie and Milo, it was nice to meet you. I should go finish my shopping.”

  He didn’t want her to leave suddenly. “Thank you for stepping in. Milo can be...difficult.” That was an understatement that didn’t begin to describe his obstinate sibling.

  “No problem. Welcome to Haven Point.”

  She started to push her cart away, but Milo raced after her and held out the tangled twist tie.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking it with a soft smile toward the boy. “Goodbye.”

  Milo didn’t return her smile—Bowie would have been shocked if he had, since he rarely did—but he wiggled his fingers in return, which Katrina Bailey seemed to find charming.

  She pushed her cart away, reaching for a bag of green onions on her way. As she did, Bowie’s brain sifted through the information he had just learned from and about her, and he realized in an instant that she could be exactly what they needed.

  If he were the churchgoing sort, he would have called her the answer to his prayers.

  “Wait,” he exclaimed.

  Katrina turned at his overloud call. “Yes?”

  “Did I just hear you’re only in town for a month?”

  “That’s right,” she said warily. “My sister is getting married in a few weeks.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might be looking for a temporary job while you’re in Haven Point.”

  She stared at him. “A job.”

  “I’m in the market for a temporary nanny.” He turned around, away from Milo, and lowered his voice. “As you probably figured out, my brother has some issues. He’s autistic.”

  “He has autism.”

  Right. People first, then the condition. He was working on remembering the correct PC terminology. “That’s right. He’s on the spectrum, apparently moderate to severe.”

  “Apparently?” As he might have expected, she keyed in on that single word.

  “That’s what the test results say, anyway.” He didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the produce section of the grocery store, but here they were and he felt he needed to be honest with her. “I only met Milo less than a month ago and don’t know anything about his previous history. He has no medical records, no school records. Nothing.”

  Her eyebrows rose in clear skepticism. “That’s impossible. Was he raised in the jungle?”

  “Close enough.” How else would a person describe Stella’s alternative, nonconformist, substance-loving lifestyle?

  “Impossible or not, that’s the situation. Though his hearing is fine, Milo is mostly nonverbal, at least as far as we can tell. He can say no, but that’s it.” He didn’t tell her no was Milo’s favorite word and he employed it hundreds of times a day.

  “He has obvious behavioral challenges,” Bowie went on. “We’ve seen a couple of specialists over the last three weeks and they place him somewhere on the spectrum, but exactly where is tough to say. I only know he’s a difficult kid. I’ve been through three nannies in three weeks. The last one quit yesterday.”

  That was why Bowie found himself in the supermarket, dealing with a meltdown he couldn’t handle.

  “I’m sorry. But I don’t see how it concerns me. I’m only home to visit my family.”

  “I’ve hired a new nanny who is an autism specialist and is supposed to be the top of her field, but she can’t be here for three weeks. I’ll be honest with you, Miss Bailey. I can’t take three weeks off work right now, and I’m desperate to find someone to help with him.”

  She arched one of those expressive eyebrows. “So you decided to accost stray women in the supermarket and offer the job to them?”

  He had the oddest feeling Katrina Bailey didn’t like him, though he couldn’t figure out exactly what he had done. “Not just any stranger,” he pointed out. “A woman who instinctively knew the right thing to do with Milo, where everyone else seems to flounder—and a schoolteacher who has already been vetted by the school system.”

  “I haven’t taught in the last year,” she replied. “How do you know I haven’t been in prison during that time?”

  “Have you?”

  She made a face. “No. But you just met me five minutes ago and have no way of knowing that.”

  “I saw the way you interacted with that girl. Hannah. She said you were her favorite teacher. Besides, I watched you with Milo. You’re obviously well trained and more patient with him than I can ever be. You knew just what to do during one of his tantrums.”

  If he hoped to flatter her into taking the job, he was doomed to disappointment. At his words, her features seemed to tighten. “Dealing with a child in the midst of a meltdown can be challenging, but really, you only need a compassionate heart and a willingness to focus on the best interests of the child.”

  Was she implying he didn’t have either of those things? Bowie might have been offended if he wasn’t afraid she was right.

  He was trying, Bowie reminded himself. Hadn’t he immediately flown to Portland, brought the boy back to Haven Point, spent time away from Caine Tech he could ill afford in order to find the best care provider for him?

  He didn’t need one more thing to feel guilty about.

  “I do want the best for Milo. You’re the first person in three weeks who instinctively seems to know how to manage him.”

  “He’s a child,” she retorted, pitching her voice low, presumably so Milo didn’t overhear. He could have told her his brot
her wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to them. He had pulled more twist ties off the roll and was forming them into tangled shapes.

  “He’s a child,” she repeated. “Not some new product under development at Caine Tech. He doesn’t need to be managed.”

  He wasn’t sure how she knew he worked at Caine Tech or why she reacted so strongly to that particular choice of words. Right now, it didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was convincing her to help him.

  “It was only a figure of speech,” he said. “Look, I’m desperate here. What am I supposed to do? I can’t keep missing work and I also can’t take Milo to the office with me. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  She didn’t look convinced by his plea. If anything, her features turned even frostier. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  He felt as if someone had just opened the doorway offering a light at the end of the tunnel and then slammed it shut again in his face.

  “Not even for ten thousand dollars?”

  She stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. “Ten thousand dollars? You’re willing to pay ten thousand dollars for three weeks’ work?”

  It probably wouldn’t be considered good business practice to admit he would be willing to pay much more than that, if only he could regain some semblance of control in his life.

  “Okay. Twelve. But that’s my final offer.”

  She looked dumbfounded, and for a moment he clung to a tiny sliver of hope that he might have a chance. In the end, she shook her head slowly, eyeing him like he had several loose screws.

  “I said no,” she said. “I appreciate that you’re in a tight spot, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “You don’t have to answer right now. Think about it overnight. If you change your mind, you can find me at 4211 Lakeview Drive. It’s a big cedar-and-stone house right along Serenity Harbor.”

  “I know where it is. But don’t count on me changing my mind, Mr. Callahan. I’m only in town for my sister’s wedding and to visit family. I have no intention of taking a temporary job.”

  “Just think about it,” he said.