Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

Sitting up, he nudged the dog off the bed and swung his feet to the floor. In his pack, he found some faded sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of flip-flops. Dressed, he let the dog out ahead of him and stepped into the early dawn.

As he filled his lungs with the cool, fresh air, he could feel the dream receding. The pain was still there, as always. So was the memory. But he felt strong enough to make it through another day.

He was crossing the yard, toward the fire pit, when the security light came on. Jake mouthed a curse. He could understand the need for lights, with a bunch of mischief-prone adolescents to keep track of. But he’d just begun to feel at peace with the quiet darkness and fading stars.

As if on cue, the back door opened and Kira rushed out. She was wearing an old-style pink flannel bathrobe, with what looked like pajamas underneath. Her hair, usually tied back, floated loose around her face. She looked soft and vulnerable, like somebody’s mom, only sexier. Surprisingly sexier.

“Is everything all right?” She was slightly out of breath.

“Fine. I was feeling restless, that was all. Sorry I woke you.”

She exhaled in relief. “No, that’s fine. I just wanted to make sure none of my students were sneaking out.”

“Nobody in this bunch seems like the type to do that.”

Her mouth curved in a lopsided smile. Jake liked her mouth—always had, he realized. “You’d be surprised,” she said. “I hate having to run this place like a prison camp, but I’m responsible for these kids. If they get into trouble, I’m the one who has to answer to their parents. And believe me, if they were little angels, they wouldn’t be here.”

“You sound like you’ve seen it all.”

“Not quite. Just when I’m thinking there’s no way they can shock me, I find out I was wrong.”

“I take it you’ve learned something new—and you can’t tell me what it is or even who’s involved.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

They were walking toward the fire pit. She was probably tired and wanting to go back to bed, Jake thought, but he found himself wishing she’d stay.

“You don’t have to be out here on my account,” he said, giving her an opening to leave. “Go on back to bed. I’m big enough to take care of myself.”

“Yes, I know.” Her gaze swept up and down, taking in his sleep-rumpled hair, untrimmed beard and the faded, stretched-out sweats he’d pulled onto his naked body. “But I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. And it’s nice out here. Early mornings are the only peaceful time I have.”

“Too bad we can’t turn off that light,” he said. “It reminds me of that old fifties movie, Stalag 17, the one with William Holden in the German prison camp.”

“Dusty loves that movie,” she said. “The light’s on a timer. If we sit down, it’ll go off by itself in a couple of minutes. And the motion sensor shuts off at dawn.”

She lowered herself to a bench next to the fire pit. Jake took a seat beside her, close enough for quiet talk. “I had some company last night,” he said. “Your dog followed me into the cabin and settled down on the rug. When I had one of my war dreams, he was right there, with his paws on the bed. It was almost like he knew what was happening.”

“Tucker’s amazing that way,” Kira said. “I remember a boy from last year who told me he’d come close to taking his own life one night, but the dog stayed right with him and wouldn’t leave until the next morning, when the crisis had passed. Some dogs can sense an epileptic seizure coming on. Some can even detect cancer. Tucker’s had no special training, but he seems to have a nose for anxiety. Even Paige—”

“Paige?” Jake’s pulse jerked. “Is something wrong with her?”

“She has night terrors. Not often—a few times a year. I’m guessing they’re related to the crash. She doesn’t seem to have any conscious memory of it, but the shock and the confusion could’ve stayed with her. Tucker seems to sense when she’s stressed. If he follows her into the bedroom at night, that puts us on alert.”

“Can’t you do something for her?” Jake asked.

“Only at the risk of making things worse. Maybe when she’s old enough to deal with what happened . . .” Kira’s words trailed off, ending in a sigh. She gazed into the charred ashes of the fire. In the east, the first streaks of dawn grayed the sky.

“Is there any way I can help?”

Kira gave him a sharp look. “Maybe—if you were committed to staying and being a real father. But that would be asking too much. We talked about this. We both know you’re not ready.”

“What if I were to try it? Just asking.”

“Trying wouldn’t be an option. Not if there was any chance you’d give up and leave.”

“I understand.” And he did understand, Jake told himself. Being a father to Paige would involve a lifetime commitment. There could be no trial period, no half measures. His choice would be all or nothing.

Kira was right. He wasn’t ready.