Megan's Mission: Latimer's Legacy, #3

By Lynn Jenssen

Megan Latimer, new counselor at a small island school, loves the peace and quiet of her harborside cottage with nature's beauty right outside her picture window... And a dog tied to the bow of a rowboat floating out into the harbor?  A rescue, a hunky owner, and the mystery of how  the dog got tied to the boat begin to complicate her life. It becomes more complicated as she deals with an angry boy, an inexperienced new parent, job challenges, a budding romance,  a runaway, a rescue, and a hospital stay. And she is on the receiving end of cryptic messages from an ancestral spirit through visits and dreams.

            Daniel Hunter, carpenter and owner of Hunter Builders, has his life turned upside down by a troubled six-year-old terror, a son he is just now learning about. When he'd sobered up and left a toxic relationship, he moved to the island to build a business. Daniel would never shirk his responsibility to his son, but has no experience with kids, and no parents of his own. He needs help when the school calls him about trouble with his son's aggressive behavior. Enter Ms. Latimer, school counselor...and the woman who rescued his dog. Would she be able to help him figure out his boy...and maybe other things missing from his life?

No woman is an island. Can Megan learn that the helper can need and ask for help too?  Can Daniel learn to trust his instincts and speak his feelings? Can they work together to overcome their challenges and save their new family unit as lethal danger threatens them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hab Publishing
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393817147

Book preview

Megan’s Mission

Latimer’s Legacy, Book 3

Megan Latimer, new counselor at a small island school, loves the peace and quiet of her harborside cottage with nature’s beauty right outside her picture window... And a dog tied to the bow of a rowboat floating out into the harbor?  A rescue, a hunky owner, and the mystery of how  the dog got tied to the boat begin to complicate her life. It becomes more complicated as she deals with an angry boy, an inexperienced new parent, job challenges, a budding romance,  a runaway, a rescue, and a hospital stay. And she is on the receiving end of cryptic messages from an ancestral spirit through visits and dreams.

Daniel Hunter, carpenter and owner of Hunter Builders, has his life turned upside down by a troubled six-year-old terror, a son he is just now learning about. When he’d sobered up and left a toxic relationship, he moved to the island to build a business. Daniel would never shirk his responsibility to his son, but has no experience with kids, and no parents of his own. He needs help when the school calls him about trouble with his son’s aggressive behavior. Enter Ms. Latimer, school counselor...and the woman who rescued his dog. Would she be able to help him figure out his boy...and maybe other things missing from his life?

No woman is an island. Can Megan learn that the helper can need and ask for help too?  Can Daniel learn to trust his instincts and speak his feelings? Can they work together to overcome their challenges and save their new family unit as lethal danger threatens them all?

Acknowledgements

It would be impossible for me to write without the support of my husband, Bill, and the encouragement of my children and their families, my siblings, and parents. Each in their own way, have contributed to not only the process, but also the product.  I love you all!

My appreciation and love to my writing friends, many of whom have spent time at our informal retreats, brainstorming, untangling plots threads, and generally supporting and aiding in this book.  My writing Sisters of Spirit, Christine Mazurk, Annette Blair, and Jeanine Duval Spikes have heard countless versions of paragraphs and scenes as this piece of the series came together. Thank you!

I can’t forget some good-hearted, dear friends who always ask about progress and listen endlessly to my latest ideas for plot twists, and yes, even new ways to torment my characters. Mary, Lorna, Anne R. -Thank you!

Finally, I’d like to acknowledge my appreciation for the excellent technical support from my editor, Judy Roth and from my cover artist Dee Tenorio @laideebugdigital.com, and from my formatter Nina Pierce at Seaside Publishing.  Without each of you, I could not have accomplished this.  Thank you.

Dedication

To my husband, Bill - my happiness, my partner, my center. I love you.

Contents

About Megan’s Mission * Acknowledgements * Dedication

Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18 * Chapter 19 * Chapter 20 * Chapter 21 * Chapter 22 * Chapter 23 * Chapter 24 * Chapter 25 * Chapter 26 * Chapter 27 * Chapter 28 * Chapter 29 * Chapter 30 * Chapter 31 * Chapter 32 * Chapter 33 * Chapter 34 * Chapter 35 * Chapter 36 *

Chapter 37 * Chapter 38 * Chapter 39 * Chapter 40 * Chapter 41 * Chapter 42 * Chapter 43 * Chapter 44 * Chapter 45 * Chapter 46 * Chapter 47 * Chapter 48

About the Author * Other Books by Lynn Jenssen

Copyright

Chapter 1

Life was good. Finally. The opportunity to start over couldn’t have come at a better time. Cute island cottage, recently winterized, overlooking the harbor. The job Megan Latimer dreamed of, and trained for, seemingly fell into her lap. Working with kids, both as a counselor at the island K-12 school and helping on weekends at the family run Legacy Foundation on the mainland, would fill her time and help heal her wounded heart. Roger. What a mistake. Sooner or later she’d have to talk about it with her brother, Ethan. That sibling radar. He knew something was wrong when she’d last seen him. For now, she pushed thoughts of Roger and their ugly parting out of her mind. Focus on the positive.

Megan sat on her deck overlooking the late afternoon boat traffic in the quiet harbor. A few sailboats being tucked away for the evening, a Whaler pulling up to the fuel dock at the yacht club — not much activity for the late summer day. A rowboat floated out of the small inlet opposite her. She couldn’t see clearly, but something didn’t look right. The binoculars Ethan gifted her as a welcome back/housewarming present sat inside the door. She reached around and grabbed them, then moved to the rail to focus on the small craft. No one in the boat, except a black lab, sitting in the bow. She scanned the water near the boat to look for swimmers. No person in the water, no oars in the boat, just the dog.

Not one to ignore a problem, she decided to take a little spin on her Jet Ski, an indulgence she’d allowed herself with the move back to the shore. One of Ethan’s buddies sold it to her, second-hand, cheap. She grabbed the key and her life vest and hurried down to the small beach area she shared with her landlord, Dottie.

She pushed the ski into the water, climbed on, and turned the key. The engine roared to life. Clipping her life vest on, she scanned the harbor for the boat. It had drifted out with the ebbing tide, past the rock pile in the middle of the harbor toward the sound. Poor dog. She fastened the kill switch cord onto her life vest, adjusted her sunglasses, and throttled up.

The machine responded. Wind and salt spray streamed through her hair as she zipped toward the rowboat. The thrill of skimming across the water filled her. But her mission now — rescue Sea Dog. She slowed as she approached the rowboat. Again, she scanned the area for signs of a diver, swimmer…nothing. She needed to tie the boat to her Jet Ski to tow it. The poor dog shivered with fear. The graying apparent on his face led her to believe he was an older lab. His sad eyes looked at Megan. His tail wag thumped the bottom of the boat.

It’s okay, fella. We’ll get you back ashore. She patted his head and talked as she guided the boat alongside her so she could tie it to the ski. Sea Dog watched, sniffed, wagged. Who tied you in the boat? That wasn’t a nice thing to do, was it, Sea Dog? She made quick work of the rope and gave him one final pet. All right, buddy. Here we go. She slowly throttled up, checking behind her to make sure her passenger was safe. He stood with his front paws on the forward seat, nose into the breeze, ears flapping, eyes closed. She smiled. Sea Dog enjoyed the ride too.

The black lab watched and wagged his tail as she worked to untie the two vessels back on shore. Once they were both on dry land, she petted him and looked for tags. No identification, just the license tag. Poor old guy. Megan smoothed the soft fur on his head, rubbing his ears.

Come on fella, let’s get you some water and see if we can figure out who owns you. We’ll find out how you got tied to a rowboat. Right, Sea Dog? She patted him and led him onto her deck. She left the dog outside and went in to get a bowl of water. When she came out, she found him curled up next to her chair.

While he drank his bowl of water, she slipped back inside, refilled her ice tea, and grabbed her cellphone. She called Dottie. Her landlord seemingly knew everything about everything on the island — maybe even who Sea Dog belonged to. She made the call, her free hand stroking Sea Dog’s head. No answer. She’d call again in a little while. In the meantime, the pooch made himself comfortable next to her chair, happy to have her undivided attention.

How could anyone mistreat such a gentle, affectionate dog? Clearly an intentional act, a red flag in her line of work. Someone with emotional troubles. Great. Did her brain always have to shift to counselor mode?

Even in her pitiful love life, she ended up with someone who needed therapy more than her love. That only began to describe Roger. Needy, immature, self-centered, controlling, manipulative…she had to stop. Negative energy — of no benefit to her. She took the beach towel hanging on the side of the deck and spread it on the floor and sat cross-legged.

Get into a comfortable meditation pose and breathe. Center yourself, Meg. Let go of the negative. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, feeling the late afternoon sun beat down on her. Her calm returned. She stretched the muscles in her tense neck and shoulders, rolling her head slowly in a circle. A shuffle and a wet nose at her shoulder. Sea Dog wanted to join her yoga exercises. His tail thumped, his hot breath on her leg as he sat next to her. She petted and rubbed the soft black fur of his coat. He appeared to be well cared for — it made no sense he would be purposely set adrift.

Poor dog. Should she try to find the owner or report it to the local police? New in town, she wasn’t sure what to do. Dottie would know that too. She hit redial on her cellphone.

Hello, Dottie? This is Megan Latimer. She listened as the older woman greeted her with warmth.

I’m settling in, but I have a strange question. I saw a rowboat coming from the cove across from us. A black lab sat in the rowboat but no person in or near the boat. I Jet Skied out and towed the rowboat in, but do you have any idea who it belongs to? She petted the dog as she spoke.

Could be that carpenter who lives over on the peninsula. I’ve seen him out in a rowboat before, I think. Oh, what’s his name? He’s been here for six or seven years. Stays to himself mostly. But does good work. Beautiful work. Why, my friend Evelyn had him come in and rebuild her pantry after she had water damage from a storm. What beautiful woodworking skills he has. Too bad it was just in her pantry. Shoulda had him do something in the living room — it was that good. Can’t remember his name though.

How do I get to the peninsula? Do you know which house is his?

Dottie gave her directions to the house across the cove. She could see it from her deck, tucked into the trees with a large wraparound deck and stairs going down to a dock on the water. Of course, Dottie’s directions were distinct to the island. Though there were street names, islanders didn’t use them. Everything was described by landmarks. Go past the golf course, turn left before the white gates. When the road forks take the right fork. And forget house numbers. Meg wrote it all down and thanked Dottie.

Okay fella. Let’s go find your home. She tied the rope from the boat to his collar, though she had no fear he’d run away, and led Sea Dog to her car. He climbed into the front seat as though used to riding in a vehicle. She followed the directions as best she could with her big city navigation skills. Still acclimating to island life. Oh well. She could always knock on doors until she found Sea Dog’s owner.

Luck was with her. Only one house facing the harbor looked toward her cottage. She pulled into the driveway next to a large pick-up and saw the wonderful view of her home across the water.

She turned the car off and reached for Sea Dog’s homemade leash. He bounced out of the car with more energy than she thought possible for an older dog. He wandered, marking the territory, sniffing and wagging his tail. The screen door at the back of the house banged and a tall rugged man with dark curly hair came toward her.

Hi. Is this your dog?

Sure is. Come ’ere, Toby. What ’ev you gotten into now, old boy? He squatted down and the dog waggled his whole body at his owner’s touch. The man talked gently to Toby as he worked to untie the makeshift leash.

He wasn’t botherin’ you, was he, ma’am? I’m sorry for any inconvenience. He doesn’t usually wander too far. The hunk stroked the black furry head standing right at his knee.

She had to tell him. Obviously, he hadn’t set the dog adrift…or else he was one helluva actor. No. He was genuine. Not bad to look at either. A pleasant smile on his well-tanned face, strong features, and the most beautiful green eyes and eyelashes she’d ever seen. Almost mesmerizing.

She took a deep breath. I found him tied to the bow of a rowboat drifting in the harbor. I was sitting on my deck over there and saw it moving out toward the sound.I Jet Skied out and towed it in.

At her words, the man’s expression darkened, there was a snap of anger in his eyes, and then they shuttered. Did he know who did this? She couldn’t leave it unsaid. She pushed.

Do you have any idea who would do such an awful thing to poor Toby here? It was clearly intentional. She stood with her hands on her hips waiting for a response. His mouth clenched shut, and he closed his eyes as though trying to control his temper, then growled in a deadly quiet voice, I’ll take care of it. He wheeled around and strode off into the house, Toby bounced along behind him.

Hummph. Not even a ‘Thank you ma'am.’ She turned on her heel, slid into her car and slammed the door. Poor Toby — such a gentle, loving dog. Too bad his owner was more bear than man.

She drove back down the narrow dirt road. She didn’t know the man’s name or what to do about the rowboat. Well, not really her worry. She’d see if he came for it. His green eyes, before they’d shuttered, had held what she thought was a look of interest, of curiosity. But then they shuttered. What happened? And who did he think was responsible? An irate neighbor, a street bully? Wait, this was island living. She’d left the impersonal city dwellers behind…not that they’d all been like that. Just enough to make her happy to be here.

Megan decided to take advantage of the last week of summer vacation by organizing her school office in the mornings and spending the afternoons at the beach, soaking up the sun and breathing in the fresh salt air.

The beach, though busy by island standards, was scattered sparsely with sunbathers. Megan picked a spot, no one within twenty-five feet of her, positioned her chair and her towel, applied sun lotion, and settled in with a good summer read. Heaven. Much better than yoga. She hadn’t been able to relax like this since her college days. And upstate wasn’t exactly the beach capital of the world. Oh, why had she moved away from the ocean? She lay down on her towel, the sun warming her back.

She closed her eyes, breathed in the tangy sea air, and soaked in the serenity of her surroundings. The gentle rhythm of the surf, the playful noise of children farther down the beach, and the cry of seagulls lulled her to sleep.

I hate you. You’re not the boss of me. I’m gonna smash you with these rocks. The angry voice woke her. She raised her head and looked around for the source. Ten yards away from her, a father and son set up their beach spot. The father, tall and muscular, tanned from time in the sun, dark curly hair seemed familiar. Was he the hunk with Sea Dog? But the child drew her attention now. He too had a head of curly dark hair, and his anger flushed his cheeks red. His body language, the crossed arms and planted feet, warned of a continued outburst. She couldn’t hear what the father said to the boy, but the tone sounded quiet and reasonable. What was going on?

I don’t want to go in the water with you, and I don’t want to build anything with you. I hate you.

She watched as the man shrugged his shoulders and turned to go toward the water. The little boy sat up on the rounded beach stones, facing away from the ocean and the man, throwing stones toward the beach rose bushes that bordered the stretch of rocks. Anger resonated through his every movement.

Again, she fell into the trap of her trade. She’d see scenarios out in public and think, Oh, could they use some help? Leave it alone, Meg. Dad there has a plan. He’s handling his kid. She chided that busybody voice chirping in her brain and turned her head so she wasn’t watching the pair. She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the waves. Maybe she could regain some of that tranquility. But she couldn’t shut out the scene. Could that angry little boy have anything to do with poor Sea Dog’s adventure in the rowboat?

Chapter 2

By the following week when the children started school, Megan had reviewed the stack of folders for children in the elementary grades, checking the notes of the woman who’d left the position. Not too bad. Some children with difficult situations, but compared to what she’d seen in the big city…not bad at all. Her big challenge this year would be the college search process with juniors and seniors. She had the degree but not much experience. Megan opened the filing cabinet with the high school folders. A bigger project, for sure.

As she settled at her desk, a knock at the door drew her attention. A middle-aged woman poked her head in. Do you have a moment to talk?

Sure, come on in. I’m just getting familiar with the files here. She stood and reached out her hand. I’m Megan Latimer, the new counselor. Can I help you?

It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sue Leonard, the first grade teacher. I don’t have too long because the children are out for recess, but a new student concerns me. He is withdrawn from the other children, and the smallest things cause an outburst. He lashes out quickly, then shuts down. He’s new on the island, and I don’t know anything about his family. He’s not talking. He barely told me his name, Joey. Is it possible for you to come and observe him in the classroom? Something’s up with this little guy. Her warm friendly personality reinforced Megan’s immediate impression of Sue Leonard as a caring professional with a good sense about her students.

Sure. What time do you want me to come in? I’ve got an open schedule for now. File review could wait.

Right after recess? We’ll have snack time, so you’ll see some social interaction, and then I usually do a reading lesson on the rug. You’ll get a good picture of what I’ve been seeing for the last few days.

Sounds perfect. I’ll grab my laptop and meet you in your room. Megan rose from behind her desk, relieved to get up and stretch, and to interact with the kids. School had only been in session for three days and she had visited several classrooms, but she was still setting up her schedule. This was a welcome break.

Once the students settled at their seats, Mrs. Leonard called each table of children to go get their snacks. Megan watched as one little boy with unruly dark curls and a scowl on his face shoved his way into the coatroom.

Mrs. Leonard, Joey’s pushing in the coatroom. A little girl with a round face and rosy cheeks hurried out of the coatroom and straight to Sue Leonard’s desk, relaying her critical bit of information. Mrs. Leonard moved to check on the enclosed area where noises and shouts were heard.

Boys, get your snacks and get to your tables. She stood and watched as several sweaty faced boys hurried out with lunch boxes in their hands. The last one out was the little boy with the dark hair, the one Megan was to observe. The scowl seemed permanently etched on his young features, his mouth clamped shut. He sulked as he slouched in his seat, not responding to the conversation at his table. Megan watched as he ate a package of goldfish crackers and drank a juice box. Not one word spoken, just glaring at the other children through angry eyes.

Under the table, his foot banged the leg of the table, causing it to shake with each kick. The other children asked him to stop, but he kicked harder. Finally, when one child raised his hand to tell, Joey stopped kicking and ran into the coatroom. He stayed there until all the other children finished snack and put away their lunch boxes. He came out last; the rest of the children sat on the rug waiting for a story from Mrs. Leonard.

While Mrs. Leonard addressed the class, asking questions and prepping them for the story she would read, Joey appeared indifferent and unengaged. When the teacher called on him for an opinion, he shrugged and looked away. He sat hugging his legs, rocking back and forth with his head resting on his knees.

The teacher started to read. He wanted to listen, it seemed, but was more intent upon getting attention; he kept poking the boy in front of him with his foot. When the boy squirmed and raised his hand, Joey kept right on kicking. Mrs. Leonard stopped reading and moved Joey to the front, near her. He poked the little girl next to him with his finger repeatedly. The teacher moved him to his seat at the table. He took out his scissors and started cutting a paper into small scraps. He was relentless in his attention-seeking demeanor. Megan watched and wondered. Though she couldn’t place it, the boy’s green eyes and curly dark hair lent a familiarity to him. She forced herself to focus on her observations, pushing the nagging resemblance out of her mind.

The boy’s behavior escalated. He stood up and wandered around the classroom. Mrs. Leonard asked him to return to his seat. He refused by simply continuing his behavior. She reminded him of the consequences for misbehaving…loss of time at recess.

I don’t care. His angry little voice screamed while his body language cried for attention. He ran and hid in the coatroom. Mrs. Leonard continued reading to the class, loud enough so the story could be heard in his hiding spot. Megan continued to watch him, peeking into the coatroom. He sat on the floor in the corner, hugging his knees, head buried, rocking back and forth. That seemed to be his comfort. She fought the urge to go to him. Difficult as it was, an observation had to be strictly that, just observation. She knew she would be seeing this boy on a regular basis. The information she’d gathered provided ample evidence of a boy with problems. Getting at the root of the trouble and helping the boy and his family was part of her job.

Mrs. Leonard finished the story and demonstrated a cut-out craft puppet of the main character in the story for the children to make. Once everyone settled, she approached Joey in the coat closet, giving him a chance to come out and join the class in the project. He appeared ready, calmed down, and interested in the project. As she followed the boy out of the coatroom, Mrs. Leonard’s eyes met Megan’s. Megan nodded.

Joey joined in without further incident, fully engaged to produce an excellent product — as if he’d been sitting on the rug paying full attention to the lesson. Megan watched as he helped another child at his table struggling to cut on the lines. When the other child thanked him, Joey’s face lost the scowl.

Megan spoke softly to Mrs. Leonard. I’ve seen enough. I’m going to research this little guy’s history and see what I can find out. Do you have time to meet tomorrow?

How about lunchtime? It’s my first break tomorrow, and I’d like to get a handle on this as soon as possible. Does that work?

We can lunch in my office?

Mrs. Leonard nodded and Megan made a note of it at the bottom of her observation sheet. She had a lot to find out before tomorrow. She nodded. I’ll get busy and see you tomorrow for lunch. She smiled and left the first grade classroom.

Back in her office, she finished making notes about her observations. Finding out about Joey’s background was her immediate concern. She went to the main office and pulled his registration folder for any information there. Joseph Mowey…Joey Mowey…who would do that to their kid? No prior school experience listed. No mother information. Interesting. New registration dated August 15th. Father- Daniel Hunter. Occupation - self-employed carpenter — Hunter Renovations. Address — 5 Peninsula Road. Joey Mowey belonged to the hunk with Sea Dog? Oh boy. It just got interestinger and interestinger, as the gang back at social services used to say.

Now what? She needed to call the father and see if they could meet. She needed more information on this little guy.

She remembered the scene at the beach. It was this little boy. Toby hadn’t been there, but she had thought there was something familiar about the man the boy was yelling at. Daniel Hunter, carpenter, owner of Sea Dog, and father of Joey? Why was Joey’s last name Mowey?

Megan jotted down the home phone number. She wanted to talk to Sue Leonard again before she called the father. Maybe Sue knew something about Daniel Hunter.

What the hell was he doin’ — thinkin’ he could be a real father to the kid? He’d never had any experience with kids, especially not angry little boys who tried to shanghai old dogs and set the house on fire. What the hell was he gonna do? And who could he ask for help?

His parents weren’t alive, though they hadn’t known what to do with a kid. They hardly knew how to handle each other, let alone a lonely little boy. Daniel shook his head, burying those memories and refocusing on the present. The boy. The son he hadn’t known about…until last month when a police detective called him with a wild story about a wild woman…a dead woman…a lover from his sordid past. He’d finally pulled his life together, up out of the quagmire of drunken nights and hung-over days. ’Cept now he had a son to deal with…an angry, destructive hellion with dark curly hair, his green eyes…and one helluva dirty mouth. What the hell was he gonna do?

He wiped the sawdust off the cabinet he worked on. He’d assembled it in his workshop according to the measurements he’d taken at Mrs. Kennedy’s house, then would fit it into the space and finish it there. If he could concentrate long enough to get it done without seriously maiming himself. He’d already had a near mishap with the circular saw. At that point, he’d decided to turn off the power equipment. But he couldn’t do that every time he got to worryin’ about the kid. Joey. Joey Mowey.

What the hell was she thinking, namin’ him that? She’d probably been drunk or stoned. He shook his head. At least he could fix that. He’d adopt the boy, make it legal. Change his name. Joseph Daniel Hunter. Had a good solid ring. A little splinter of pride speared his heart. His son. They’d get through this hard stuff. Oh God, he had to believe that. It was the only thing