RUNAWAY by Christie Ridgway

on top, her warm flank in the palm of his hand, her incredible molten center sliding down on him. The carpenters faded away and he took in a slow breath.
    “Did you hear me, son? The Paxton Record. ”

    “You’re irritated by the score of the high school football team? I don’t think they’ve been the same since Bryce graduated—”
    “This isn’t about your brother, who did the right thing and joined the family business. This is about you!”
    It’s what Owen had been afraid of, ever since the last phone call he’d had from his grandfather, the one during which he brought up the old argument about Owen’s career choice. The carpenters set to work again. “Granddad—”
    “Did you or did you not go to college intending to join the business?”
    “I did. You know I did.” Maybe if he let the old man get it out of his system, they could drop this familiar quarrel for good—or at least for now. “And I interned every summer and listened to you talk about the company at every family dinner. But it just wasn’t for me.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I know because when I worked there it drained my enthusiasm and my energy. And I know because after the first hour at the fire academy I had found it again.” Not only energy and enthusiasm, but purpose and pride. There was nothing wrong with what his father and Bryce and Caro had chosen to do—involve themselves in and expand the business Philip Marston had started. It just wasn’t Owen’s choice.

    “You were good at it,” the old man grumbled.
    “And Bryce was a damn good quarterback, but you’re not all over his case for not trying out for the NFL.”
    “I told you, this is not about your brother. And damn it, I would have been all over his case if he had set his sights on the NFL. Do you know how many of those players limp off the field with debilitating injuries that affect them for the rest of their lives?”
    Owen slid his fingers in his pocket to touch Izzy’s note. Remember last night. Remember that smile on your face this morning. “Granddad, what does this all have to do with me?”
    “I’m coming by to see you today.”
    “No.”
    “Nonsense. Would you prevent an old man from assuring himself his favorite grandson is recovering?”
    “Bryce is your favorite grandson.”
    “Today it’s you.”
    Owen rolled his eyes. “I need my rest.”
    “You’re getting plenty of rest. And your mother told me you have a nice health worker living there with you, making sure you don’t overtax yourself.”
    Well, he might have overtaxed himself a little last night…”Wait. What? Health worker?”
    “Some young woman. Misty? Betsy?”
    “Izzy,” Owen corrected, wondering what he was going to owe his mother now. He should have knownshe’d kept quiet about his marriage or else his grandfather would have been on his doorstep immediately, eager to meet the mother of his great-grandsons. “Her name is Isabella.”
    “Well, I assume she’s taking good care of you.”
    He touched the note again, sniffed the coffee in the air and swore that he smelled French toast and maple syrup. “The best.”
    “So I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
    “What? You’re more than an hour away.”
    “I’m talking to you from the limo. I’m in Paxton right now.”
    Between the little carpenters and the old man, Owen’s good mood was taking a serious beating. “Tell me you’re joking.”
    “Not at all. I want us to have a serious, face-to-face discussion.”
    Oh, God. “About…?”
    “Now that you know the potential consequences of this career of yours, I’m going to persuade you to see reason and quit.”
    Here they went again. “No.”
    “A man died, Owen.”
    “Don’t you think I know that?” he burst out. His own loud voice obliterated the last of his well-being. “Don’t you realize I can’t stop thinking of that?”
    Fine. That was the damn truth of it. That Jerry was gone had been hovering over him like a black cloud since he’d come to in