His Expectant Neighbor. SUSAN MEIER
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Ben knew he could have found a way to contradict that without insulting her so Nathan would have the chance to earn his ten dollars, but he didn’t have to because Nathan said, “But I like coming here. I’d rather be with you.”
Instantly, he saw that the innocent tone of Nathan’s voice, coupled with the sincerity of his words, hit Gwen right in the heart. She swallowed hard. “I like having you here.”
“Then it’s settled,” Ben said. Not giving anyone a chance to think about it too much for fear of a change of opinion, he reached for the doorknob.
“But I’m not an invalid,” Gwen said, the defensive comment pulling Ben’s hand away from the door and causing him to face her again.
“I just like company.”
“Right,” he concurred guilelessly. He already knew that arguing with her only made her want to prove her points, so no matter what she said, he would agree.
“Right,” Nathan said, too, apparently catching on to the same things Ben had.
“You’re not sick. You just want company,” Ben repeated to be sure she knew they understood her. Because, he supposed, in a way they did. She wasn’t ill. But she also shouldn’t be alone. They all agreed on that.
He just couldn’t get too attached to her, which would be the tricky part if he had to spend too much time watching her smile, listening to her soft voice and enjoying the very fact—so clearly demonstrated by her pregnancy—that she was a woman.
The next morning, Gwen awoke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She felt wonderful, refreshed, alive, and she was waiting with French toast and tea when Ben dropped off Nathan.
The little boy entered the unlocked front door without knocking. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Gwen said. “Where’s Ben?”
“He can’t come in. He’s got work to do.”
When disappointment swamped her, Gwen wondered if her good mood hadn’t been caused by knowing she would be seeing Ben that morning. But she told herself she couldn’t let that be true. She wasn’t in the market for another man. She couldn’t be. The ink was hardly dry on her divorce papers. Getting involved with another man should be the last thing she wanted to do.
But as she served breakfast, she couldn’t stop the small debate going on in her head about why Ben might have chosen not to come in with Nathan. While she and Nathan ate their French toast and drank their tea, she considered that he really might have work to do. But she countered that by speculating that she might have repulsed him by being so grouchy the night before. The debate went around and around until Gwen knew the only way she would stop the madness would be to take her mind off things with work. A few hours of occupying herself with earning a living were exactly what she needed. But since she felt duty-bound to entertain Nathan, she didn’t see how she could do that.
After doing the dishes and enduring the internal argument about Ben for another fifteen minutes, Gwen knew she didn’t have a choice. She had to work.
“Come on, Nathan,” she said, directing him to the sun-room at the back of the cottage, the space she used for an office.
As they entered the cluttered area, Nathan glanced around in awe. “Wow!” he said, fingering her drafting table as if it were solid gold.
“You like to draw?” she asked.
“Do I ever!” he said, and turned those big brown eyes on her again.
“Good.” She reached for some older chalk, colored pencils and a new tablet. “I can teach you anything you want to know. But first, this morning, we’ll let you draw as many pictures as you want, the way you want to draw them, and we’ll see what you need to learn. And we’ll also see where your natural talents lie.”
He looked at the art supplies she was handing him and blinked up at her. “All this is mine?”
“Sure. But you have to keep them at my house. Because this is where you’ll be doing your lessons.”
He nodded, reverently glanced at the supplies, then peered up at her as if stunned by her generosity. “Thanks.”
Gwen was struck again by the way this little boy appreciated everything she did for him. Because she had spoken with his foster mother to let her know that she had invited Nathan to visit her every day, she knew the woman genuinely cared for him, but she could also hear the age in his caretaker’s voice. An energetic, intelligent boy like Nathan needed to be challenged. And though Gwen wouldn’t take anything away from his foster parents, knowing that they cared for him and were doing the best they could, she vowed to continue providing as many opportunities for Nathan as possible without overstepping her boundaries.
As if he understood that Gwen couldn’t be disturbed while she finished her projects, and also having accepted the task of providing samples of his abilities for her inspection, Nathan worked quietly. His presence was not the distraction Gwen feared it might be, but more than that, she soon found that having him in the room with her was a comfort of sorts. Like Nathan, she labored industriously and without a break until her back began to ache.
She recognized she’d worked too long at the same moment that she heard Ben’s truck pull into her gravel lane. Looking at the clock and seeing that it was past noon, she groaned.
“Oh, Nathan, I’m sorry.”
He peeked up. “What?”
“I keep losing track of time, and one of these days I’m going to starve you to death. It’s already past lunch, and we haven’t had a break.” Another thought struck and she groaned again. “And I don’t have anything out of the freezer to make, either.”
“That’s okay,” Nathan said, kneeling on the ledge built in front of the wall of glass to create something of a window seat. “Ben’s bringing big bags of stuff.”
“He’s brought lunch?” she asked, peering over Nathan’s head so she could see.
“Looks like,” Nathan said.
They scrambled out of the sunroom to the front room to get the door for Ben because he had his hands full. As he stepped inside, Gwen saw the yellow bread wrapper hooked over the rim of the top of the brown paper bag.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said immediately.
“What did I tell you yesterday?” Ben asked, depositing his packages on her table. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. So if I do something it’s because I wanted to.”
“Right,” she said, though she still felt uncomfortable.
“Okay,” Ben said. “I brought salami and Swiss cheese, bologna and roast beef. Which do you want?”
“Roast beef,” Gwen said, unconsciously sitting down as Ben pulled his purchases from the brown bags. “I think that’s probably the only one of those I can eat without getting heartburn.”
“I’ll make a note of that,” Ben said, arranging the cold cuts and bread on the table in front of him. Then he removed a bag of cookies.
“Oh, chocolate twirls,” Gwen said, her mouth watering. “I love those.”
“Good,” Ben said. “Nathan, how about checking the refrigerator for mustard.”
“Bottom shelf,” Gwen said, hardly realizing the men were waiting on her, though she did notice that it didn’t seem as if there was anything for her to do.
“What do you like on your sandwich?” Ben asked.
She shrugged. “I can make my own sandwich.”
“I already have the bread on a plate,” he said, displaying the paper plate holding two slices of bread. “I know you want roast beef, but do you want anything else?”
“Put a piece of cheese on,”