Chapter Three

      Jaxon tucked Brody’s folded shirts and jeans into the bureau drawer. The socks and Spider-Man underwear went into another drawer. Hand on his hips, Jax glanced around the bedroom.

      He’d purchased the rambling, three-bedroom farmhouse from his aunt as part of their business deal. At present, the house was furnished with only the bare essentials. As spartan and unsentimental as his aunt, it would be up to Jax to figure out how to turn the house into a home for Brody.

      What Jax knew about kids—despite being the oldest of four brothers and one sister—wouldn’t fill Brody’s pint-size suitcase.

      Stowing the suitcase in the hall closet, he headed down the creaking staircase to check on his son. And found him where he’d left him ten minutes ago. Knees planted in the sofa cushion, Brody kept his eyes fastened on the winding driveway. As if he was waiting for someone. Watching for someone—like his mother?—who’d never return.

      Guilt twisted Jax’s gut. “What’re you doing, son?”

      Brody didn’t turn around. “Hungwy.”

      Him, too. “Let’s get chicken nuggets at McDonald’s.”

      Brody shook his head, but his fixation on the driveway didn’t waver. “No ’Donalds.”

      Jax was also tired of fast food. It had been a long day, starting with the drive over the Bay Bridge Tunnel. With the waves lapping the shoreline in Virginia Beach, they’d crossed the steel-girded artery which connected what been here, born heres called the Western Shore of mainland Virginia to their Eastern Shore home.

      Brody probably should’ve had a nap. But perched high in his car seat, he’d studied the shorebirds wheeling overhead, the silent child as emotionally remote as Jax himself.

      Apples and trees. Fathers and sons. He scrubbed his hand over his face. Bringing up the tree thing with Darcy had been a mistake. A tactical error in winning her support.

      He needed her help or this attempt at a new life was doomed. But he’d gone too fast, pushing his business ideas on her. Neither of them were the same carefree kids they’d been. And now he’d blown any hope of friendship, much less a business collaboration.

      And there remained his biggest dilemma—how to reach his son. As he knelt there staring through the window, Brody’s skinny shoulder blades stood out through his Power Rangers T-shirt.

      “What ’bout cereal, Brode?”

      Home less than a day, Jax had already slipped into his native speech. Bogue, fogue and dogue were sure to follow for bog, fog and dog.

      “No...” An unaccustomed whine had crept into Brody’s too stoic voice.

      Better forget Brody’s usual tub time. Jax wasn’t sure he had the fortitude to gator wrestle a two-year-old, slippery as an eel, into a bath. He’d feed Brody and put him to bed.

      As for the upcoming kayaking excursion? He rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. He also needed to study the water charts for the Tuesday morning expedition.

      “How ’bout pizza, son?”

      An SUV rounded the curve in the driveway. Darcy’s SUV. Jax’s heartbeat accelerated. Brody launched himself off the couch and grabbed the doorknob.

      Jax scrambled after him. “Wait, Brody.” But somehow the child managed to pry open the door. Who knew a two-year-old could be so fast?

      As Jax stepped onto the wraparound porch, his son hurled himself at Darcy. His arms clasped around her legs, Brody buried his face in her jeans. “Me know you come, Dawcy. Me know.”

      Darcy’s eyes went wide. Jax stood frozen. A wicker basket lay in the gravel beside her. A plastic shopping bag dangled from her hand.

      Brody had been waiting and watching for Darcy? After what happened earlier, Jax had feared they’d seen the last of her. Yet here she was. And with a childlike faith, Brody had believed she’d come.

      Jax moved to ground level. “Let me take something.” He grabbed hold of the basket.

      “Thanks.”

      His arms sagged at the basket’s weight. “Wow, how did you get this thing out of the car?”

      “When will you learn, Pruitt, it’s all about girl power?”

      She’d been telling him that since she was only slightly older than Brody. His mouth curved. “How could I forget?”

      With her free hand, she cupped Brody’s head. But her gaze never left Jax. “See that you don’t, Pruitt.”

      She drew back, though, when he reached for the plastic bag. “It’s a surprise for later.”

      Letting go of her legs, Brody turned his face up to her. “’Pwize?”

      She pointed to the hamper. “Only if you eat a good dinner.”

      Brody’s stomach rumbled, and he laughed.

      Jax almost dropped the basket. “That’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh since...” Chest heaving, he gulped past the boulder lodged in his throat.

      Darcy’s lips quivered. “I’m glad.”

      He was glad she was here. But he couldn’t say that to her. That had never been the way they were with each other. Instead, he took a lungful of the scents wafting from the basket. “Something smells great.”

      She shrugged. “Mom was convinced you two would die of starvation without a home-cooked meal tonight.”

      He’d always loved her mother, Agnes, a quiet, sweet spirit more comfortable behind the scenes than center stage. With his own mother off-Shore right now, somehow she’d known what he and Brody needed most was a taste of home.

      “Lasagna. Half spinach for Brody, meat for a carnivore like you.” Darcy squared her shoulders. “Also included, lunch fixings for tomorrow. And a pie tonight if both of you are very good boys.”