Paternal Instincts. Elizabeth August
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for him.”
Eric’s gaze had shifted back to her. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not. Jamie was a special case. I’m hoping when I get this place back into shape, they’ll reconsider and let me adopt him.”
Eric had planned to come here, say his goodbyes and be on his way. But he’d always found it difficult to turn his back on a damsel in distress and there was a sorrow in Roxanne Dugan’s eyes that made her look very much like a woman in need of assistance. “I’ve got a couple of months of recuperating before I’m expected back on duty. Looks like you could use some help here.”
Roxy recalled her Tarot cards—the Hanged Man had been replaced by the Knight of Swords. Had the cards been trying to tell her that Eric Bishop would arrive to help her? Events in her life had caused her to develop a strong sense of independence. Accepting aid, even that freely offered, did not come easily. But she wouldn’t be accepting help for herself, she argued. It was Jamie who was important, and anyone who could help her regain custody of the boy should be welcomed. She glanced back at the house. Besides, she was getting desperate. There was so much left to do, and with each passing day her concern for the child grew stronger. “I can’t pay you, but I can offer you room and board.”
“Accepted.” Eric held his hand out to her.
As they shook on this deal, she was again aware of the warmth of his touch, and the image of The Lovers’ card popped into her mind. Silently, she mocked herself. No man would be interested in her once they got a close look. If that card proved to be right, it would be nothing more than a one-night stand and she doubted they’d get past the disrobing stage. I don’t intend to get past the handshake stage! she growled at herself. Angry that her mind had even traveled along this path, she shoved these thoughts out. “You can choose any room on the second floor to bunk in. There are bed linens in the hall closet and, if you’re hungry, there’s sandwich makings in the refrigerator. I need to get back to work.”
Eric noticed her limp as she turned back to the ladder. “Should you be climbing with that injured leg?”
She glanced back at him. “It’s an old injury. I’m used to maneuvering with it.”
The sharp edge in her voice warned that this wasn’t a subject for conversation and he said no more. Returning to the car to retrieve his satchel, he noticed a lingering warmth on his hand. A curious effect from a woman who clearly had no interest in him other than as a day laborer to aid her in her project, he thought. Deciding that the sensation was due merely to an emotional reaction to being back here at the farm, he grabbed his bag and went inside.
Upstairs, he automatically headed for the room he’d once occupied. He’d expected to experience at least a twinge of melancholy. Instead a feeling of being where he belonged swept through him. Dropping his satchel on the floor, he found the bed linens and made up one of the two twin beds in the room. Not taking the time to do any unpacking, he stripped out of his shirt and hung it in the closet. Then he put on a T-shirt. He intended to go directly outside and begin working, but he couldn’t resist making a quick inspection of the rest of the house. He strode through the rooms he’d played and worked in when he was younger. The walls and ceilings had a fresh coat of paint and the woodwork and hardwood floors were polished and dustless. Clearly, Ms. Dugan had been working hard to restore the place.
Reminding himself that he was there to help, he went to the barn and found a ladder.
An hour later Roxy looked to the far end of the house. She’d had Eric start there and work toward her. He hadn’t taken a break and she was beginning to worry about him. She told herself that he was an adult and would know how to pace himself, but she didn’t buy this reasoning. Some men felt they had to push themselves to live up to their macho image. “How about stopping for something to eat and drink?” she called out. “I haven’t had any lunch yet. I started working as soon as I got home from church.”
Eric nodded and started down his ladder. He was in the kitchen washing his hands when she entered.
“You don’t have to keep up with me,” she said sternly. “I haven’t spent the past several years in a hospital.”
Eric grimaced self-consciously. He had been pushing himself, but then that was his nature. “I want to prove I can earn my keep.”
The grimace had produced two long dimples in his cheeks. He was a handsome man, Roxy admitted, experiencing an attraction she’d sworn never to feel again. Jerking her gaze away from him, she busied herself washing up. “You don’t need to prove it in a day.”
Eric caught the softened color in her eyes followed by the tightening of her jaw as she turned away. He recognized the behavior. She didn’t want to like him, at least not too quickly. Something had happened to her to teach her to distrust people, or maybe just men. He couldn’t be certain which. As she finished washing up and began taking sandwich makings out of the refrigerator, he noticed the tired lines in her face. “Looks like I’m not the only one who might be overworking myself.”
Roxy made no response to his observation. Instead she nodded toward the array. “Help yourself. Would you like lemonade or water to drink?”
“Lemonade,” he replied, then began making his sandwich.
Roxy nodded and forced her mind to remain on the food and the drinks. When her sandwich was ready and the drinks poured, she carried her lunch out onto the back porch and sat down in Maude’s rocking chair.
Respecting her silence, Eric, too, had said nothing more while he made his sandwich. Following her outside, he seated himself on the stoop, as he had when he was a kid, and leaned against one of the pillars supporting the porch roof. The sound of the rocker brought back memories… some good, some bad…but then, a real home was like that. Only fantasies could be perfect.
In her mind’s eye Roxy saw Jamie…slender, dark haired, a haunted expression on his face, sitting in the tire swing suspended from the branch of the old oak in the middle of the yard. “I’ve had trouble sleeping since they took Jamie away, so when I’m home, I work on repairing this house until I’m so exhausted all I can do is sleep.” Suddenly realizing she’d spoken aloud, she flushed and clamped her mouth shut.
Eric heard the love in her voice. “How often do you get to see him?”
“I don’t.” Hot tears again burned at the back of her eyes. “They won’t even tell me where he is. They say he won’t learn to relate to other people if he’s still attached to me. But he wouldn’t even relate to Maude…only me. I can’t stop picturing him sitting alone in a corner somewhere, frightened and feeling deserted.”
Her pain disturbed him. “Maybe he’s found another child to play with,” Eric suggested, trying to ease her mind.
“I doubt it. He won’t talk. He prefers to keep to himself and there’s a haunted look on his face that makes other children nervous. They tend to avoid him.” She hadn’t had anyone to talk to since Maude’s death, and she needed to talk. “When he was six, he saw his father, in a drunken jealous rage, kill his mother and then himself. The father’s jealousy was because he thought Jamie wasn’t really his son. Jamie’s maternal grandmother took him in, but she didn’t honestly want him. No one wanted him. She saw his father in him and his father’s family blamed him for the deaths. He withdrew into himself. According to the grandmother, he stopped speaking the night of the murder-suicide and to everyone’s knowledge, he hasn’t spoken since. About a year after the tragedy the grandmother heard about Maude’s place and brought him out here. She refused to even come in. She stood on the porch and handed Maude a handwritten note giving Maude complete guardianship over the boy, then she told Maude that if Maude didn’t want to keep him, she could turn him over to the authorities because she was tired of taking care of him.”
Eric recalled his own childhood before he’d been brought to Maude’s farm. “It’s tough growing up unwanted.”
“It’s always tough being unwanted no matter what age you are.” Roxy clamped her mouth shut. She’d assured herself