CHAPTER TWO

      JASON MCPHERSON WAS A capable child, Alicia admitted silently. Obviously aware of the purpose of a broom and dustpan, he swept up the broken glass without a murmur, then dumped the shards into her wastebasket. If he still wore the chip on his shoulder, at least it didn’t appear to be quite so large a chunk of wood, she thought.

      “I’m finished, ma’am,” he told her as he returned the tools to the cloakroom.

      “No, Jason, you’re not,” she said, contradicting his statement. From the quick look he shot in her direction, he’d expected the reprimand, and she noted the taut line of his jaw.

      His sigh was exaggerated. “Now what do I hafta do?”

      “You know very well what comes next, young man. You had your ear plastered against that kitchen door when I told your father what I expected of you.”

      He shifted uncomfortably, standing first on one leg, then the other, as if he readied himself for flight. “I suppose you think I’m gonna carry in all that wood you got layin’ out in the yard.”

      “No,” she said, disputing his idea. “You’re going to go out there with me and hand me one board at a time while I nail them in place. If it rains tonight, I don’t want the schoolhouse open to the elements.”

      “Elements?” he asked, his look skeptical. “You mean the weather?”

      “You know what I mean,” she told him. “You can’t play dumb with me, Jason. I know exactly how intelligent you are.”

      His shoulders slumped and she decided it was a ploy, a means to get her sympathy. It would never work. He was slick, but she was ahead of the game.

      “Come along,” she said, walking briskly toward the door, hammer in hand, a small brown bag of nails in her pocket. Outdoors, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and she looked upward, thankful that the clouds were not heavy as yet. The idea of working in a downpour didn’t appeal to her, and sending Jason home all wet and soggy might only irritate his father more.

      Although that seemed to be an unlikely thought. The man could not be more irritable if he truly put forth an effort.

      Jake McPherson had a reputation around town. A widower for well over two years, he had become a recluse, mourning his wife, folks said. And well he might, Alicia thought. The woman had no doubt been a saint to put up with him. A more miserable man would be hard to find.

      Yet there had been something about him that appealed to her. Some spark within the man had spanned the gap and touched off an answering response in her soul. Pity? Doubtful, although she respected his need to mourn his wife. Respect? No, not that, for he’d allowed himself to become a hermit and had kept his son apart. Not only from those in the community who might have helped the boy, but from himself.

      He’d built a wall of grief and stubborn pride. Even his own child could not surmount the obstacle of Jake McPherson’s hibernation. And yet she’d been drawn to him…perhaps as one weary soul to another.

      The hammer was a tool she was familiar with, but the boards she nailed in place were heavy and, as a result, her fingers bore the brunt of several blows that she knew would leave bruises behind.

      “You’re not very good at this,” the boy observed as she held the last board in place and took a handful of nails from the bag. “I guess women have a hard time doing man stuff, don’t they?”

      She turned her head, caught by the scorn in his remark. “‘Man stuff’? Hammering a nail is something only the male gender is proficient at? I think not,” she said stiffly, holding the nail firmly and raising the hammer. The head caught the nail off-center and the hammer careened onto the board, bouncing off her thumb in the process.

      Alicia’s murmur of pain was not lost on Jason, and he leaned forward, as if to offer sympathy. Instead, his words only served to insult. “If I couldn’t do any better than that, I’d find someone else to do the job.”

      She inhaled with a shuddering gasp, the pain in her thumb holding all her attention. Extending the hammer in his direction, she turned the tables on the boy. “Here you go, sonny. Have at it.” She placed the bag of nails in his palm, the hammer handle in his other hand, and she stepped back from the partially covered window.

      It took all of her pride to keep the throbbing digit from her mouth, and she almost smiled at the thought. As if warming that thumb between her lips would make the ache disappear. Instead, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her dress and watched as Jason fiddled with the bag of nails, extracting a handful from its depths and then placing them between his lips.

      The bag hit the ground with a muffled clatter, and as she watched, the boy held the board in place with his elbow, then somehow balanced it as he pounded the first nail into it. That it took almost a dozen thuds with the hammer to accomplish the task was immaterial, she decided. That the nail sat at an angle mattered little. The fact remained that Jason had accomplished what he set out to do.

      “Bravo,” she said softly, and as his features assumed a quick look of surprise, she clapped her hands together in a semblance of applause. “I didn’t think you could do it,” she told him.

      His shoulders straightened a bit as he took another nail from his mouth and held it immobile. The hammer rose and fell, the muscles in his upper arms flexing like two halves of an orange.

      “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” Alicia said. “Why didn’t you tell me you could have done this job better than I?”

      His grin was cocky, the sullen look in abeyance as he shot her a look of satisfaction. “You were doin’ all right, Miss Merriweather. For a woman.”

      For a woman. Tempted to scold him for his attitude, she instead chose to change the subject, thinking it the better option. There was no point in alienating the boy unduly.

      “Do you handle the repair work around your father’s house?” she asked him, and wished immediately that she’d not chosen to mention his home. For his mouth drooped and he turned back to the hammering, making enough noise to prohibit him from a reply.

      She bent to pick up the bag of nails, collecting three that had dropped beside her and adding them to the assortment. Knowing she was out on a limb, she backtracked. “I’m sure you’re a big help to your father.”

      “He don’t need any help,” Jason said beneath his breath.

      “He says we can get along just fine by ourselves.”

      “Nevertheless, I’d say it’s a good thing he has you.” She watched as he finished pounding the last nail, and then moved to stand behind him, admiring his work over his shoulder. The board was just a bit skewed, the nails perhaps not lined up perfectly, and two of them were at a slant and couldn’t be straightened, but he’d done the job, and for that he’d gained her respect.

      “Here’s your hammer,” Jason said,