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Apprentice Father
Irene Hannon
His orphaned niece and nephew are depending on Clay Adams. This commitment-phobe substitute dad needs help, and he needs it fast!Nanny Cate Shepard comes to his rescue just in the nick of time. Cate is no stranger to tragedy, and her deep, abiding faith has led her through her darkest days. With God's help, her kindness and nurturing can heal the children…but what about Clay?Will this father in the making abandon his lone-wolf ways to give Cate and the children the forever family they deserve?




Cate had a way with kids. They seemed to like and trust her.
And she certainly knew how to keep them entertained. If they could work out an arrangement, he would be forever in his pastor’s debt.
Though he knew little about Cate, he felt comfortable in her presence. Reassured, somehow, that things would work out. He found her as appealing as his niece and nephew did—on many levels, he realized, watching her blond hair brush her cheek.
When Cate turned toward him, her slight blush told him she was aware he’d been staring. Not good. He needed her child-care services. Making her nervous was not part of the plan.
“What are your plans for them?” Cate asked Clay.
“I don’t know. I’ve been on my own for too many years. I never wanted a responsibility like this. But I made a promise to my sister. As long as the kids are with me, I want to do my best. But I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

IRENE HANNON
who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the author of more than twenty-five novels. Her books have been honored with both the coveted RITA
Award from Romance Writers of America (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction) and the Reviewer’s Choice Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews magazine. More than one million copies of her novels have been sold worldwide. A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time. In her spare time, she enjoys singing, long walks, cooking, gardening and spending time with family. She and her husband make their home in Missouri. For more information about her and her books, Irene invites you to visit her Web site at www.irenehannon.com.

Apprentice Father
Irene Hannon


God gives a home to the forsaken.
—Psalms 68:6
To my husband, Tom—
With love and gratitude for all you do…
and all you are

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion

Prologue
The jarring ring of the phone slowly penetrated Clay’s sleep-fogged brain. Groping for it in the dark, he squinted at his digital clock, trying to focus on the blue numbers. Three o’clock in the morning. Not good.
“Hello?” he mumbled.
“Clay Adams?”
“Yes.”
“This is Lieutenant Butler with the Omaha, Nebraska, Police Department. You have a sister, Anne Montgomery?”
A surge of adrenaline shot through Clay and he jerked upright, his hand tightening on the phone as he swung his legs to the floor. “Yes.”
“I’m very sorry to inform you that she was fatally injured tonight in a domestic violence incident.”
Clay heard the words. Tried to process them. Couldn’t. He’d talked to Anne just three days ago, when she’d called to tell him she was finally leaving her abusive husband. Tomorrow after work, he was making the drive from Washington, Missouri, to Omaha to pick up her and the kids.
She couldn’t be dead.
“Sir?”
“Yes.” Clay cleared his throat. “I’m here.”
“I’m sorry to give you such bad news. We notified a Clayton Adams in Iowa as well. However, he’s ill and unable to assist with any arrangements.”
His father’s illness was news to Clay. But he didn’t keep in touch with his holier-than-thou old man. And he couldn’t care less what his physical condition was. Thanks to the pressure he’d exerted, Anne had stayed in a dangerous marriage.
Now she was dead.
As the full impact of the officer’s news began to sink in, a wave of nausea swept over Clay. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would somehow obliterate the reality. But it couldn’t alter the facts. Anne was gone.
“What happened?” He managed to choke out the hoarse question.
The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. “According to the report, it appears she died from a blow to the head. The autopsy will confirm that.”
All at once, Clay’s shock gave way to rage. A rage that went at light speed from simmering to boiling. “I hope you lock up that monster and throw away the key,” he spat out.
“Unfortunately, the suspect had disappeared by the time we arrived.”
A muscle in Clay’s jaw clenched. “You mean he’s gone?”
“For the moment. But we’ll find him. He took the family’s car, and we’ve issued a BOLO alert on him.”
“Did Anne report this before she…before she died?”
“No. From what we’ve been able to gather, the suspect locked the children in a bedroom when the dispute began. One of them climbed out a window and ran next door for help. The neighbors called the police.”
Clay hadn’t even thought about Josh and Emily. “Are the kids okay?”
“Physically, yes. But as you might expect, they’re pretty traumatized. A friend of Mrs. Montgomery’s is watching them until family arrives.”
Meaning him. There was no one else.
Wiping a hand down his face, Clay tried to think. The construction project he’d been sent to Washington to oversee was in the critical start-up phase, and a late February snow had already put them behind schedule in the two weeks he’d been on site. His boss in Chicago wouldn’t be too thrilled about his taking time off. But that was tough.
He glanced again at the clock. “I can be there by noon tomorrow.”
“I’ll pass that on to Mrs. Montgomery’s friend. Let me give you her name and address.”
Flipping on the light, Clay fumbled in the drawer of his nightstand for a pencil and paper. He jotted down the information in a script so shaky he hoped he’d be able to read it later.
“And give us a call once you arrive,” the lieutenant finished. “We’ll need you to fill out some paperwork. Is there anything else we can do for you in the meantime?”
“Find my sister’s husband.”
“We intend to. And if it’s any comfort, your sister’s friend told us she would notify their pastor, and that all of you would be remembered in the prayers of her congregation.”
With an effort, Clay bit back the disparaging comment that sprang to his lips. Instead, he thanked the officer and hung up.
Clasping his shaky hands, he leaned forward and took several long, slow breaths as the lieutenant’s last comment echoed in his mind. He’d grown up in a so-called Christian home. A household where the slightest transgression was punished. Where hell and damnation were preached, and guilt was ladled out in generous portions. Where the God of vengeance and punishment held court, and where unrepentant sinners—like him—were dealt with harshly and told to pray for mercy.
Back then, Clay hadn’t thought much of prayer. He thought even less of it now, the taste of bitterness sharp on his tongue. Anne had prayed. But where had God been when she’d needed Him a few hours ago? And what good were the prayers of her congregation now? Anne was gone, leaving a four-and five-year-old motherless.
As for him…he didn’t need God’s help. He’d learned long ago to take care of himself.
Of course, if God wanted to lend a hand, that was fine. He was going to need all the help he could get in the days to come.
But he sure wasn’t going to count on it.

Chapter One
As the service for Anne droned on, Clay checked on the two children sitting beside him, who were huddled close together in the pew, holding hands. Emily’s long, dark hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and her eyes were huge in her pale face. Fair-haired Josh looked uncertain and lost, his freckles standing in stark relief against his pale skin, one finger stuck in his mouth. He hadn’t said a word since Clay had arrived in Omaha.
Redirecting his attention to the sanctuary, where Reverend Phelps was presiding over Anne’s funeral, Clay tried not to appear too hostile. He hadn’t been inside a church since his sister’s wedding almost ten years ago, and he’d prefer not to be in one now. But Anne would have wanted a church service. That’s why he’d thrown his one suit into his suitcase in the early morning hours preceding his long, solitary drive to Nebraska.
He’d always been a sucker about giving his gentle, loving kid sister what she wanted, he recalled. His favorite comic book, his last piece of chocolate. He’d been her biggest fan when she’d had the leading role in her grade school play, and her staunchest defender when bullies had plagued her in middle school.
Yet he hadn’t been able to save her from the ultimate bully. From the man who, ironically, had pledged to love, honor and cherish her all the days of his life.
As he looked at the coffin resting beside him in the aisle, Clay’s throat tightened. A tear leaked out the corner of his eye, and he dipped his head to swipe at it with the back of his hand.
May Martin rot in hell for all eternity, Clay thought, the bitter wish twisting his gut.
And his feelings toward his old man weren’t much kinder.
Nor were they tempered by the memory of their brief conversation after he’d arrived in Nebraska. He hadn’t seen or talked with his father since Anne’s wedding, and he hadn’t recognized the querulous voice on the phone. But though his father had sounded old and feeble, he’d been as self-righteous, demanding—and disapproving—as ever.
“Listen, boy, I can’t make it to Nebraska for the service. I have pneumonia.” His father’s hacking cough, followed by audible wheezing, had interrupted their conversation. “You’ll have to handle the arrangements.”
Clay had always hated how his father called him “boy.” His jaw had clamped shut and he’d gritted his teeth. “I plan to.”
“There has to be a church service.”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Who has the children?”
“I do.”
“I guess there’s no other option right now.”
He must think I’ll corrupt them in a week, Clay had concluded, compressing his mouth into a thin line.
“I’ll take them as soon as I’m well enough,” his father had continued. “I’ll call you.”
And with that he’d hung up.
There hadn’t been a lot of opportunity to think about his father’s last comment, but as the organ launched into a hymn and the people around him began to sing, Clay considered the two children beside him. He’d been so mired in grief, so bogged down in paperwork and funeral arrangements, he hadn’t given much thought to their future.
But as he regarded their innocent, anxious faces, his heart contracted with compassion. How could he relegate these little children to a cold, joyless life with his strict, hard-nosed father? After the trauma they’d been through, they needed love and tenderness, and a stable, supportive environment. They needed a caring parent figure and a real home. His father would offer none of those things.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t equipped to offer them, either, Clay acknowledged. He didn’t know much about love or tenderness, and less about how to create a comforting haven. The home of his youth wasn’t a good prototype. Nor were his twelve years in the Army, where the focus had been on structure and discipline and honor. And his current job kept him on the move, making it impossible to establish ties of any kind—or even a permanent home. And that’s the way he liked it.
Yet the thought of handing these children over to his father turned his stomach. The old man ruled through fear, not love. Joy and fun weren’t in his vocabulary. Josh and Emily would have a dismal life with him. That was the last thing Anne would have wanted for them.
So what was he supposed to do?
“As we take our sister, Anne, to her final resting place, let us find some comfort in knowing she is at peace and with God.” Reverend Phelps’s closing remarks echoed in the church, and Clay tried to focus on his words. “And let us recall how she always tried to do the right thing. That’s a challenge we all face. Because the right thing may not always be the easiest thing. It may not be what we want to do. It may take great courage. But Anne gave us a shining example of courage and selfless love. Let that be her legacy to us, one that we all strive to follow.”
Twin furrows dented Clay’s brow. He’d seen too many people fail at relationships—with parents, with spouses, with children. Enough to convince him he never wanted a family. But if what the minister said was true, he had one now. For how could he send these children to his father’s home, where their life would be little better than before?
All at once Clay found it difficult to breathe. Reaching up, he tugged at his suddenly too-tight tie. He’d had this feeling of being trapped, of the walls closing in on him, twice before in his life. Once, as a kid, living under his father’s roof. And again, during Army training, when he’d been locked into a small, dark room for several days during a POW simulation. In both cases, he’d survived for one simple reason: he’d known he would get out.
But there was no escape from this situation. Not if he did the right thing.
Clay knew about duty from his years in the military. Knew about it, too, from years of living in his father’s house, where the phrase “doing your Christian duty” had been drummed into him. The minister had confirmed that obligation. There was no doubt in Clay’s mind about what he should do.
But he wasn’t sure he was up to the task.
Frustrated, Clay raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know a thing about little kids. If Anne had listened to him and left her husband instead of letting their father shame her into staying in that mockery of a marriage, he wouldn’t be in this predicament.
Giving him yet another reason to resent his old man.
As the pallbearers began to roll the coffin out, Clay moved into the aisle behind it. Emily and Josh remained in the pew, watching him with big eyes. He motioned for them to follow, and Emily nudged Josh. But the little boy shook his head and burrowed closer to Emily.
Stepping back into the pew, Clay crouched beside the children. “It’s time to go,” he murmured.
“Josh is ’fraid,” Emily whispered.
A lump rose in this throat. “Neither of you need to be afraid anymore. I’m going to take care of you. How about I carry you, Josh? That way, you can see the pretty windows in the back.”
Clay held out his arms and, with a nudge from Emily, Josh edged toward him. Swinging him up, Clay was startled by how little the boy weighed—and reminded yet again of the children’s vulnerability…and the terrifying responsibility he’d inherited.
As the procession moved down the aisle, a tentative touch on his hand drew his attention and he looked down. Emily was watching him, her expression uncertain, as if to ask: Is this okay? In response, he pasted on a smile and folded her small, cold hand in his with a gentle squeeze.
The tremulous little puff of air she released, the sudden relaxing of her features, almost undid him. Clay knew Anne had tried her very best to shelter her children and create a real home. But in the few days he’d been in Nebraska, he’d discovered her best hadn’t been good enough. The children had seen too much. Heard too much. Their eyes told the story. Fearful, anxious, uncertain, haunted—they were old beyond their years. Especially Emily’s. The damage was clear. And he was afraid it would take a miracle to undo it.
Clay didn’t much believe in miracles…except the kind people made for themselves through hard work and perseverance. In this case, however, he wasn’t sure any amount of work on his part would give these children back their childhood. Yet they were in desperate need of help.
Since he doubted he’d darken a church door again any time soon, Clay figured he should use this opportunity to seek help from a higher source. Not that he expected much. But what did he have to lose?
God, I don’t know why any of this happened. And I don’t know if You care. But if You do, please take pity on these children. They need more than I can give. I’ll do my best, but I’m not equipped to handle kids. If You’re listening, help me find a way to heal these children. Not for my sake. But for theirs. And Anne’s.

Clay saw the familiar arches in the distance, a short drive off the interstate, and cast an uneasy glance into the rearview mirror as he pulled into the exit lane. Josh was dozing in the back seat, and Emily was staring out the window. Since leaving Omaha four hours ago after the funeral, she hadn’t said more than ten words. And the eerie silence was beginning to unnerve him. Weren’t kids supposed to be noisy and restless on long car trips? Weren’t they supposed to chatter and ask how much longer and want a drink of water and need to use the bathroom every ten miles?
These two, however, hadn’t made one request or asked a single question during the entire trip. But they must be hungry by now. He sure was.
“How about some hamburgers and French fries?” Clay tossed the question over his shoulder as he started up the exit ramp.
No response.
He checked the rearview mirror again. Emily’s somber gaze met his.
“Are you hungry?” He gentled his tone.
She gave a slow nod.
“Do you like hamburgers and French fries?”
Again, an affirmative response. “Josh does, too.”
“How about a milkshake to go with them?”
Her face lit up a little and she gave her brother a gentle prod. “Josh. Wake up. We’re going to have milkshakes.” It was the first touch of life Clay had heard in her voice.
A parking spot near the front door of the fast-food outlet opened up, and Clay pulled in. By the time he climbed out of the pickup truck, Emily had unbuckled her car seat and was working on Josh’s, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Do you need some help?” Clay offered.
“No, thank you. I can do it.”
Five minutes later, after he’d settled them in a booth, Clay headed for the counter to place his order, keeping them in sight. But he didn’t have to worry. Unlike the other children in the place, who were crying, shouting, throwing food or running around, Josh and Emily sat in silence waiting for him. While Clay wasn’t anxious for them to emulate their peers, he was struck again by the need to restore some semblance of childhood to their lives. Some laughter and spontaneity and just plain silliness.
In light of all that had transpired, however, that seemed like a monumental task.
“Here’s your change, sir.”
Clay swiveled toward the counter and pocketed the money. “Thanks.” Juggling the tray, he wove his way toward the booth, slid in opposite the children and quickly dispensed the food.
The first bite of his burger was wonderful, and he closed his eyes as he chewed, enjoying the flavor. At least, he was enjoying it until he opened his eyes and found Josh and Emily staring at him with solemn faces, their food untouched.
He stopped chewing. “What’s wrong?”
“We didn’t say grace yet,” Emily said.
Trying not to choke, Clay swallowed his mouthful of burger with a gulp and wiped a paper napkin across his lips. He hadn’t said a prayer before meals since he’d left home at age seventeen. Racking his brain, he searched for the stale words his father used to say, but they eluded him.
Emily studied him. “Do you want me to say it?”
“Good idea,” he endorsed with relief.
She reached for Josh’s hand, then for his. Josh inched his other hand across the table, and Clay took it. Their small hands were swallowed in his much larger grasp.
Emily and Josh bowed their heads as Emily spoke. “Lord, thank you for this food we eat, and keep us safe until we meet. Amen.”
“Amen,” Clay echoed after they gave him an expectant look.
As the children began eating, devouring every last morsel, Clay realized how hungry they’d been. And how dependent they were on him. For everything. Food. Shelter. Security. Love. Like it or not, he’d inherited a family. Unless he sent them to live with his father.
That was still an option. But not a good one.
Meaning his life was about to change dramatically.
And all at once he wasn’t hungry any more.

“Don’t make any noise, Josh.”
The childish, high-pitched whisper penetrated Clay’s light sleep, and he squinted at the illuminated dial of his watch. Four-fifteen. If he didn’t get some rest soon, he’d be a zombie in the morning. But the uncomfortable couch that had become his bed since Emily and Josh had claimed his room three nights ago wasn’t helping, either.
An odd sound came from the bedroom, and he frowned. What was going on in there?
Swinging his legs to the floor, Clay padded toward the bedroom door, his bare feet noiseless on the carpet. As he eased it open, two heads pivoted toward him and Josh and Emily froze, like startled deer caught in headlights.
The seconds ticked by as Clay tried to make sense of the scene. The two children stood at the far corner of the bed. Emily had taken the blankets off and piled them on the floor. Now she was trying to take the sheets off as well.
“What’s going on?” Clay scanned the room again, bewildered.
Josh moved closer to Emily, and she placed a shielding arm around his shoulders. “Josh h-had an accident.”
Shifting his attention to the frightened little boy, Clay gave him a rapid inspection. In his definition, “accidents” entailed injury and blood. But Josh didn’t appear to be hurt. However, his pajama bottoms did look funny. They were clinging to him. Like they were wet.
All at once, Clay understood.
“It happens s-sometimes at night, if he’s afraid.” A tremor ran through Emily’s voice. “I can clean it up. You don’t have t-to be mad.”
Clay took a step into the room—but came to an abrupt halt when Josh cowered behind Emily with a whimper.
They were scared. Really scared, he realized with a jolt. Anne had said that Martin had never hurt them, but now he wasn’t sure that was true. Softening his tone, he moved slowly into the room. “Accidents happen. It’s okay. Emily, why don’t you help Josh change into dry pajamas while I put new sheets on the bed?”
She took her brother’s hand and tugged. “Come on, Josh.”
The little boy followed, skirting him warily.
After scrubbing and blow-drying the mattress, remaking the bed and tucking a folded towel under the fitted sheet on Josh’s side, Clay beckoned the children. “Okay. Good as new. Climb in.”
Emily got in first, then pulled Josh up beside her. She pressed him down on the pillow and lay next to him, taking his hand. Clay tucked the blanket under their chins and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know everything is new, and that you miss your mommy. But I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to be scared.”
“How come you didn’t get mad at Josh?” Emily searched his face.
“He didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I know. But Daddy always got mad.”
With an effort, Clay kept his expression neutral and tried for a measured tone. “What did he do when he got mad?”
“He yelled at Josh. And at Mommy.”
“Did he spank Josh?”
“No. But I think…I think he hit Mommy. He said it was her fault we had accidents. I spilled a glass of milk once, and Daddy yelled at Mommy. She had big bruises on her arm the next day.” Emily’s features contorted with misery. “We didn’t m-mean to hurt Mommy.” The last word caught on a sob. “We tried t-to be good.”
Clay felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. With an unsteady hand he brushed the hair back from his niece’s forehead. It was soft and fine and gossamer.
“It wasn’t your fault that your mommy got hurt, Emily. Or Josh’s. Your daddy shouldn’t have yelled at you about accidents, and he shouldn’t have hurt your mommy. That was a wrong thing to do.”
“I wish M-Mommy was here now.”
“So do I.” More than Emily would ever know, he reflected. “But she would want you to be brave. Will you try to do that?”
Emily gave a tearful nod and looked at Josh, who had fallen asleep again, cuddled up beside her. “Josh is kind of little to be brave, though.”
Clay swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Then we’ll have to help him.”
“Okay.” Emily snuggled next to Josh, and her eyelids drifted closed.
For several more minutes Clay sat there. Once their even breathing told him they were asleep he rose and headed toward the door, pausing on the threshold. The two youngsters were lost in the queen-sized bed, their bodies an almost indiscernible bump beneath the blanket. They seemed so tiny. So forlorn. So defenseless. And they were relying on him to see to all of their needs.
Their physical needs, Clay could handle. Food, clothing and shelter weren’t hard to provide.
But when it came to matters of the heart, he was in way over his head.

She was about to hear bad news.
Cate Shepard knew it the minute she walked in the back door of the Dugan home and found both Brenna and Steve waiting for her. In the two years she’d provided in-home child care for their son they’d become good friends, and she’d learned to read their moods.
“Good morning.” She closed the door and summoned up a smile, steeling herself. “Why do I think this isn’t my lucky day?”
Brenna sent a quick look to Steve, who cleared his throat and rose.
“It’s one of those good news, bad news scenarios, Cate. I’ve been offered a great position with a new company in Chicago. Starting in two weeks. The bad news is we’ll have to leave behind the best child care provider we’ll ever hope to find.”
She was out of a job.
Cate managed to keep her smile in place. This had happened before; it would happen again. She’d manage, as she always did.
“I’m happy for you, Steve. But I’ll miss all of you.”
“We feel the same way about you, Cate.” Brenna stood and came forward to give her a hug. “You know we’ll give you a stellar recommendation.”
“Thank you.” Cate gave her a squeeze, then stepped back. “Now tell me about the new opportunity.”
She listened as the young couple explained Steve’s new position, commiserated with Brenna about her angst over finding a new job, and took care of Timmy for the rest of the day when the couple went to work.
Only later, as she drove through the streets of Washington to her condo—with a quick detour for a fudgesicle at a convenience store—did she let herself think about the future.
She always hated her jobs to end. In ten years of providing on-site child care, she’d been lucky to go through this only three times. Now she had to start the process over again. And while she’d never had trouble connecting with a family in need of her services, she usually had far more notice than this to find a new position.
Pulling into the parking place near her condo, she picked up the fudgesicle. It was already softening in the unseasonable warmth of this early March Missouri day, she noted, walking to her front door as fast as her slightly uneven gait allowed.
Once inside, she headed for the kitchen and unwrapped the treat. Leaning over the sink while she ate, she savored the fleeting sweetness as the rich chocolate melted on her tongue. And recalled, as she always did, the day she’d indulged in one after receiving the letter that had offered her a bright and shining future.
But two weeks later, that future had melted away, as surely and irrevocably as her dissolving fudgesicle.
Rinsing her sticky hands under the sink, her gaze lingered on the fingers of her left hand as a melancholy pang echoed through her. Long, slender and graceful, they looked the same as they always had. They just didn’t work as well.
Yet dwelling on memories of a time when hopes were high and dreams came true was fruitless, she reminded herself. Her life was good now. She had a satisfying career. A loving family. A solid faith that had seen her through some rough stretches. If she didn’t have the one thing she most yearned for—a loving marriage blessed with children—she needed to accept that it wasn’t in God’s plan for her. And she was working on it.
But it wasn’t easy.

Securing the pillow under his head with a firm shove, Clay fought off consciousness—and reality—as long as possible. A week and a half into his new role as surrogate father, he was sinking fast.
The kids had been thrown out of day care on Friday because four-year-old bed wetters weren’t acceptable, so he had to come up with alternative arrangements by tomorrow. And he had a ton of work to do that he hadn’t gotten to last week, thanks to all the changes in his life.
It was not shaping up to a be a good Sunday.
And the sober faces peering at him when he finally pried open his eyes suggested it was only going to get worse. Emily and Josh were already dressed, he noted. In nice clothes.
“It’s Sunday.” The pronouncement came from Emily.
She said that like it was supposed to mean something. And Clay had the distinct impression that it did not include sleeping in.
“I know.” He hoped she wasn’t heading in the direction he suspected.
“Aren’t we going to church?”
His hope dissolved. “Maybe we could skip this week.”
Tears pooled in Emily’s eyes. “Mommy told us once that if she ever went away to be with God, we could talk to her in church on Sunday.”
Clay was sunk. He could hold his own with hard-as-nails, give-no-quarter types. But these two little kids, who together couldn’t weigh much more than sixty pounds, melted his heart. Meaning his Sundays were about to undergo a radical change.
Forty-five minutes later, as he approached the white church with the tall steeple that he passed on the way to work everyday, he hoped the lot would be empty. That way, he could rationalize that he’d tried to take the kids to church.
But no, it was full. And he could hear the muffled sound of organ music. According to the sign in front, the service had begun ten minutes ago.
He was stuck.
Accepting his fate, he helped the children out of the truck, took their hands and headed toward a church for the second time in less than a week. Although he tried to unobtrusively slip into a row near the back, Josh foiled his plan by tripping over the edge of the pew and sprawling in the aisle. Clay was sure every head in the place swiveled their direction as he swooped to pick up the little boy.
After climbing over three sets of feet and squeezing in between a woman with two teenagers and an older couple, all Clay wanted to do was slink out of the church and never come near the place again.
The kids, however, were oblivious to his embarrassment. Emily’s hands lay folded in her lap, and Josh was jiggling his feet, which stuck straight out over the end of the pew. Noting that one of the youngster’s shoes was untied, Clay leaned forward to remedy the situation—and discovered another problem he couldn’t fix. Josh’s socks didn’t match.
Risking a peek at the older woman beside him, he saw her inspecting Josh’s feet. A flush crawled up his neck. The fact that it had never occurred to him to check the kids’ clothes was yet more evidence of how ill-equipped he was for this job.
The woman lifted her head, and Clay braced for disapproval. Instead he saw understanding and compassion in her eyes.
“Kids are a handful, aren’t they?” The whispered comment was accompanied by a smile. “I had four. And I had that same problem on a few occasions.” She inclined her head toward Josh’s feet.
Relief coursed through him. The woman wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to make him feel inadequate. She was being kind. He hadn’t expected that.
“I’m pretty new at this. I have a lot to learn.”
“Don’t we all,” she commiserated with a quiet chuckle before turning her attention back to the sanctuary, where the minister was moving toward the pulpit.
Clay’s tension eased. Most of the Christians he recalled from his childhood had been quick to criticize and censure. But this woman hadn’t done that. Nor had the members of Anne’s congregation. It was a new view of Christianity for Clay.
This minister was also worth listening to. Mid-forties, with flecks of silver in his light brown hair and subtle character lines in his face, he spoke in a down-to-earth style, and his words had practical implications. Though Clay hadn’t picked up a Bible in decades, the passage the pastor referenced near the end of his sermon was vaguely familiar. But he’d never looked at it in quite the way that the minister presented it.
“I’m sure most of you know the story about the fig tree that didn’t bear fruit,” he said. “The frustrated owner planned to cut it down, but the vine dresser entreated him to give the vine one more chance.
“How often in our lives have we, too, wanted one more chance? One more chance to say I love you. To prove our abilities. To do the right thing. One more chance to be the person God intended us to be. Sad to say, those feelings often surface at funerals and on death beds—when it’s too late to change things.”
The minister leaned forward and gripped the pulpit. “My dear friends, God doesn’t want us to have regrets. Like the vine dresser, He offers us countless opportunities to put things right. In fact, each day that He gives us is one more chance—to mend a relationship, to lend a helping hand, to welcome Him into our lives with open hearts and minds. Let us take comfort in knowing He is always there to guide us, to console us, to strengthen us. To give us one more chance.”
As the minister concluded his remarks, Clay looked over at the two children beside him. Was he the one who was supposed to give them the chance the minister had talked about?
It was a daunting thought.
Even more daunting was the thought that came next; maybe they had been brought into his life to give him one more chance, too.
Now that was a scary concept. It reeked too much of commitment. Of long-term responsibility. The very things he’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid. He’d seen how much damage people could inflict on those they claimed to love, and he’d decided long ago that love wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, the demands of his job weren’t conducive to having a family. Nor were they compatible with single parenthood. Surely no one would expect him to change his whole life for two little kids who weren’t even his own. Would they?
Maybe.
The answer came unbidden—and unwanted. Prompted, he supposed, by the lack of other options. For if he sent the kids to live with his father, they would never have the chance to lead a normal life.
Tension began to form behind Clay’s temples. He didn’t normally get headaches. But the last ten days hadn’t been anywhere close to normal. And the organist, who seemed intent on banging his or her way through the final hymn at the highest possible volume, wasn’t helping.
When the last note mercifully died away, Clay leaned down to guide the children out of the pew. As he did so, the older woman touched his arm.
“They’re darling children. So well behaved. Good luck with them.”
Clay acknowledged the woman’s encouraging words with a nod. But they didn’t begin to solve his child care problem.
As they inched toward the exit, the children’s hands tucked in his, it occurred to Clay that the woman might have some suggestions on child care. His step faltered and he turned to scan the crowd, but she’d already disappeared. Too bad. He could have used one more chance with her, he mused, recalling the minister’s sermon.
The minister.
Perhaps the preacher might know of someone who could help with the children, Clay speculated. Clergy often had a network of social service resources. Plus, a minister would only recommend someone trustworthy and above reproach. That meant Clay wouldn’t have to worry about checking references. It was worth trying, anyway.
Because he was out of options.
And he was running out of time.

Chapter Two
As he left the church, Clay spotted the pastor greeting members of the congregation. He stepped aside to wait until the man was free, watching as Emily dug in her pocket and withdrew a plastic bag of cereal.
“I brought these for Josh.” She gave him an uncertain look. “Mommy always put some cereal in her purse for him in case he got hungry at church.”
In the rush of getting them ready, he’d forgotten to feed them, Clay realized with a pang. “That was a good idea. I think we’re all hungry. After I talk to the minister, why don’t we go out to breakfast?”
“To a restaurant?” Emily’s face lit up.
“Yes.”
“Could we get pancakes?”
“Sure.”
“We’d like that. Wouldn’t we, Josh?”
The little boy looked up at Clay and gave a slow nod.
“It’s a date, then,” Clay promised.
The crowd around the minister began to disperse, and Clay ushered the children in his direction. As they approached, the man gave them a pleasant smile. “Good morning. I’m Bob Richards. Welcome.”
“Thank you. Clay Adams.” He grasped the man’s extended hand.
“I’m happy you could join us this morning.” The pastor transferred his attention to Emily and Josh. “Can I meet these two lovely children?”
“This is my niece and nephew, Emily and Josh.” Clay rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “They just lost their mother…my sister…so they’ve come to live with me.”
“I’m very sorry.” The man’s quiet words were laced with empathy.
Clay acknowledged the expression of sympathy with a nod. “I’d like to ask your advice, if I may. I’m trying to find someone who can come to my apartment and watch the children while I’m at work, just until things settle down and I can make more permanent arrangements. I’m a construction engineer.” He mentioned the manufacturing facility he’d been sent to build. “I’m new in town, and I thought you might be able to direct me to some resources.”
The man’s face grew thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, I know someone who’s between child care jobs.” He surveyed the people chatting in small groups. “Give me a minute.”
He strode across the lawn, and Clay watched in surprise as he stopped beside a slender woman with blond hair. Her back was to him, but when the minister spoke to her she angled toward him, giving Clay a clear view of her profile. He’d expected the pastor to recommend someone older, not a beautiful young woman. But at this point, he’d hire anyone the man endorsed.
The woman’s gaze skimmed his before she resumed her conversation with the minister. After a bit more discussion, they broke away from the group. Reverend Richards took her arm as they traversed the uneven ground, and Clay discovered the man’s gesture was prompted by more than simple courtesy. The woman not only limped, she used a cane. Was she between jobs as the result of an injury? And with such a pronounced limp, how would she be able to keep up with two active children?
Despite his concern about her abilities, Clay was struck again by the woman’s delicate beauty. From a distance, he’d guessed her to be in her early twenties. But as they drew close, he realized she was more likely in her thirties.
After performing the introductions, the minister excused himself. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the details. But if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to call.” He handed Clay a card. “And I hope to see you again soon at services.”
“Thank you.” Clay pocketed the card. “You’ve been very kind.”
“It’s in the job description. For all Christians—not just ministers.” With a wink and a wave, the pastor headed toward another small cluster of congregants.
Cate watched him leave, then turned her attention to Clay. “I understand you’re in need of child care on a temporary basis.”
“Yes.” He found himself admiring the way her soft hair framed the perfect oval of her face as well as her clear, emerald-green eyes. “My sister was…she recently passed away, and I’m caring for her children.”
“Did you try the child care centers in town?”
“That didn’t work out. I’d be happy to provide more details, but this may not be the best place.” He gave a subtle nod toward Emily and Josh, who were watching the exchange with trepidation.
To his relief, she picked up his cue. “All right. But I’d like to meet the children.” Bending down to their level, she braced herself on her cane and gave them a sunny smile. “Hi. I’m Cate. Can you tell me your names?”
Emily tightened her grip on Josh’s hand. “I’m Emily. This is Josh.”
“I’m very happy to meet you both.”
“Did you hurt your leg?” Emily inspected the cane.
“Emily!” At Clay’s sharp rebuke, the little girl flinched and shrank back.
Cate, however, took the question in stride. “I was sick a long time ago, and my leg never got all the way better. Neither did my hand.”
As she lifted her left hand, Clay saw that it had limited function, too.
Casting an uncertain glance at Clay, Emily edged closer to Cate and lowered her voice. “Do they hurt?”
“Not too much anymore. Most days I don’t need this.” She indicated the cane. “But I was working in my garden on Friday, and I got a little sore.”
“Mommy had a garden. With roses and ’tunias and ble-ble-gonias.”
“Those are some of my favorites, too.” She turned to Josh, her smile warm and open. “What’s your favorite flower?”
As Josh studied Cate, he withdrew his thumb from his mouth.
Clay signaled to her. “He doesn’t…”
“Daisies,” Josh interrupted.
Clay stared at him.
“I like those, too.” Cate’s smile deepened, and she took Josh’s hand in a gentle clasp.
“We’re having pancakes for breakfast. At a restaurant,” he told her. “Can you come?”
“Not today. But I’ll see you soon.”
With a slight wince, she straightened up. “When would you like to get together?”
She directed her question to Clay, but he was still focused on Josh. The boy had spoken! It was a breakthrough.
Raising his head, Clay regarded Cate. Her physical limitations were obvious. Yet the minister had said she was between child care jobs, so she must be able to handle kids. She was sure handling Emily and Josh like a pro. If she could get Josh to talk, perhaps she could also help erase the haunted look from their eyes. “Would this afternoon be okay?”
“I’m sorry. I always have supper with my family on Sunday afternoon.”
“I hate to impose.” Clay tried not to appear too desperate. “But I’m overseeing a major construction project and I’ve already missed too much work. I need to get an arrangement in place as soon as possible.”
For a terrifying instant Clay thought she was going to refuse. But to his relief, she relented.
“Okay. I can stop by before I go to supper.” She withdrew a slip of paper and a pen from her purse. “What’s your address and phone number?” She jotted it down as he dictated. “I’ll come by about one, Mr. Adams.”
“Make it Clay.”
“And I’m Cate.” She bent down to the children again. “I’ll see you both later today.”
“Promise?” Josh asked.
“Cross my heart.” Smiling, she tousled his hair and stood to address Clay. “See you later.”
“Thanks again.”
As he watched her walk away, he found himself admiring her lithe figure. But beyond her loveliness, he’d been struck by how her mere presence had dissipated some of the turmoil that had clenched his stomach into knots since that fateful phone call ten days ago. With Cate in charge of the kids, he had a feeling he’d no longer feel as if his life was spinning out of control.
Taking the children’s hands, he guided them back toward his truck. And made a reluctant admission.
Going to church today hadn’t been a waste of time after all.

Cate double-checked the directions she’d printed from Mapquest. Two more turns and she should be at the apartment complex Clay Adams called home.
She still wasn’t quite sure why she’d agreed to meet him today. She didn’t believe in working on Sunday. But those two little children, with their big, solemn eyes, had touched her heart. They both needed a hefty dose of TLC.
Nor had she been immune to the desperation in their uncle’s eyes.
But those weren’t the only reasons she’d waived her no-work-on-Sunday rule, she acknowledged, as she negotiated the final turn before the entrance to his apartment complex. She’d also been drawn to the man himself.
Why, she wasn’t sure. With his dark good looks, golden tan and slightly rough-around-the-edges demeanor, he was nothing like the boy-next-door type that usually appealed to her.
Perhaps his generosity had captured her fancy, she speculated as she pulled into a parking space close to Clay’s apartment. Though grieving himself, he’d assumed responsibility for his sister’s children. And his efforts to find quality care for them suggested he possessed a kind and caring heart. She admired him for that.
But that odd little flutter in her stomach when their gazes had met across the church grounds couldn’t be explained away by mere admiration, she admitted. It had been attraction, pure and simple. Clay Adams might not be her type, but he was handsome in a rugged, bad-boy sort of way that for some reason made her heart race. She wasn’t quite comfortable with the notion of working for someone to whom she was attracted. Yet for the sake of those two forlorn children, she could learn to control her reaction to him. She was sure of it.
After setting the brake, she inspected the apartment development. It was well-maintained and landscaped, but there was very little open green space, and no play area, she noted. At least there was a park not far away. If she accepted this job, Cate intended to take the children there often. Their wan appearance suggested they needed fresh air, along with a place to run and play and just be kids.
Opening her car door, Cate swung her legs to the ground and scooted to the edge of the seat. Although she hated to admit it, she’d overdone it in the garden a couple of days ago. Not only had she put extra strain on her leg, she’d pulled a muscle in her back.
Once on her feet, she reached for her cane. In a day or two, she should be able to put that nuisance back in the closet. For now, though, it was a godsend. Especially when she realized Clay’s apartment was on the second floor. She could handle steps, but it was slow going even on a good day.
As if on cue, a door on the landing opened. She looked up to find her potential employer watching her.
“I forgot to tell you about the steps,” he called down, his expression troubled.
She smiled. “No problem.”
He hovered at the top, his concern obvious. It was a common reaction, and Cate was used to it. Many people were uncomfortable around those with disabilities, at least in the beginning. And sometimes forever. She’d been that way herself once, in the days when she’d moved with grace and perfect coordination. She understood his unease. She also knew that the best way to deal with it was to address it head-on.
“Can I help?” Clay offered.
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Just slow today.”
Cate ascended the stairs, steadying herself on her cane once she reached the top. Much to her dismay, her stomach fluttered again as she looked into the intense, dark brown eyes that were fixed on her.
“Steps aren’t always easy for me, but I’m very capable of handling the children,” she assured him, striving for a confident tone. “You’re seeing me at my worst, thanks to a gardening binge. Most of the time I don’t use the cane. I’ve had years to learn how to manage my disability, and it’s never hindered my work. Of course, your concern that Josh and Emily receive the best of care is commendable. I’ll be happy to provide some references.”
Warmth crept up Clay’s neck. He considered himself to be a pretty tolerant and unbiased guy, but he didn’t often come into contact with people who had physical disabilities. And despite the positive spin she’d given his obvious unease by praising his concern for the children’s welfare, her graciousness didn’t alleviate his chagrin.
“I’m sure Reverend Richards wouldn’t have recommended you if you weren’t capable.”
“True. But it’s best to get any reservations on the table at the beginning. I’ve learned that people are often curious about my disabilities, and I don’t mind talking about them if that will help put your mind at ease.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight. He was curious. And not just because he was concerned about Cate’s ability to deal with the children. She was a beautiful woman—and far too young to have to rely on a cane. He wanted to know what had happened to her.
“Fourteen years ago, when I was eighteen, I had Guillain-Barre Syndrome.” She answered his question before he could figure out a diplomatic way to ask it. “Are you familiar with that condition?”
“I’ve heard the name. But that’s all.”
“You’re not alone. Few people know much about it. It’s a rare illness that generally affects men over the age of forty, so I wasn’t a typical victim. It causes the body’s immune system to attack the nerves. Most people make a full recovery.”
She paused, and Clay saw a brief flash of pain ricochet across her eyes. “I take it you weren’t typical in that regard, either.”
“No. And since I didn’t fit the standard profile, I wasn’t diagnosed fast enough. I ended up paralyzed and went into respiratory failure. Even with symptoms that severe, however, most people recover. Longer-lasting effects, like lingering weakness in the arms or legs, usually go away with physical therapy. In a few cases, they don’t.”
Like hers.
The facts were clear, but there was much she hadn’t spoken of, Clay reflected. And questions she hadn’t answered. Like how had it felt, at the age of eighteen, to be struck with such a debilitating condition? How had it changed her life? What dreams had she been forced to give up? How had she found the strength to cope?
He couldn’t begin to fathom what it must have been like for her to suddenly find her world so constricted, her options so limited.
“I’m sorry.” It was a pathetically inadequate response, and he knew it.
The door behind him creaked, and Clay swung around to find Emily peering through the crack, reminding him that he should have invited Cate in instead of letting her tell her life story while standing on the landing.
His neck grew warm and he motioned toward the door. “Why don’t we go inside?” Stepping aside to let her precede him, he was struck again by her delicate, willowy frame and her long, slender fingers as they gripped her cane.
For some reason, he was tempted to reach out, take her arm, reassure her, help her. It was an odd inclination—and completely inappropriate, he reminded himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. She was here about a job. Nothing more.
“Hi, Cate,” Emily greeted their visitor in a soft, shy voice.
“Hello, Emily.” Cate stopped on the threshold, and Clay caught a faint whiff of some sweet, subtle scent wafting from her hair that kicked his pulse up a notch. “Where’s your brother?”
Josh peeked around Emily’s shoulder and smiled.
“How many pancakes did you eat?” Cate asked him.
He pondered, struggling through the math. “Four.”
“No wonder you’re such a big boy!”
He gave her a pleased grin, then he and Emily moved away from the door to allow her to enter.
Clay followed at a safe distance, shutting the door as he gave the room a swift survey, trying to see it through Cate’s eyes. He spent so little time in the succession of apartments he’d occupied that he always opted for a small, furnished place—living room, efficiency kitchen, bedroom and bath. This was no exception.
Until today, Clay had thought the place was fine, if a bit cramped. But suddenly he recognized all its shortcomings. Besides being small, it was too sterile. There was nothing personal in the place to distinguish it from any unoccupied apartment in the complex. Nothing to suggest it was a home. Nothing warm and inviting. In other words, not the best environment for the children. Cate’s expression, however, gave no hint of her reaction.
“Would you like some coffee?” he offered.
“No, thanks. But a glass of water would be great.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward the living room.
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with the children first, if you don’t mind. I brought an activity for them. May I borrow your kitchen table?”
“Sure. Help yourself.”
Cate followed him toward the kitchen, and as he got ice and water, she sat at the small table. The kids watched with interest as she withdrew a small tape recorder, a pad of paper and a box of crayons from her large shoulder tote.
“What’s all that for?” Emily asked.
“I thought you might like to draw some pictures while I talk to your uncle.” She tore off some sheets of paper and spread the crayons on the table. “The lady on the tape will tell you a story about a farmer and ask you to draw some of the things she talks about. After the tape ends, you can show me all your pictures.”
“Emily draws good,” Josh told Cate. “She drawed me a bird once.”
“Today you’ll both have a chance to draw lots of different animals. And a tractor and a barn and a big stalk of corn. And the sun and rain that make it grow.”
After settling the children at the table, Cate started the tape player and listened to the beginning with them to ensure they understood the instructions.
From a few feet away, Clay watched, one hip propped against the counter. She had a way with kids, no question about it. They seemed to like and trust her. And she certainly knew how to keep them entertained. If they could work out a child care arrangement, he would be forever in Reverend Richards’s debt.
And not just for the kids’ sake, he realized. Though he knew little about the woman standing a few feet away, he felt comfortable in her presence. Reassured, somehow, that things would work out. He found her as appealing as his niece and nephew did—on a lot of levels, he acknowledged, watching her soft blond hair brush the gentle sweep of her cheek as she leaned close to help Josh select a crayon.
When Cate turned toward him, her slight blush told him she was aware he’d been staring. Not good, he berated himself. He needed her child care services, and making her nervous was not going to work in his favor.
Clearing his throat, he pushed away from the counter and inclined his head toward the living room.
He followed her into the adjacent room, noting as he took a chair at right angles to the couch that the volume of the tape was loud enough to mask their conversation. Add in the giggles of the children—a heartwarming sound he hadn’t heard before—and it was clear they would be able to talk in privacy.
He was impressed.
“Good idea.” He gestured toward the kitchen, keeping his voice low.
“Based on what you said this morning at church, I had a feeling there might be some things we needed to discuss that you didn’t want them to hear. And it’s not wise to send such young children outside to play alone. Especially in an apartment setting.” She leaned forward slightly. “You mentioned this morning that you’d tried a local day care center, but it hadn’t worked out?”
“It lasted all of two days. Josh had an…accident…both days during his nap, and they weren’t willing to deal with a bed-wetting four-year-old.”
She frowned. “Does this happen often?”
“No. Emily says when he’s upset he tends to have accidents at night. It’s happened a couple of times.”
“Losing their mother is more than enough to upset young children. Not to mention moving to a new place.” Compassion softened Cate’s features.
“To be honest, they’ve had far more trauma than that.” Drawing a ragged breath, Clay gave her a brief overview of their life—and of his sister’s death. As he spoke, the sympathy in Cate’s eyes changed to shock, then horror.
“An environment like that can be so destructive to a child.” She sent a concerned glance toward Emily and Josh. “It can take years to undo the damage.”
“And I’m not the best person for the job. I’m on the move a lot, and I work long hours. Neither of which is conducive to family life.”
“There’s no one else who can take the children?”
“My father says they can live with him after he recovers from a bout of pneumonia. But my sister wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“May I ask why?”
Leaning forward, Clay rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands between his knees. “My father isn’t the warmest or kindest person in the world.” He chose his words with care as he stared at the floor. “These kids would wither in his house. They need fun and laughter and love, and they won’t get it there.”
“Are you going to keep them?”
“I don’t know.” He raked his fingers through his hair, the familiar panic twisting his stomach into a knot. “I left home at seventeen, spent a dozen years in the Army, and I now have a job that takes me all over the country. I’ve been on my own for close to eighteen years, and I like it that way. I’ve never wanted a responsibility like this. As long as the kids are with me, though, I want to do my best to restore some semblance of childhood to their lives. But I can’t do it alone. That’s why I need your help.”
Cate’s gaze locked with his for a moment. Then she slung her tote bag over her shoulder and rose. “I need to give this a little thought, and pray about it. Can I call you later tonight?”
He stood, too, doing his best to rein in his escalating panic. Although he’d been concerned at first about Cate’s disability, after talking with her and watching how she’d connected with Emily and Josh, he knew she would be perfect for them. But he understood her caution. She wouldn’t be walking into the easiest situation. Yet they needed her, as surely as parched plants need water to survive.
“Look, is there anything I can say to convince you? I can give you the name of my sister’s minister in Nebraska, or the police department, if you want to check out my story.”
“I know how hard this must be for you.” Her features gentled. “Give me a few hours. I’ll have an answer for you tonight.” She grasped her cane and stood. “I’d like to say goodbye to the children.”
“Could I…would you mind giving me your phone number?” Clay didn’t even try to hide his desperation.
“Of course.” She recited her number as he jotted it down. “But I will call tonight.”
He watched as she moved over to the table and gave each child’s drawings her full attention, offering words of praise and encouragement. Their faces were more animated than Clay had ever seen them.
If he was the praying type, he’d get down on his knees the minute she left and ask God to make her decide in his favor. As it was, he simply sent a silent entreaty, a single eloquent word, to whoever in the cosmos might happen to be listening.
Please!

“Now tell us about that nice-looking man with the two adorable children I saw you talking to at church this morning.” Cate’s mother passed the basket of fresh-baked rolls to her daughter.
Cate had wondered how long it would take for someone in her family to grill her about that conversation. That was the one bad thing about being part of a close-knit clan. Everybody assumed they had a right to know everything about your life. On the plus side, however, her family had often proven to be a good sounding board.
“A man by the name of Clay Adams.” She quickly filled them in on the situation.
“Poor man,” her mother murmured.
“It might be better to go for a more permanent position,” Mark offered as he helped himself to a second serving of roast chicken.
Her older brother had always been the most security-conscious sibling, and Cate wasn’t surprised by his response. In light of his legal training, she also expected him to give her the third degree about Clay—unless Rob beat him to it.
“Sounds like this man could really use your help, though,” her grandfather chimed in.
“The timing is perfect, too, since you’re free now, anyway,” her father added.
“It’s odd how it worked out.” Cate’s face grew pensive. “I mean, he could have gone to any church, but he picked ours. And if he hadn’t spoken to Pastor Bob, I would never have gotten involved. It’s funny how a chance meeting can have such an impact.”
“I’m not convinced it was chance,” her mother declared. “I think it’s all part of God’s plan.”
“Does this guy’s story seem on the up-and-up to you?” Rob interjected.
“Spoken like a true police officer,” Cate teased her younger brother.
“Hey, you can’t be too careful these days.”
“True. But he offered to put me in touch with the police department in his sister’s hometown and her pastor.”
“That’s a good sign,” Rob conceded. “If you ask me, I think you ought to help the guy out. He’s new in town, has no family around and is trying to juggle what sounds like a demanding job with the needs of two kids. Speaking from the perspective of a single male, I imagine he’s in way over his head and sinking fast.”
“I think that’s a fair assessment.” Cate propped her chin in her hand and toyed with her mashed potatoes. “And the children are wonderful. But they need a lot of love and attention.”
“Do you think it might be too much for you?” Her mother gave her a worried look.
“A challenge, maybe. But not too much.”
“You’d be perfect for them,” Michelle declared. “And I could help in a pinch, if things get crazy. It would be good practice.” She patted her swelling tummy.
At her sister-in-law’s comment, Cate smiled. “I think you’re going to have other things on your mind for the next few months. But I appreciate the offer.” She surveyed the table. “It sounds like the family consensus is that I should take the job.”
“It would be the Christian thing to do,” her mother said.
“What do you think, Cate?” her grandfather asked.
She sent him a grateful smile. Her opinionated family could be rather overwhelming, but Pop always managed to inject a subtle reminder that her decisions were, in the end, hers. They’d always been close, and the spry older man had been her staunchest ally when she’d decided to buy a condo despite the protests of her parents and her overly protective brothers.
“I’m going to pray on it a bit, but I think I’m going to do it. I sense a real need here. Besides, like Mom said, it would be the Christian thing to do.”
“Whatever you decide will be the right thing.” The conviction in Pop’s tone ended the discussion. “Now where’s that homemade apple pie?”
As the conversation shifted, Cate looked around at her family, the support system that had gotten her through the tough times. She’d always known she could count on them to lend a helping hand. That was a great blessing. One Clay Adams didn’t have.
Perhaps, as her mother had suggested, their “chance” meeting today hadn’t been chance at all, but part of God’s plan. If it was, her decision seemed clear. But it couldn’t hurt to ask for guidance.
Lord, if You don’t think I’m the best person for this job, please let me know. And if You do want me to take it, I ask for strength and wisdom as I deal with these traumatized children. Because helping them heal, giving them a sense of security, bringing joy and laughter back into their lives, will be the biggest challenge of my career. And I don’t want to fail.

Chapter Three
“We’re going to the park tomorrow to fly a kite,” Emily told Clay as she handed him a dinner plate to add to the load in the dishwasher.
He rinsed the plate. “We don’t have a kite.”
“Yes, we do. Cate stopped at the store today and got one.”
Clay frowned. He’d told Cate to keep track of expenses, but ten days into the job she’d only requested reimbursement for groceries. Although he hadn’t asked her to take on shopping and cooking chores, he was grateful she had. His kitchen was now stocked with fresh vegetables, healthy frozen entrees and home-cooked casseroles.
But if she was buying other things—like kites—for the children, he needed to pay her back for those, too. He made a mental note to discuss it with her.
Clay picked up the plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies from the table…another perk of Cate’s employment.
“Emily and me helped make those,” Josh offered.
“You did a great job, buddy.” Clay smiled and took another cookie. “They’re the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had. Did you see how many I ate?”
“Bunches,” Josh said.
The corners of Clay’s mouth hitched up. “Too true. Emily, are you finished with your milk?” He reached for her glass.
“No!” Her hand shot out, knocking the glass over and sending a stream of white liquid surging across the kitchen table. Anxiety tightened her features, but at least she didn’t cringe as Josh had when he’d spilled his milk the day after they’d arrived. Clay hoped that meant he was making progress toward his goal of convincing the children that not all men reacted with anger to mistakes, like their father had. But it was slow going.
“I’m sorry.” Emily’s words came out hesitant and soft.
Clay sopped up the spilled milk with a dish towel, dropped into a chair to put himself at her level—a technique he’d picked up from Cate—and held out his hand. He’d discovered that quick movements caused the children to recoil in fear and had learned to let them make the connection.
“It’s okay, Emily. It was a mistake. Easy to fix. We have plenty of milk.”
After considering his outstretched hand, she inched hers across the table. As she made tentative contact, he enfolded her small fingers in his and gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“Tell me about this kite flying.” He refilled her glass and set it in front of her before sitting back at the table with his cup of coffee.
“We saw some kids flying kites in the park today, and we asked Cate if we could do that, too. She said she was a little…” Emily squinted in concentration, trying to remember the word.
“Russy,” Josh supplied.
“What does that mean?” Emily sent Clay a quizzical look.
“I think she probably said ‘rusty.’” Clay tried to stifle his smile. “It means out of practice.”
“Oh. Anyway, she said she was a little rusty, but we’d give it a try. We stopped at the store and got a kite on the way home.”
“I’ll show it to you.” Josh scampered into the bedroom, returning a minute later with an inexpensive kite kit. “We have to put it together.”
“Do you want to do that now?”
“Can we?” Josh asked eagerly.
“Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, Clay held the bright red kite aloft for the children to admire.
“Wow!” Josh regarded it in awe. “Cate says we have to run like the wind to make it fly.”
Even though Cate had put her cane aside and was moving much better than the day they’d met, her limp was still apparent. And the children’s legs were too short to allow them to run fast enough to get the kite airborne. How was she planning to get this aloft? Clay wondered.
“When are you going to fly it?” he asked.
“Cate says before lunch.” Josh touched the kite in wonder.
“I’m finished with my milk now.” Emily handed Clay her empty glass.
He added it to the dishwasher. “Okay. Bath time.”
The bedtime ritual was still too unfamiliar to him to be done by rote, but once the children were settled, Clay’s thoughts returned to Cate rather than the unfinished work he’d brought home. He hadn’t known her very long. And he didn’t know her well. Their exchanges had been confined to a few words in the morning and evening, and a quick hello at church on Sunday. But he admired her. Not only for her kindness and consideration with the children, but for her strength and endurance. Despite the harsh, unfair blow life had dealt her, she’d managed to make her peace with it and move on. And she didn’t let it stop her from living as normal a life as possible.
That’s why he was worried. If she wanted to fly a kite, Clay was certain she’d find a way to do it.
But he didn’t want her to get hurt in the process.

Cate knotted the last piece of colorful cotton cloth onto the kite’s tail and held it out for the children to inspect. “What do you think?”
“It’s pretty.” Emily touched it with reverence. “Do you think it will fly?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” She handed it to Pop. “Are you ready to do the honors for this inaugural flight?”
“I haven’t flown a kite in years, but I don’t think I’ve lost the touch. Emily, why don’t you hold the kite. Josh, you take the tail.”
Caution suppressing their enthusiasm, they did as he instructed in silence. Cate was glad she’d asked Pop to help today. Clay had assured her the children’s father hadn’t hurt them, and her own gentle probing with them had led her to the same conclusion. But it was clear they’d been afraid of him. And they’d transferred that fear to all men.
They were better now with Clay. She could see their tension slowly easing when they were around him. Enough that she’d decided it was time to expand their horizons. And Pop was the perfect next step.
“Okay, I think we’re all set,” he declared.
He led the way to the open field, positioning Emily with her hands aloft, lifting the kite into the wind, while Josh took up the rear, holding the tail above the ground. Unwinding string as he walked, he moved a few feet away.
“Okay. On the count of three, let the kite go, Emily. You too, Josh. One, two…” Pop started jogging, “three!”
As Cate watched from a bench, Emily and Josh released the kite and tail, and it soared for a brief glorious moment.
Then it crashed to the ground.
Pop stopped and rewound the string as he worked his way back to the kite. “Don’t worry,” he assured the disappointed children. “They don’t always fly the first time. Let’s give it another try.”
Their second attempt produced the same results. Three tries later, after adding some additional tail and moving to a different spot, they were no closer to getting it aloft. But their less-than-successful efforts had broken down the barriers between the children and Pop. The three of them were now chatting like old friends.
Cate watched as Pop examined the kite. He was in great shape for his age, but she didn’t want him to overexert himself.
“Maybe it’s not a good kite.” Josh examined it in disgust.
“Kite’s fine,” Pop declared, huffing as he checked it over. “Must be the pilot.”
Stepping in, Cate reached for the kite. “Go rest for a minute while I take a look at it.”
He handed over the kite, shook his head and planted his fists on his hips. “Can’t figure it out. Wind’s good. Kite’s strong. Should have flown.”
“Go sit.” Cate grinned and gave him a firm push. “Let the expert take over.”
The twinkle in his eye mitigated his indignant tone. “Expert, huh? I’ll have you know I was a champion kite flyer in my younger days.”
“Okay, okay, you can try again in a minute. In the meantime, go sit.”
“I’ll be back,” he told the children. “We’ll get this baby up yet.”
As he headed for a nearby bench Emily leaned toward Cate and spoke in a whisper. “I don’t think it’s going to fly.”
Cate considered the kite. In general, she didn’t attempt any activity that required her to run, but her leg felt strong today. She wouldn’t have to go far. A few steps, at the most. She was sure she could get the kite to soar with very little effort. The temptation to give it a try herself was too strong to resist.
Ignoring the warning that began to flash in her mind, she turned to the children. “Emily, you hold the kite again. Josh, you take the tail. Let’s show Pop who the real champion kite flyers are.”
The children’s eyes lit up. Cate saw Pop rise from the bench, but she ignored him. “Okay. One, two,” she began to run, “three!”
Emily and Josh released the kite, and Cate ran as she hadn’t run in years. Not with her old grace or speed. But she was running. And it felt great!
Until she stepped onto an uneven spot in the ground and pitched forward.
As Cate fell, she released the kite string and tried to brace herself for the impact. But the new spring grass didn’t offer much cushion from the hard ground. When her hands connected with the earth, a shaft of pain shot up her left arm.
And she knew she’d made a big mistake.

Clay consulted his watch, took off his hard hat, and stuck his head in the door of the construction trailer. “I’m taking an early lunch today, Becky. I should be back in an hour.”
The office manager grinned. “Hot date?”
“Yeah. With a kite.”
“Huh?” She sent him a puzzled look.
“The kids got a new kite yesterday. They were going to fly it before lunch. I thought I’d run over to the park and surprise them.”
“They must be getting under your skin.” She gave him a smirk.
He quirked a brow and ignored her comment. “See you later.”
But she was right, he acknowledged as he drove to the park. The kids were getting under his skin. He enjoyed their innocent questions, took pleasure in eliciting their smiles. And it gave him a good feeling to watch their haunted look fade day by day—thanks in large part to Cate’s gentle ministrations.
He hadn’t had a chance this morning to talk to her about reimbursement for the kite, or quiz her about how she planned to get it aloft. He’d had an emergency page from the job site as she’d arrived and had flown out the door the instant she’d stepped inside. The crisis had kept him busy all morning. But he’d blocked out time to take an early lunch and go fly a kite with them instead of letting Cate put herself at risk.
As he pulled into the park, he slowed his speed, scanning the grounds. He didn’t see Cate, but the movement of an older man rising from a bench caught his attention. His tense posture put Clay on alert, and he followed the man’s line of sight—to Cate and the children.
She was holding the kite, and as he pulled into a parking space he saw the children grasp it. They backed up, and a tingle of apprehension raced down his spine. He set the brake and climbed out of his truck, striding toward the small group as Cate started to run.
Considering her lameness, he was surprised at how fast she could move. His step slowed as his appreciative gaze followed her willowy, jeans-clad form across the spring grass. And the radiant joy on her face took his breath away.
But in the next moment, what little breath remained in his lungs came out in a whoosh as she stumbled and fell. Headlong and hard. His heart stopped for an instant, and then his adrenaline surged, propelling him forward.
Seconds later he was beside her, well ahead of the children or the older man he’d noticed earlier. She had rolled to her side and lay curled into a ball, cradling her hand.
Dropping down on one knee, he touched her shoulder. “Cate?” Her name came out in a hoarse whisper.
She blinked up at him in confusion. “Clay? What are you doing here?”
“I was going to help you fly the kite. I see I’m too late.” She struggled to sit up, but he restrained her. “I’m not sure you should move until we know if you’re hurt.”

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