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Paternal Instincts
Elizabeth August


MEN!MARRY ME…For romance-weary Roxanne Dugan, another loveless marriage seemed out of the question. But desperate to win custody of a special little boy, she proposed a marriage in name only to a virtual stranger with surprisingly paternal instincts.FOREVER.Former secret agent Eric Bishop was a marriage-shy military man, but he'd agreed to walk down the aisle. And though both had agreed there would be no passion, there seemed no stopping the natural instincts between husband and wife….MEN! A good one isn't hard to find–we've handpicked the strongest, bravest, sexiest heroes yet!









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#uc05e0801-e49e-5a23-859e-9ae0a5bd333c)

Excerpt (#u598130b9-c2d1-5156-8445-189dd78ffabc)

Dear Reader (#u3c593fc5-e63e-5a24-b135-345398bc8c0c)

Title Page (#u518ccac0-6c3b-5749-9286-9a7aedd2fd65)

About the Author (#u645d0ffa-9693-5935-bffc-375c50e5a318)

Chapter One (#ucd53b04d-7843-53fb-80c8-ee198b52b7f3)

Chapter Two (#ufd614ea8-8bd0-5695-b6e7-4b32355587d9)

Chapter Three (#ub6423279-3e3d-5ffb-a5d8-86d1a8c616a0)

Chapter Four (#uf9853f81-93c8-59ee-a515-3f7c4576a951)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“I was wondering if you’d consider marrying me.”


Her words echoed in her ears. Spoken aloud, they sounded like lunacy, but there was no taking them back. “It wouldn’t be forever. Just until I get Jamie,” she added hurriedly.



The stunned expression on his face caused nausea to bubble in her throat. “You probably aren’t interested. Forget I asked,” she blurted out.



But Eric was surprised by his own attitude. She was wrong. He was interested. “Well, I did promise Jamie I’d do what I could,” he muttered. But it wasn’t Jamie he was thinking of as he rose. What he was thinking of was her in his bed. Don’t you think marrying a woman simply to bed her is a little extreme? his inner voice argued.

“If you need a husband for a while, I can handle that.”


Dear Reader,



The holiday season is a time for family, love…and miracles! We have all this—and more!—for you this month in Silhouette Romance. So in the gift-giving spirit, we offer you these wonderful books by some of the genre’s finest:

A workaholic executive finds a baby in his in-box and enlists the help of the sexy single mom next door in this month’s BUNDLES OF JOY, The Baby Came C.O.D., by RITA Award-winner Marie Ferrarella. Both hero and heroine are twins, and Marie tells their identical siblings’ stories in Desperately Seeking Twin, out this month in our Yours Truly line.

Favorite author Elizabeth August continues our MEN! promotion with Paternal Instincts. This latest installment in her SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series features an irresistible lone wolf turned doting dad! As a special treat, Carolyn Zane’s sizzling family drama, THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, continues with His Brother’s Intended Bride—the title says it all!

Completing the month are three classic holiday romances. A world-weary hunk becomes The Dad Who Saved Christmas in this magical tale by Karen Rose Smith. Discover The Drifter’s Gift in RITA Award-winning author Lauryn Chandler’s emotional story. Finally, debut author Zena Valentine weaves a tale of transformation—and miracles—in From Humbug to Holiday Bride.

So treat yourself this month—and every month!—to Silhouette Romance!



Happy holidays,



Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Paternal Instincts

Elizabeth August







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ELIZABETH AUGUST


lives in western North Carolina, with her husband, Doug, and her three boys, Douglas, Benjamin and Matthew. She began writing romances soon after Matthew was born. She’s always wanted to write.



Elizabeth does counted cross-stitching to keep from eating at night. It doesn’t always work. “I love to bowl, but I’m not very good. I keep my team’s handicap high. I like hiking in the Shenandoahs, as long as we start up the mountain so the return trip is down rather than vice versa.” She loves to go to Cape Hatteras to watch the sun rise over the ocean. Elizabeth August has also published under the pseudonym Betsy Page.




Chapter One (#ulink_42fa7335-4eeb-527f-bbc1-1707e2b85f85)


Eric Bishop, code name Knight, lay in the hospital bed staring at the ceiling. Moving any part of his body required tremendous effort. He’d stopped drifting in and out of consciousness and was now fully awake. The images of Thistle and Coyote emerged from the foggy recesses of his mind. They were fellow covert agents working for The Unit, an elite squad of the military police, and they thought he was a traitor. He remembered telling them he was taking his orders from The Manager, their code for the head of The Unit, when the shooter had nailed him.

“They told me you’d woken.”

Eric had been concentrating so hard on trying to recall the circumstances that had landed him in this hospital bed, he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps of the heavyset, elderly, very distinguished gentleman who now stood by his bedside in a well-tailored three-piece suit, leaning on a gold-topped cane. “Tobias.” His gaze shifted to the rest of the room, scanning it quickly to make certain they were alone. Then in lowered tones he asked, “How are Thistle and Coyote?”

“They’re fine,” Tobias Smith replied, his manner fatherly.

In spite of his weakened condition, Eric managed a defiant scowl. “They think I’m a traitor. I’m not.”

Tobias smiled reassuringly. “We all know that. Susan Irving was the mole. She told you The Manager wanted you to fake your death and go out into the cold with her as your only contact.”

“Yes. I assumed she was relaying orders like always. They were coded.”

“She broke the code.”

Picturing the pretty blonde with such innocent eyes, Eric wondered if he was hallucinating. “She was the mole?”

“Never underestimate a secretary or a receptionist.” Tobias repeated the lesson he’d learned.

“Did you catch her?”

“Yes.” Tobias frowned as if displeased with himself. “After she was caught, she kept offering to cut a deal. At first, we refused. Fear for her safety had caused her to give us information that helped nail one of her cohorts in Mexico and we figured she didn’t have much else to bargain with. Then she told us there was a man who’d taught her how to run her operation. In return, she’d paid him a percentage of the profits. She gave us the account number she’d put the money in, but it had been cleaned out about the time you’d gotten shot.”

“Guess he was worried she wasn’t covering her trail well enough and decided to sever his ties,” Eric muttered.

Tobias nodded. “Most likely. According to her, she wasn’t his only pupil. She was certain he had others he’d taught and continued to deal with. She also suspected that he sometimes ran an operation himself just for the kicks.”

“A mastermind who trains thieves and traitors. Nice guy,” Eric said.

The frown on Tobias’s face deepened. “She wouldn’t give us the name until the deal was struck. Before that could happen, in spite of the security that was provided, she was poisoned. One of her guards had sold out for half a million dollars. He was found dead a couple of days later with a bullet in the head.”

“And you never found out who she was going to name?”

Tobias shook his head. “I’m not even certain this mastermind she described exists. She could have emptied out that account herself and was creating a fictitious bad guy because she knew she needed something dramatic with which to deal. As to who paid for her death, she’d dealt with a lot of ruthless men, any of whom would have been afraid she might give evidence against them.” His frown faded, replaced by an expression of concern. “Enough about Susan. How are you feeling?”

“As if I’ve been asleep for a year.”

“Actually, it’s been nearly three years.”

Eric stared at Tobias in disbelief. This had to be one of those realistic nightmares. He ordered himself to wake up. Nothing changed.

“You were shot,” Tobias reminded him.

“That I remember.”

“The bullet did a lot of damage. You were operated on. While you were in intensive care, another attempt was made on your life. The doctor was instructed to make up a fake death certificate and then we had you transported to this private clinic. We were warned that transporting you could be dangerous but felt it was necessary in order to keep you alive. During transport you slipped into a coma. To be honest, when the nurse walked in this morning and found you awake, it was a shock to the staff here. They’d given up on you.” Tobias grinned. “But I hadn’t. Tenacity was one of the major traits I looked for when recruiting my people.”

Eric was still having trouble comprehending this news. “Three years?” He suddenly frowned, recalling that Harold had taken over Tobias’s position as head of The Unit before all of this had happened. “Why are you here? I thought you’d retired…vanished from the game.”

“I’m doing a friend a favor.”

Mentally, Eric gave himself a slap on the head. Of course Harold wouldn’t have come himself and risked exposing himself and one of his people.

“We think all of the loose ends have been cleaned up,” Tobias said. “But it would help if you could tell me about your activities during the weeks prior to your being shot.”

“I’ve been trying to remember, but I’m drawing a blank. The truth is my memory is pretty spotty for the two or three years before I was shot. I guess I remember Susan because I was about to tell Thistle and Coyote she was my contact. The doc says that it’s not unusual for me to remember the very last things that were on my mind. He also says I might not get all of my memory back, and if I do, it’ll probably be in bits and pieces.”

“Susan was very crafty. I doubt you discovered anything of any. importance during the time you were being manipulated by her. Following your transfer from the hospital to here, there were a few inquiries made to determine if you were actually dead, but they ceased immediately after her capture. That makes me think that she was the only one worried about what you could reveal. You just work on getting your strength back. When you have, I’ll return.” Rising, Tobias frowned critically as his gaze traveled over Eric’s lean form. “Your old wardrobe won’t fit. I’ll arrange for some sweat suits and tennis shoes to be provided for you until you’re ready to leave here. Then you can do your own shopping.”

Eric watched him leave. Three years. He’d lost three years of his life. “Looks like I have some catching up to do.”

“Forty,” Eric counted under his breath, completing another push-up. It was four weeks since he’d returned to the world of the living. His muscle tone was improving, but he still wasn’t up to his full potential. Normally he could have done a hundred before tiring. Currently, fifty was his limit. When he finished this warm-up, he’d go through his katas, retraining his body to make the defensive karate moves with a sharpness that would hopefully keep him alive when he returned to the field.

Sensing he was being watched, he paused in the raised position and looked covertly toward the door. The polished leather shoes and gold-tipped cane told him who his visitor was. In one lithe movement he was on his feet. “I hope you’ve come to spring me from this place.”

“I have,” Tobias confirmed.

Half an hour later Eric sat beside his former superior in the rear seat of a rented luxury sedan. The blond man behind the wheel had been introduced to him as Tobias’s grandnephew, Hagen Scanlon.

“Your doctor insists you be given a couple more months off duty to regain your full strength. You’ll have it,” Tobias said as the sedan pulled away from the private clinic. “After that you have two options. You can return to active duty in the military or take an early retirement and return to civilian life. If you choose the latter, I’d like you to consider coming to work for me. I’m running a private investigative agency now.”

Eric grinned wryly. “Since returning to The Unit isn’t one of those options, can I assume Harold is worried that I’ve lost my edge and will endanger his operation?”

“We’re all aware that a close brush with death can affect a man, change his outlook. He might let fear rule, bolt too quickly…make mistakes.”

“And you’re not worried about that?”

“I know you. You’re too responsible to knowingly endanger anyone. If you’ve lost your edge, you’ll tell me.”

Eric heard the question in Tobias’s voice. “I don’t think I’ve lost it. I’d still like to save the world from the bad guys.”

Tobias nodded his approval. “However, as for The Unit, Harold’s worry about you losing your edge isn’t the only reason that isn’t an option. Susan compromised its operation. It has been relocated and restaffed.”

Recalling how protective both Tobias and Harold were toward their people, Eric nodded his understanding.

“So, now you know your options,” Tobias continued in businesslike tones. “Consider them. In the meantime you need a place to recuperate.” He extracted a large manila envelope from a nearby briefcase and handed it to Eric. “When you showed no signs of coming out of the coma, I had myself appointed your legal guardian. I canceled the lease on your apartment and had your furniture and personal effects put into storage.” He named a storage company and a location just outside Washington, D.C. “The key to your private storage lock-up is in there.” He nodded toward the envelope. “There is also your savings account book, your checkbook, a current credit card and an ATM card. The military wouldn’t keep you on full salary. They wanted something to defer your medical costs. However, since the balance in your checking and savings accounts was fairly high, I had all new monies invested and they’ve paid off nicely. Currently, Hesper Lawton, my personal financial advisor, is overseeing your account. Her name and phone number are in there, and when you want access to any of those funds, just contact her.”

Eric frowned. “I had a designated amount each month being sent to the O’Malley Home for Boys.”

“I saw that that was continued in full.” Concern entered Tobias’s voice. “However, three months ago I received notification that the O’Malley account had been closed. I’d been having your mail forwarded to me. A few days later a letter arrived from a Roxanne Dugan, informing you of Maude O’Malley’s death and the closing of the home. It’s all in that envelope.”

Eric felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Maude O’Malley wasn’t blood kin and, other than the money he’d sent regularly, he hadn’t seen her in years. Still, she was the closest to family he had.

“My jet is at the airport. I’ll drop you and Hagen off in Washington, D.C., so you can renew your driver’s license and buy some more clothes. And, if you want, you can get your car out of storage. It’s at the same place as your other belongings. After that, I’d like for you to come up to my place to recuperate. Hagen will show you the way. It’s right outside of Craftsbury Common, Vermont. The mountain air will do you good and the quiet will give you time to think about your future,” Tobias continued.

“I’ll want to make a stop in Pennsylvania,” Eric said around the lump in his throat. “I need to pay my respects to Maude.”

Tobias nodded.

They had reached the airport. After boarding the plane and buckling himself into his seat, Eric leaned back, closed his eyes and recalled Maude O’Malley as he’d first seen her. She was medium in build, standing around five feet six inches tall, with flaming red hair lightly streaked with gray, and green eyes. He doubted that any woman had more spirit than her. The O’Malley Home for Boys had been born because of that spirit.

Maude’s husband, Norman, had died, leaving her alone with the farm to run. She’d been in her mid-thirties at the time and determined to keep the place. When it came around to harvest time, she couldn’t find help. She’d grown up in Eric’s neighborhood. It was a blue-collar enclave in Philadelphia that had fallen on hard times. She went back there looking for some sturdy teenage boys to hire for a month.

“All the good’uns done gone,” one of the older women had told her. “All’s we got left is the troublemakers and loafers.”

“Then I’ll take what’s left,” Maude had said. She’d found four boys to take back with her. Two went home almost immediately when they discovered how much work was involved. But two had stayed until the crop was in.

Later that winter one of the boys who had remained came back and asked if he could stay and work for his room and board. His mother had taken off and his father was in jail. Maude, never having had any children of her own, welcomed him like a long-lost son. The second boy who had stayed had such an improved attitude, his juvenile probation officer came out to the farm to visit Maude. She suggested a couple of boys Maude could hire for the next summer…boys the officer felt had potential for good but needed to get out of their current environment, even if it was just for a short while.

As the years passed more boys came to stay. Sometimes it was the juvenile authorities who recommended Maude’s place to families as an alternative to the child ending up in jail. Sometimes, a parent or guardian heard about the farm through word of mouth and brought a child they could no longer handle. Or sometimes, as in Eric’s case, an unwanted child was dropped off at the gate with a note giving Maude guardianship.

The rules were simple. You worked. You went to church. You didn’t steal and you didn’t hurt anyone. In return Maude gave the boys love and the feeling that they were members of a real family. She never expected perfection. But if you crossed her, she had a way of looking at you with so much disappointment in her eyes that you wanted to crawl under a rock.

“Maude O’Malley must have meant a great deal to you,” Tobias said, breaking into Eric’s thoughts.

Eric didn’t normally feel comfortable talking about himself, but the memories of his childhood were too strong at the moment. They demanded to be released. “My mother died when I was born. My father was an alcoholic and physically abusive. My mother’s family didn’t want to have anything to do with him or me. My dad had beaten my mother the night before she went into labor. He didn’t want to face up to the fact that he was probably responsible for her death, so he blamed me. He took me directly from the hospital to his parents and left me with them. They weren’t happy about having another child to raise. I was getting into trouble with the police by the time I was nine. When I was ten, my grandmother heard about Maude’s place and had my father sign a paper giving Maude guardianship of me. Then they took me out there and dropped me off. The authorities warned Maude not to keep me. They said I was incorrigible and they doubted I was redeemable. But Maude kept me. We had a few rough times those first months, but she proved to me that there were good people in this world.”

“I wish I’d known her,” Tobias said.

Eric nodded, then fell silent once again. He hadn’t seen Maude in years. The first Christmas after he’d left, he’d gone back, but it hadn’t been the same. She’d had her hands full with a new nine-year-old who reminded him of himself and a fifteen-year-old who’d been badly abused. Eric had known she was glad to see him, but he also knew that, like the baby bird pushed from the nest, he didn’t belong there anymore.

After that, he’d called once in a while when he needed to hear a friendly voice and he’d sent money regularly, but he hadn’t gone back. As the plane touched down in Washington, D.C., he said, “There’s no need for Hagen to baby-sit me. I’ll find my way to your place on my own.”

For a moment Tobias looked as if he was going to argue, then, reaching into his pocket, he took out a gold case and extracted a business card from it. “This has my phone number on it. Call me if you need me.”

Eric thanked him and, after shoving the manila envelope into his satchel, he disembarked.



Roxanne Dugan, known as Roxy, took the intricately carved wooden box from its drawer and set it on the table. Seating herself, she opened it and took out the deck of Tarot cards housed within. For as many generations as anyone could remember, the women in her family had read cards. This deck had been handmade by her great-grandmother and given to Roxy as a gift on the day she was born. She loved the artwork and the feel of them. In her younger, more skeptical days, she’d discounted their warnings and had lived to regret it.

It had been several months since she’d sought their guidance. Her chin trembled as she recalled the last time she’d laid them out. It had been just after Maude’s heart attack. She’d gone to them hoping they would tell her that Maude would be all right. Instead, they’d told her that Death was at the door. Hating them because they were the messengers of news she knew was true but didn’t want to face, she’d put them away and had not wanted to look at them again.

But for the past couple of weeks a sense of uneasiness had been building within her and she needed to know its cause. Hesitantly, she began to spread the cards. Jamie’s card turned up first. Tears welled in her eyes. By the time Maude’s heart had given out completely, she’d found safe sanctuary for all the children under Roxy’s and her care except for the withdrawn ten-year-old. Roxy had tried to explain to the social services people that the boy needed to stay with her, that he was beginning to respond to her, but they’d explained that the law wouldn’t allow that and had assured her that they would take good care of him. She’d told them that she wanted to adopt him and they’d told her that they didn’t feel she could meet the required conditions. They’d even refused to tell her where he was. They’d said that he needed to make a complete break from her so that he could bond with his new family.

She knew the laws were made to protect the children and that the social services people were doing their best, but in Jamie’s and her case they were wrong. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe. Maybe the cards were telling her what she wanted them to tell her. She touched the card lovingly and said a silent prayer that a guardian angel was looking over the boy.

The next card brought a puzzled frown to her face. For approximately three years now The Hanged Man card had been one of the first two cards in any rotation. She’d given up trying to figure out why. Her instinct was to interpret it as a life in suspension. But that didn’t describe her life, at least not until Jamie had been taken from her. Tonight, however, it was the Knight of Swords that appeared.

“I could use a knight in shining armor,” she muttered. But she’d stopped believing in such myths a long time ago. Still, a glimmer of hope began to glow. The uneasiness she’d been feeling did resemble the kind of sensation a person experienced when waiting for something to happen or someone to arrive.

The next card extinguished the glimmer of hope. “The Lovers’ card.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. That card had no place in her life anymore. The deck was lying or playing games or merely being uncooperative. She gathered up the cards. “You’re mad because you feel neglected,” she accused them. “Well, if you continue to give me fairy tales, then you’ll be gathering dust for a long time more.” She shuffled the deck and dealt the cards once again.

The first two were the Knight of Swords and the Lovers’ cards. Scowling, she again gathered up the rest without looking and shoved them back in the box.




Chapter Two (#ulink_9b12780c-81d1-5f49-8fb3-bc5a6bc82a46)


Turning his car onto the long dirt driveway that led to the farmhouse that had once belonged to Maude O’Malley, Eric was surprised by the feeling of homecoming that swept through him. With Maude gone, he’d expected a sense of emptiness. A little earlier, in the cemetery, standing beside her grave, he’d experienced sadness and a hollow sensation. He’d almost skipped coming to the house, but some force from within had insisted his pilgrimage would not be complete without seeing the old homestead one last time.

Drawing nearer, he saw a woman in jeans and a shirt on a ladder scraping paint. Her long brown hair was tied back with a bandanna. She was medium in build with curves in all the right places. Noticing his car, she stopped working and, as he parked, began to descend. Her movements were awkward. Worried that she might fall, he climbed out of the car and hurried toward her. But she was on the ground safely before he reached her.

Roxy’s gaze traveled over the blond, blue-eyed stranger. She judged his age to be in the early to midthirties. He looked pale and thin. His jeans and shirt were new. She could tell that because the jeans looked stiff and the button-down shirt still had crisp creases left from the factory folds. Probably one of Maude’s former boys who just got out of prison and has come looking for a handout or redemption, she mused acidly. Most of Maude’s boys had turned out well, but a few had been rotten apples, and they’d caused Maude a lot of grief by coming here with sad stories and conning her out of money she couldn’t afford to give. One had even used the farm to hide out from the police. But this one was going to learn that she wasn’t as forgiving nor as naive as Maude had been.

Eric judged the woman’s age to be near thirty. She was no raving beauty, but she would have been pleasant to look at if her expression hadn’t been so inhospitable. Those cold brown eyes of hers had probably intimidated many a man, he guessed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I just wanted to drop by to see the place for old times’ sake.”

“It’s not much to look at.” Roxy’s shoulders squared with pride. “But I’m working on it.”

Eric’s gaze left her to view the huge old two-story farmhouse. It was in dire need of painting and the chimney needed repointing. One of the front windows was boarded over and the screen door was covered with patches. “Maude used to keep this place in great shape.”

Roxy’s gaze turned colder. “Money for major repairs has been pretty scarce the past few years. And now that Maude isn’t here anymore and neither are any of the boys, I have to do the work myself and hold down a full-time job in town.”

Realizing he’d offended her, Eric mentally kicked himself. He definitely needed to work on his people skills. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything critical by that It just hurts to see it this way.”

Roxy knew what he meant and her flare of anger died. “Yeah. Well, eventually it’ll look better.” Jamie’s small, trusting face filled her mind. “But that’s not going to happen if I stand around talking to you. If you’ve come looking for a handout, there’s nothing to give. If you’ve come looking for Maude she’s…” Her throat constricted, refusing to say the word dead. “She’s at rest.”

Eric saw the flash of pain in the woman’s eyes. She’d obviously cared a great deal for Maude. “I know. I received a letter from a Roxanne Dugan.”

Roxy’s gaze narrowed on her visitor. During Maude’s last days, she’d given Roxy a very short list of names and asked her to write them letters of thanks for their support during the years. Roxy had known all of them except for one. “I’m Roxanne Dugan.”

Eric extended his hand. “I’m Eric Bishop.”

Mentally Roxy put a check by that name on the list. That was the one she hadn’t known anything about except what Maude had told her, and that hadn’t been much. He’d been one of Maude’s boys. After he left the farm he’d become a career man in the military and had been stationed all over the world, but he’d never forgotten the farm, and he sent checks regularly. Accepting the handshake, Roxy was startled by the pleasure the contact caused…it carried a feel of warmth and security. “I’m sorry I was so brisk. A few of Maude’s former boys came back to take advantage of her. The trouble some of them caused has left me suspicious of strangers,” she said as he released her hand.

Eric nodded his understanding, then his gaze shifted back to the house. “I would have come sooner to pay my respects but I’ve been in the hospital. I only just read your letter yesterday.”

His paleness and new clothes took on a new meaning. “Your stay must have been a long one.”

“I was in a coma for three years,” he replied absently, continuing to frown at the farmhouse. It was as if all that was good from his youth had been destroyed.

Roxy bit back a gasp. A life in suspension…The Hanged Man! Glad his attention was elsewhere, she quickly regained her composure. “I’m sorry.”

Trained never to miss anything, Eric had noticed her momentary show of shock, but then he was still a bit stunned by the fact that he’d lost three years of his life. “Are you planning to reopen the Home when you get the house back into shape?”

Roxy looked over her shoulder at the massive job ahead of her. “No. Maude willed the property to me, but she was the O’Malley Home for Boys.” Her chin tightened defensively. “The donations to keep the place going came in because of her. Most were from locals and they made it clear to me that once Maude was gone, they wouldn’t support the Home any longer. Besides, the donations weren’t enough to cover the bills and Maude refused to become part of the foster care system. She wanted the boys who came to be able to stay without the worry of being suddenly uprooted at the whim of some bureaucrat. I got a job in town to pay what the donations didn’t cover. But, with Maude gone, I couldn’t keep this place going on my salary alone. Besides, there’d be no one to supervise the boys while I was at work.”

“What happened to the boys who were here?”

Tears burned at the back of Roxy’s eyes. “For the past three or four years, most of the boys Maude took in were from decent, hardworking families who were going through difficult times. The agreement Maude had made with them was that they would take their children back when they could provide for them. For those children, going back to their families presented a hardship but they were welcomed. There was one, Jamie Jordon, however, who’d been left here by his grandmother with a paper giving Maude guardianship.”

Eric had a harsh flashback to his own youth.

Swallowing back the lump that had formed in her throat, Roxy continued stiffly, “I tried to keep him. I figured I could look after one child just fine. But the social services people took him. They said they could better care 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 a million times that she was over the pain. Obviously, she’d been lying to herself. But her private hell was her own and would remain her own.

“Sounds like you’ve had some experience,” Eric noted.

“Life is full of experiences. As Maude used to say, the trick is to learn from them and move on.” Uncomfortable with the path this conversation had taken, Roxy said, “It’s time to eat and then get to work.”

The bitter edge in her voice confirmed Eric’s assessment that something had happened to Ms. Dugan that had scarred her deeply. But the hard set of her jaw let him know that whatever it was, she wasn’t going to talk about it.

Later, back on his ladder, he wondered what her story was. None of my business is what it is. He was here to do some thinking about his own life, not stick his nose into someone else’s, especially when that someone didn’t want it there.




Chapter Three (#ulink_365c7061-a7cf-5258-b7aa-109d428d58ea)


Eric switched off the lamp on the table beside his bed and lay on his back staring into the dark. Although he was supposed to be settled in for the night, he was still dressed in his jeans, T-shirt and socks. His hostess’s image was strong in his mind. She’d told him to call her Roxy and the name fit. Living with her was a lot like living with a block of granite. He’d been at the farm for four days. It had been a Sunday when he arrived. Beginning on Monday, Roxy went into town to work each day. She’d be gone from six-thirty to three-thirty or four. When she arrived home, she’d prepare dinner. While it was cooking, she’d inspect the work he’d done that day. Then they’d eat and work on the house until dark. After that, they’d have a snack and go to bed.

She was like a robot that went about its business on its own and expected others to behave in the same fashion. Even during mealtimes she rarely talked. It appeared that she’d told him all she was willing to relate to him on Sunday and had little else to say. She wasn’t unfriendly. But she made it clear by her actions and her body language that she didn’t want to be his friend, either. It was as if she’d constructed a barrier around herself and he was not allowed past it.

Since Sunday, everything he’d discovered about her was from observation and tidbits she felt necessary to tell him. So far, he knew she worked at the local grocery store as a cashier, that she’d come to the farm about five years earlier and that she did have family in Philadelphia.

The part about the family he’d learned because of a series of phone calls on Tuesday night. From what he’d heard of the conversation with her first caller, he’d realized she was talking to her mother. He’d gathered that the woman wanted Roxy to sell the farm and move back home or get a house or apartment nearer her parents. The firm set of his hostess’s jaw had told him that her mother was wasting her breath.

A few minutes later the phone had rung again. This time the caller had been her grandmother. Since she’d addressed the caller only as Grandmama, he didn’t know if it was her paternal or maternal grandparent, but he guessed it was better than a fifty-fifty chance it was her maternal grandparent, since they spoke of her mother’s call.

Again Roxy had held firm to her determination to remain on the farm and he’d begun to wonder why. If she sold the place, she could buy something smaller but in much better condition and probably have a little cash left over. Surely a more financially stable position would aid her in getting the boy back. Then his question had been answered.

“Even if the social services people insist on keeping us apart, someday he’ll come looking for me and I want to be here,” she’d said. Her jaw had hardened even more, and he’d had the feeling she was holding back a flood of tears. “I know he’ll come.”

The conviction in her voice had apparently convinced her grandmother that she could not be dissuaded, because there had been no further discussion of her selling the farm.

His mind returned to the present as the sound of a door being quietly opened caught his attention. It was followed by softly padded footfalls coming his way. They paused outside his door, then turned toward the stairs and grew faint as they descended to the first floor.

Each night he’d been here, his hostess had followed this same routine. In about half an hour or so, she’d return to her room and settle in for the night. The first couple of nights he’d been too tired to really think about her actions. Only the many years when his life had depended on him always being aware of his surroundings so that, even when asleep, he would wake instantly to any sounds of movement had caused him to wake enough to realize she’d risen. But he’d sensed no danger and, assuming she was a worrier and merely double-checking to make certain all the doors were locked, he’d gone back to sleep.

Last night, however, when they’d come upstairs, he’d made a point of mentioning that they were securely locked in. Still, about half an hour after they’d retired, she’d gotten up and gone downstairs. That was when he’d asked himself why she stopped by his door and listened for a moment as if to reassure herself that he was asleep. If she was merely checking the locks, what difference would it make if he was awake or asleep?

All day that question had bothered him. He’d told himself that what she did on her nightly rounds didn’t matter. But in spite of the distance she was obviously determined to keep between them, he found himself more and more intrigued by Roxy Dugan. He wanted to know more about her. Curiosity could be a dangerous thing where this woman was concerned, he’d warned himself. Her attachment to the boy Jamie continued to make a strong impression on him. He could begin to feel a commitment he didn’t want to feel. He was a loner and he planned to stay that way. But he hadn’t heeded his warning, and tonight he would have his answer to what she was up to.

Slipping out of bed, he made his way quietly downstairs. There was light coming from the small room that had been Maude’s private parlor. Remaining in the shadows, he looked inside. The light was being provided by a small lamp on a round table in a corner of the room. Roxy was seated at the table shuffling a deck of oversize cards. As she laid them out and began to turn them over, surprise registered on Eric’s face.

“I would never have pictured you as the fortune-teller type,” he said, emerging from his hiding place.

Roxy’s gaze jerked to him. His skin had taken on a healthy glow and the T-shirt showed off the strength building in his arms and shoulders. Embers long dead within her began to glow with life. Allowing herself to feel any attraction to him was only going to lead to pain, she warned herself curtly. Aloud she said frostily, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I got thirsty,” he lied, not wanting her to guess he’d been spying on her. At the moment she looked a great deal like a Gypsy, he thought, continuing into the room. Her face was cast in shadows, causing her brown eyes to appear nearly ebony. Her long tresses fell freely down around her shoulders and onto her back in a carefree, feminine array and, with a bit of imagination, her loose-fitting cotton robe could pass for a fortune-teller’s gown. The effect was very appealing.

“The kitchen is down the hall to your left,” she said, fighting a bout of embarrassment. She preferred to keep this part of her life very private. Most people, she knew, thought Tarot-card reading was a foolish superstition.

Eric ignored the dismissal in her voice, his attention caught by the artistry of the cards. “Those look as if they were hand drawn.”

“They were,” she admitted stiffly. “My greatgrandmother made them for me.”

Eric grinned. “So she was the Gypsy.”

“She was a hardworking farmer’s wife,” Roxy corrected curtly. Again dismissal entered her voice. “I thought you said you were thirsty.”

Again Eric ignored her unspoken demand that he go away. This was a side of his hostess he’d never expected, and his curiosity was whetted. Not wanting to offend her further, he hid his skepticism behind a mask of interest. “Are you any good at doing readings?”

Roxy expected to see cynical amusement in his eyes. It wasn’t there. Still, she wasn’t ready to believe he had any real respect for the reading of the cards. She judged his nature to be too conservative for that. Guessing that he was merely being polite, she said, “I don’t do readings for other people. They expect the cards to tell them too much.”

Eric was intrigued. She honestly believed in the cards. “But you read them for yourself. What do they tell you?”

“They warn me if my path is following a dangerous course and they give me signposts that will guide me in the right direction.”

Eric’s gaze had locked onto one of the turned-up cards. “What does that one represent?”

She considered lying, but instinct warned her against it. She was certain he would know. “You.”

The realization of why he was there hit him full force. “You allowed me to stay because it was in the cards that I should?”

She frowned at the array on the table. “Somehow you’re to be involved in my getting Jamie back.”

Eric’s skepticism grew stronger. Clearly she was using the cards as a way of keeping her hopes up. “And which card represents him?”

“This one.” Roxy tenderly touched a card to her right. Fear rippled through her. “Lately the cards warn of a stronger sadness and danger surrounding him. I have to get him back soon.”

“You were going to turn another card over,” Eric said, recalling how she’d quickly dropped the last card back on its face when he’d made his presence known.

“It was one of no consequence.”

Before she could stop him, he flipped the card over. The image was that of an unclothed man and woman. Beneath was written The Lovers. “Us?” he asked, finding himself wondering what her lips would taste like.

“The cards merely suggest routes we can take. They don’t determine our destinies,” she said in clipped tones, and began to gather the deck together.

The ice in her voice told him that she fully intended to ignore the implications of the last card. For a moment he experienced a rush of disappointment. In the next instant he was mocking himself. He didn’t need any complications in his life at the moment and Roxy Dugan would definitely be a complication.

“Good night,” Roxy said firmly as she rose and reached for the switch on the lamp.

This time he did take his cue, reminding himself to head into the kitchen for the drink of water he’d claimed he wanted. As he filled the glass then took a drink, he marveled at the many-faceted Ms. Dugan.

He was aware that some very powerful people believed in the various arts of prophecy but he’d thought she had a more practical nature. A suspicion he didn’t like began to nag at him.



Lying in her bed, Roxy couldn’t get Eric’s image out of her mind. With it came the memory of The Lovers card. “Thoughts like that are only going to lead to disappointment and embarrassment,” she grumbled at herself. She’d thought she’d accepted the fact that she would have to live out the rest of her life without male companionship. Apparently her mind had, but her body hadn’t. “Well, get used to it,” she growled, looking down at herself. “Nobody wants something as mangled and useless as you.”

Her jaw forming a hard line, she ordered herself to sleep.



The next morning Eric was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his second cup of coffee when Roxy entered. He’d woken early and already eaten. As she began to scramble her eggs, he studied her. Dressed in slacks and a plain white blouse with her hair pulled back and tightly braided, she moved with rigid efficiency. There was no evidence in her appearance or her manner reminiscent of the Gypsy-like creature he’d glimpsed last night. A part of him was disappointed.

Abruptly she turned to him. “I wish you’d quit staring at me. Just because I read Tarot cards doesn’t mean I’m a kook.” She grimaced self-consciously. “Eccentric maybe, but not daft or crazy.”

“To be honest, I’m not certain what you are,” he said bluntly. “We’ve barely spoken since my first day here.”

“I’ll admit, I’m a private person.” The way he continued to study her as if she had an eye in the middle of her forehead caused a rush of fear. What if he decided to leave? The cards seemed insistent that his presence was necessary for her to get Jamie back. “I’ve had a few hard knocks in my life. They’ve made me very cautious about people.”

“I don’t like being used.” Eric stated openly the suspicion that had been nagging at him ever since last night. “If you’ve involved me in some plan or scheme, you’d better tell me about it now.”

She met his gaze levelly. “There is no scheme or plan. I don’t even know why your presence here should matter. In fact, it’s started causing gossip.”

Eric raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve told everyone that you’re merely helping me repair the house, but I’ve noticed a few skewed glances,” she elaborated. “The truth is, I’ve considered asking you to leave. I don’t want my reputation questioned. That could cause trouble. But in the past I’ve ignored the cards and lived to regret it.”

Her frustration obviously was genuine. The depth of her belief in the cards was again also evident. Eric didn’t like encouraging that, but he hated seeing her so upset. “Maybe my helping you get this place in shape is why I’m here. They say timing is everything. It could be that you were running out of time for the repairs.”

Roxy shrugged. “Maybe.” Her chin trembled. “Or maybe I’m looking for things in the cards that aren’t there.”

At least she wasn’t totally impractical where the cards were concerned, he thought with relief. But, although she’d opened the door for him to voice his own skepticism, the anguish in her eyes made him want to comfort her. “I’m not convinced anyone can read the future, but I do believe in instincts,” he said. “With me, it’s a prickling sensation on the back of the neck that warns me when I’m headed for trouble. What do your instincts tell you?”

They tell me that having you here could cause me a great deal of frustration and grief, her inner voice responded, admitting that in spite of the harsh talk she’d had with herself the night before, she continued to be attracted to him. A part of her wanted desperately to believe that she’d misread the cards and it was safe to send him on his way. But she knew that part was allowing itself to be guided by fear. After a moment’s hesitation, she said aloud, “They tell me to believe in the cards.”

He wasn’t certain he’d done her a favor by reestablishing her belief in the Tarot, but the relief he saw in her eyes brought pleasure and he smiled crookedly. “Then that’s what I’d suggest you do,” he heard himself saying.

His smile was infectious and she started to smile back. Careful, her inner voice warned. He’s getting very close to breaking down the wall of protection you’ve built. Her jaw tensed, stopping the smile, and she turned back to the stove.

Eric frowned at her back. He could almost see the icy barrier she was determined to keep between them, and he experienced a rush of frustration. You don’t really want to get involved with a woman who lets a deck of cards guide her life, do you? he chided himself. The frustration lessened and he rose. “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, carrying his cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Have a good day,” he added, and left.

Alone in the kitchen, Roxy looked down at her overly cooked eggs. “How do nuns do it?” she muttered. Maybe she’d stop in at the video store and get a tape on yoga or meditation or maybe one of each. “Or I could just picture the expression of horror on his face that will appear if he ever sees me disrobed.” This thought brought a cold chill and her barrier once again grew strong.

A few minutes later Eric watched from the ladder as Roxy drove away. He didn’t understand why the urge to help her was actually growing stronger. She wouldn’t even allow him to be a friend. He concluded that Maude and the boy Jamie were behind his increasing desire to help. The boy’s story reminded him of his own youth. As for Maude, she’d liked Roxy enough to leave her this place. That meant Maude would have wanted him to help, and he owed Maude.

Returning his attention to the window frame he was caulking, he considered the Tarot cards. Although he was skeptical about them, he couldn’t make himself entirely discount the fact that some people had a sixth sense. The cards could simply be Roxy’s way of communicating with her inner voice.

As he’d told her, with him it was a prickling on the back of his neck. A couple of times the effect had been so intense he’d known that when he turned around he’d be facing the criminal he was after. Sometimes it had taken a while to collect the evidence before he could arrest the man or woman, but at least he’d known who to keep an eye on and who never to turn his back on again.

He grimaced self-mockingly. The problem was knowing how to interpret that prickling. He’d felt it when he’d dated Susan Irving, but he’d believed it was because he thought she wanted a commitment.

“And it could be that Roxy’s instincts aren’t working properly this time and she’s interpreting the cards incorrectly,” he muttered under his breath. Besides, he admitted, as open-minded as he tried to be, he still couldn’t make himself believe that a deck of cards could tell anyone anything. It was too much like looking into a crystal ball or using some other conjurer’s trick.

And maybe he was trying to help the wrong person. He’d always been a sucker for a maiden in distress, but just maybe the attachment between Roxy and the boy was more one-sided than she’d led him to believe and Jamie might be happier without her. Maude had a soft heart and preferred to see the good in everyone. She could have overlooked or missed the faults that had caused the social services people to take Jamie away from Roxy. On the other hand, it had been Eric’s experience that the social services people sometimes made mistakes.

And consulting his instincts didn’t help. Roxy Dugan caused a confusing mix.

“I’ll just bide my time for a few more days and see what develops,” he decided.




Chapter Four (#ulink_2a508283-e78e-52dc-a6fa-e5523aa7a496)


Three days later Eric was sitting on the front porch taking an afternoon break when an ancient-looking pickup truck came down the long dirt drive. It stopped in front of the house and an old man and a young boy climbed out. Eric judged the man to be a farmer by his manner, his bib overalls and his leathery-looking skin that gave evidence of him having spent a great deal of time in the weather. The boy was somewhere around nine or ten years old, Eric decided, and slender to the point of looking unhealthy. His long, shaggy black hair needed a cut and a good combing and his clothes, clearly hand-me-downs, were dirty and didn’t fit properly. Slung on his back was a heavily laden knapsack.

“Afternoon,” Eric said, rising and climbing down from the porch.

The old man continued toward him and extended a hand. “Afternoon. You the handyman who’s been helping Roxy get this place in shape?”

“Yes.” Accepting the handshake, Eric noticed that the boy had stopped several feet back and was standing immobile staring at him with an unnerving intensity. He cast a smile toward the youth, but the child’s gaze remained coolly distant. Remind you of someone else you know? he mused dryly. He’d been thinking of Roxy. Suddenly he was thinking of himself and recalling that his manner and expression hadn’t been much different from that of the child’s when he’d been dropped off at Maude’s door.

“Found the boy a few miles down the road. Recognized him as one of Maude and Roxy’s. I told him the place was closed, but appears he’s determined to come back. Don’t talk much. Not at all, actually.”

Eric’s gaze jerked to the boy. Jamie? he wondered, recalling Roxy’s determined belief the boy would return to the farm. But even she, he was certain, wasn’t expecting this kind of arrival.

“Figured Roxy’d know best what to do with him,” the farmer concluded, and with a small salute of goodbye he turned back to his truck. Pausing by the youth, he shook his head. “You best start putting some meat on those bones. A strong gust of wind could blow you away.”

The boy made no response. Not even acknowledging the farmer’s presence, he continued to stand rigid, staring at Eric.

“Strange one, that one,” the farmer muttered.

“Thanks for dropping him off,” Eric called out, suddenly realizing he should say something.

The farmer cast back a glance that indicated that he wasn’t so certain he’d done Eric a favor, then he climbed into his truck and left.

Eric barely noticed his departure. His attention had returned to the boy. If he was right about the child’s identity, then Roxy’s attachment hadn’t been one-sided. “Roxy’s in town working,” he said. “How about if I fix you something to eat while you wait?”

The boy nodded and headed toward the house. Eric followed him inside. As the child continued up to the second floor, obviously with a destination in mind, Eric went into the kitchen.

A few minutes later the boy joined him. He’d washed his face and hands and made an attempt to smooth his tangled mass of hair. Maude had always insisted the boys come to the table with clean hands and face, Eric recalled.

There had been fried chicken left from the night before and he’d put the platter on the table along with a glass of milk and a loaf of bread. The boy ate hungrily. Standing, leaning on the counter watching him, Eric wondered when he’d last had a meal.

“There’s some ice cream if you have room for dessert,” he offered when the boy finished a third piece of chicken and didn’t reach for a fourth.

The boy nodded.

In an experiment to see if he could make the boy speak, Eric asked, “Vanilla or chocolate or both?”

For a long moment the boy made no response, then he held up two fingers.

Eric was now certain of the identity of this newcomer. He dished up two bowls of ice cream and seated himself at the table. “I’m Eric,” he introduced himself.

The boy looked up momentarily from his bowl of ice cream in acknowledgment but said nothing before returning his attention to the sweet treat.

“Can I assume you’re Jamie?” Eric asked bluntly.

The boy merely looked up at the clock on the wall. It read three-fifteen.

Taking a guess that the child was wondering when Roxy would be home, Eric said, “Roxy’s on the seven-to-three shift. She was going to do a little shopping when she finished work. I’m expecting her back around four.”

Quickly finishing his ice cream, the youth carried his bowl, plate and glass to the sink, washed them and put them in the dish drainer. Then he put the chicken and bread away and left the kitchen.

Eric washed his own bowl, then went looking for the boy. He found him sitting on the front porch step, his gaze locked on the road.

“I was caulking windows,” Eric said. “If you need me, just yell or make some sort of noise.”

The boy gave no sign that he’d even heard.

“Make yourself at home,” Eric added, and went back to work. Old memories flashed through his mind as he climbed the ladder. He’d sat in that same place, with that same intense expression on his face, for days after his grandparents had brought him here. As lousy as life with them had been, accepting the fact that they’d dumped him off like a bag of garbage had been difficult. He’d imagined them coming back in tears, telling him that they’d realized they loved him and wanted him back. But they hadn’t come, and eventually he’d accepted the fact that as far as his family was concerned, he was disposed of, never to be thought of again.

The sound of a car’s engine caught his attention. He looked toward the main road and saw Roxy turning onto the long drive. Climbing down from the ladder, he walked to the corner of the house and stopped. From there he could observe her and the boy.

Nearing the house, Roxy blinked, certain she was seeing things. Then the tears began to flow. Parking the car with a screech, she jumped out and hurried toward the porch. A few feet from Jamie, she came to an abrupt halt. He had risen, but his expression wasn’t one of happy greeting. His back was straight with defiant pride and he was looking at her with hurtful accusation.

“I didn’t come to visit like I promised because they wouldn’t tell me where you were,” she said, brushing at her tears. “I’ve been working, getting the house into shape, hoping they would let me have you back.” She saw his bottom lip tremble and then go crooked and knew he was biting on the inside to keep it firm. “I missed you,” she said, holding her arms out toward him.

Suddenly he was running into her embrace.

Watching them, Eric couldn’t deny the bond between them, and he envied Jamie. He’d never had that kind of love. Maude had loved him, but she’d loved all of her boys the same. She’d been more of a kindly aunt than a mother. The relationship between Jamie and Roxy clearly went much deeper.

Holding the boy close, Roxy felt panic sweep through her. He was much too thin. Loosing her hold, she gently grasped him by the upper arms and moved him a little away from her for a more thorough inspection. “Didn’t they feed you? And those clothes. Surely the social services people provided money for you to have clothes.”

He shrugged as if to say those things didn’t matter.

Continuing to kneel in front of him, she combed his hair away from his face with her fingers. “How did you get here?”

From the pocket of the baggy pants, he pulled out a map and proudly displayed it.

“You found your way here on your own?” she demanded, and the hope that he’d been legitimately returned to her vanished. “You ran away?”

Again he shrugged as if that didn’t matter.

“Where did you run away from?”

He pointed to Philadelphia.

Horror at what could have happened to him along the way caused her stomach to knot. “That’s over thirty miles.”

He frowned as if her concern was childish.

Tears of joy and relief again flowed as she drew him back into her arms.

“Looks like we’ve got company coming,” Eric said, moving toward them.

Roxy recognized the car. Her hold on Jamie tightened. “It’s Mary Chambers from social services.”

Two pairs of accusing eyes turned on Eric.

He scowled. “I didn’t tell anyone he was here, but it stands to reason that the authorities would check to see if he’d made contact. Or maybe the farmer who picked him up felt it was his civic duty to report him.”

“Go inside,” Roxy ordered the boy, and he quickly obeyed.

“Looks like Jamie found his way back,” Mary noted, getting out of her car and approaching Eric and Roxy.

Keeping his expression friendly, Eric made a quick appraisal, sizing her up for battle. She was medium in build with graying hair and had the manner of someone there on official business, but there was a softness in her eyes that suggested that she was not an enemy.

Roxy stepped in front of the woman, barring her from continuing to the house. “He looks as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks and his clothes are a disgrace. You assured me he was being well looked after.” A bitter edge entered her voice. “Better than I could look after him.” She repeated the social worker’s words.

Mary’s official manner softened and apology showed on her face. “We had to send him back to Philadelphia. That’s where his family was. They tried to reunite them, but no one would take him in, so he went into the system there.”

Roxy knew Mary had a good heart. “You want to see what happened to him?” She glanced over her shoulder toward the house. “Jamie, come out.”

Reluctantly, the boy obeyed.

Eric watched the social worker’s face. Her jaw stiffened, but she didn’t appear surprised.

“They told me he’d begun to refuse to eat,” she said. “I checked his record. He’s been in five different homes since he left here. In spite of the counseling provided, he continued to refuse to speak. After a short while in each home, the foster parents would call social services and say they felt they couldn’t help him and request that he be moved.”

Jamie had come to stand beside Roxy. Eric glanced at him and noticed that he was holding her hand so tightly both were white.

Mary’s gaze continued to rest on the child’s gaunt features. “I really thought he’d be better off in a real home.”

Roxy scowled. “This is a real home.”

Mary frowned back. “You have to work. When school isn’t in session, he’d be on his own all day. And boys need a father figure.”

“I’d have found someone to watch over him,” Roxy shot back. “And a lot of kids grow up in single-parent homes and turn out just fine as long as they’re loved and wanted, and he is loved and wanted here.”

Mary breathed a harsh sigh. “There’s nothing I can do. He’s not in my jurisdiction. He’s part of the Philadelphia system and they want him back.”

Roxy shifted so that Jamie was behind her. “They can’t have him back. They’ve done enough damage.”

Mary scowled. “The law is on their side.”

“If you send him back and he again refuses to eat, he could die,” Eric cautioned, deciding it was time for him to step into the fray. “He doesn’t look as if he’s got much more weight to lose before he’s in serious trouble.”

For a long moment Mary said nothing, her gaze resting on the boy. Abruptly her attention shifted to Roxy. “Do you still have that paper his grandmother signed giving Maude guardianship?”

Hope blossomed in Roxy. “Yes.”

“I’ll take it to Judge Blaire. He’s an old friend and supporter of Maude’s. I’ll argue that since she left you everything, the guardianship should revert to you.”




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