# Redemption

Carolyn Davidson

Jake McPhersonNEEDED A BRIDE…He was a Civil War veteran, wounded in body and soul. And when his wife died unexpectedly, he retreated from life, craving only solitude and his happy memories. But his young son needed a mother's love and guidance–even if Jake wanted no woman himself. So who better to choose than the town's spinster schoolmarm?Alicia MerriweatherWANTED SO MUCH TO LOVE… She had come to warn Jake his son was running wild. But she stayed because beneath his gruff exterior she saw Jake's pain and loneliness. Having borne the brunt of ridicule all her life, tall, plain Alicia understood both all too well. But could Jake ever learn to share his home and his heart?

## “Get your damn foot out of my door.”

This time it was a subdued roar, delivered from a twisted face of anger. “Do I have to call the sheriff to toss you out on your fanny?” He looked her up and down. “Though unless my eyes deceive me, it might take two husky men to do the job.”

Alicia felt the flush climb her cheeks. It was an insult, delivered honestly—but an insult, nevertheless. And as the town’s schoolteacher, she had until this moment been accorded the courtesy due to her position. She gritted her teeth. That her weight was, and always had been, a problem was neither here nor there. But this blatant intention to offend her had touched a sore spot, one she guarded closely.

“Two husky men?” Her brow jerked upward. “More like three,” she answered crisply, “unless the blacksmith is one of them.”

## Acclaim for Carolyn Davidson’s recent titles

The Marriage Agreement

“Davidson uses her considerable skills

to fashion a plausible, first-class

marriage-of-convenience romance.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Colorado Courtship

“Davidson deftly mixes courtship

and a marriage of conveniece with the intrigue

of gold hunting, robbery and murder.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

Texas Gold

“Davidson delivers a story

fraught with sexual tension.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

A Marriage by Chance

“This deftly written novel about

loss and recovery is a skillful handling

of the traditional Western, with the

added elements of family conflict

and a moving love story.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

The Tender Stranger

“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness

in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges,

portraying the extraordinary possibilities

that exist within ordinary marital love.”

—Publishers Weekly

## Redemption. Carolyn Davidson


www.millsandboon.co.uk

## Also by Carolyn Davidson

[†]Big Sky Rancher

Texas Lawman

One Starry Christmas

“Stormwalker’s Woman”

The Marriage Agreement

[††]Colorado Courtship

Texas Gold

Tempting a Texan

The Texan

A Marriage by Chance

[†]A Convenient Wife

The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

Maggie’s Beau

One Christmas Wish

“Wish Upon a Star”

[*]Tanner Stakes His Claim

[*]The Bachelor Tax

The Midwife

The Tender Stranger

The Wedding Promise

Runaway

The Forever Man

Loving Katherine

Gerrity’s Bride

This story is dedicated to all those

wonderful readers who took time to write me

after they’d read The Wedding Promise.

And to those who asked why I hadn’t given

Jake, a strong secondary character,

a book of his own. I agreed with them, and

found myself thinking often of Jake and

wondering what had happened to him. This

is it, ladies. Jake’s story, which in my humble

opinion is the best story I’ve ever written.

My dedication would not be complete

without mentioning my manager,

the wonderful Mr. Ed, who is my other half,

my inspiration and my love.

## 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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

## PROLOGUE

Green Rapids, Kansas—Summer 1877

THE GRAVE GAPED, an obscene rectangle wherein lay a simple coffin. Lorena McPherson, wife of Jacob, mother of Jason, lay beneath the scattering of flowers the mourning family and townsfolk had dropped into the grave.

Whether to relieve the stark presence of death, or to send a final assurance of love to Lorena, the effect was the same. But since the flowers would soon be covered by six feet of dirt, they failed to offer any comfort to the man who watched.

Jake McPherson sat in his rolling chair, his only form of transportation since he had lost parts of both legs, courtesy of the war. A familiar figure in Green Rapids, Kansas, he was pitied beyond measure today. Beside him, his son, a boy of six—who would grow up motherless from this day forward—stood dry-eyed, with shoulders straight. The boy’s gaze was focused intently on the open grave.

Across the grave site, Jake’s brother, Cord McPherson and his wife and children watched, Rachel shedding tears but standing erect and strong beside her husband.

The sun shone brightly, and Jake thought with macabre humor that it should have, at the very least, been raining the proverbial cats and dogs. But the heavens had not even had the decency to lend their tears to the event.

He’d shared almost nine wonderful years with his Rena, had discovered a life worth living with her at his side. Now it was all for naught. Life would never be the same.

Two men picked up shovels and began the slow, methodical rhythm that would fill the grave, leaving it mounded and barren of grass. Rachel carried a basket of flowers to strew over the surface once the men were finished, an attempt to conceal the scars of a fresh grave site.

Jake hoped it would bring Rachel comfort, this final act of love for her dearest friend. He would not deny her any solace she might gain, but knew that nothing could ease the stark despair that gripped him. He was alone, again. It seemed he’d been a solitary man for most of his life.

Until Lorena…

## CHAPTER ONE

Spring—1880

NO VISITORS. NO PEDDLERS. No Admittance.

Clear enough, Alicia thought, even as her fist pounded loudly on the solid oak front door. For the third time, she delivered four resounding thumps, then caught her breath as the door opened far enough for her to see the man facing her.

One hand lifted and the index finger pointed to the hand-lettered sign.

“Can’t you read plain English?”

That the man was in a wheeled chair came as no surprise, but his total lack of courtesy took Alicia’s breath away. As did the sight of dark brows and a cynical frown that seemed intent on frightening her off his porch. “Can you speak English?” he asked, his tone only marginally less rude.

“Yes, of course I can,” she answered crisply, determined not to backtrack. Indeed, had she done so, she’d have landed in a fine crop of tall weeds, just to the left of the rickety steps. She’d noticed them as she made her way up the sidewalk, before her attention was drawn to the porch stairs that sagged in the middle where a board was broken.

“You have a step in dire need of repair,” she pointed out. “You’re lucky I didn’t fall and break a leg.”

“At least you have one to break,” he growled, his lips drawn back over his teeth.

He’d actually snarled at her. There was no other word for it. Until this moment she’d never realized that a human voice could mimic that of an angry dog. Perhaps he had good reason, after all, she thought.

“No, I have two,” she said, correcting him mildly. “But since I need them both, I’m just as glad I didn’t have an accident making my way onto your porch.”

“You needn’t have bothered to come visiting,” he said harshly. “As the sign clearly states, I’m not receiving callers.” One large hand lifted to halt her words as she inhaled and prepared to explain the reason for her visit. “I never receive callers,” he reiterated. “Not today. Not any day in the foreseeable future.”

He pushed his chair backward and prepared to close the heavy door.

Alicia was quicker than he, and her sturdy, black, buttoned-above-the-ankle boot jammed into the space before he could slam the solid chunk of wood in her face.

“Get your damn foot out of my door.” This time it was a subdued roar, delivered from a face twisted with anger. “Do I have to call the sheriff to toss you out on your fanny?” He looked her up and down. “Though unless my eyes deceive me, it might take two husky men to do the job.”

Alicia felt the flush climb her cheeks. It was an insult, delivered with scathing honesty—but an insult, nevertheless. And as the town’s schoolteacher, she had, until this moment, been accorded the courtesy due her position. She gritted her teeth. That her weight was, and had always been, a problem, was neither here nor there. But his blatant intention to offend her had touched a sore spot, one she guarded closely.

“Two husky men?” Her brow jerked upward. “More like three,” she answered crisply, “unless the blacksmith is one of them.”

Jake McPherson bowed his head, and Alicia wondered if it could possibly be a gleam of amusement she caught sight of, as one corner of his mouth twitched. Then he offered her his full attention, once more delivering a measuring look at her person.

“I don’t entertain,” he said, his mouth firm, his eyes dark as the coals she’d shoveled into the potbellied stove this morning. “I bid you good day…madam.” As if he could move her foot by a glare, he stared down at it again.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be given the privacy I’m entitled to,” he told her sharply. “I’ve wasted enough time on you already.”

“Not nearly enough,” she said firmly. “I think you’ll find you need to listen to what I have to tell you, Mr. McPherson.”

“I don’t need to listen to anything anyone has to say,” he answered. Then, as he would have forced the door closed, never mind the presence of her shoe, he halted, his hand touching the knob. “How the hell do you know my name?”

“It happens to be the same as your son’s. McPherson,” she said. “I’m Jason’s teacher. I really need to talk to you,” she added, and then awaited his cooperation.

“I doubt that. I don’t really need to talk to anyone, lady.” He looked beyond her to where two women stood at the end of his sidewalk, just beyond the gate that sagged on one hinge. “Did you bring a whole contingent of cackling hens with you? Or did they just happen by for the show?” he asked.

“I didn’t intend to perform for you, sir,” Alicia told him, wishing fervently that she were anywhere else in the world right now. Back in her tiny bedroom or even in the cold schoolhouse, where her desk awaited her attention and the floor still needed sweeping due to the broken glass that littered it. Not to mention that the blackboard had not yet been wiped clean of today’s arithmetic problems.

“I doubt you could do any tricks I haven’t seen at one time or another, anyway,” he said. “Now, take your damn foot out of my door and leave my house off your list of places to visit. Mind the step when you leave. I can’t come to your rescue if you fall.”

“If I write you a letter, will you read it?” she asked, desperate to be heard by this man, in any way available.

His look in her direction bordered on crude, his words derisive. “I don’t accept love letters from strange women.”

If he was trying to be offensive and rude, he was certainly succeeding, she thought glumly. If the man thought he was going to get the best of her, he had another think coming. She hadn’t gathered her courage in both hands to be turned away at his front door. Besides, there was some indefinable look in his eyes that compelled her to continue this discussion. Her response was quick and to the point.

“Love letters? I doubt you’d ever get one,” she snipped. She watched him frown and look surprised at the same time, then she leaned forward and shoved the door, causing his chair to roll backward toward the wall, where it tilted precariously for a moment before it settled back down.

With a quick movement, she slid through the opening and glanced back out to the sidewalk in front of the house. One of the spectators had her hand over her mouth, the other was leaning forward as if to look beyond Alicia’s sturdy figure. She’d managed to draw enough attention to herself to last a long time, she thought resignedly.

There was nothing for it but to face the man in his lair, and hope he didn’t have a gun handy. If looks could kill, she’d be six feet deep in the churchyard tomorrow. Fortunately, she’d faced down more angry opponents in her life than Jake McPherson. She’d survive this encounter. One way or another, she’d speak her piece before she left this house. Some way, she vowed silently, she’d make him smile before she was done.

He trembled with anger, his hands gripping the tires of his chair. Unless she was mistaken, his first inclination was to run her over where she stood. Perhaps he was having second thoughts, she decided. Having gotten a good look at her, he might have recognized that she was not a woman to be trifled with.

Taller than most women, she stood eight inches over five feet. Blessed by her family background with an ample backside and a bosom to equal it, she was a match for any average man. Any average man, she thought, beginning to rue her actions. She blushed anew as she recognized her brazen behavior, aware that she had crossed the boundary lines of good conduct.

“I apologize, Mr. McPherson,” she said quietly. “I’ve been rude. If this matter weren’t so important, I wouldn’t have come calling without first requesting an appointment.”

“Rude doesn’t begin to describe you, ma’am,” he told her. “You’ve forced your way into my house, attacked my person and now you refuse to leave.”

From the rear of the house, a door slammed and Jake’s head turned in that direction. “You’ll have to excuse me. My son has come in, and he’ll need help with fixing supper.”

“Jason fixes the meals?” she asked. The boy was only nine years old. Certainly old enough for chores, but far too young to be entrusted with cooking on a stove he could barely reach with safety.

“As well as you’d expect,” Jake answered, “our housekeeper quit.”

Alicia tried in vain to hide her smile. “I heard from one of the ladies in the general store that you have a difficult time keeping any hired help.”

“That’s none of your damn business,” he told her. “Now, just leave, if you please. That’s about as polite as I’m going to be today. You’d better open that door and walk across that threshold right now, or I’ll send Jason after the sheriff.”

“Oh, I think perhaps the sheriff would be eager to see your son, Mr. McPherson,” she said quietly. “However, I doubt that Jason is interested in showing his face anywhere near a lawman right now.”

Jake’s hands moved up to grip the armrests and then, as if he sought a distraction, he smoothed the lap robe that concealed his lower limbs. What there was left of them. One was longer than the other, Alicia noticed, for the small quilt outlined Jake’s right knee and draped from it. The other leg was even more damaged, it seemed, missing above the knee.

She felt a surge of pity for the man who displayed such bravado, and yet recognized that he would not appreciate her softening toward him. “I really need to talk to you,” she said after a long moment.

“Jason!” It was a bellow that would have done credit to a bull, she thought, as his voice reverberated from the bare walls and floors of the hallway. “Come here,” Jake called, no trace of patience marring his sharp tones.

“I’m fixin’ supper, Pa.” Thin and reedy, the boy’s voice held apprehension in its depths, and Alicia knew, without a doubt, that he was aware of her presence.

“Shall I come get you?” Jake asked, his voice a harsh whisper now, a sound that was more awe-inspiring than the bellow had been. It had the desired effect, for the narrow-shouldered lad who pushed open the kitchen door and stepped into the hallway did so with haste.

“Are you in trouble?” Jake asked, leaning forward in his chair as he turned it to face his son, using swift movements of both hands.

“I dunno,” Jason said, his jaw set, his dark eyes flashing defiance.

“Do you know this lady?” Jake asked.

The boy nodded, tossing a look of appraisal at Alicia before he studied the floor at his feet. “She’s my teacher,” he said sullenly.

“Why is she here?”

Jason’s head came up abruptly and his eyes widened in surprise. “Ain’t she told you already?”

Jake shook his head. “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“Let her do the talkin’,” the boy said, and Alicia thought that, for one so young, he wore an immense chip on his shoulder. He spoke almost as an adult, uttering more words in these few moments than he’d delivered in her classroom all week. The boy was bright, there was no doubt about that, for when he deigned to turn in an assignment, it was far superior to the other two boys of his age. Not only was he bright, she thought grimly, he also was in trouble—of that she was dead certain.

Jake looked at Alicia again. “You’ve got one minute to talk,” he said gruffly. “If the boy’s done some mischief, you’ll have to take care of it. That’s your job, lady. You have him seven hours a day. If you can’t control him, it’s not my fault.”

“But his behavior is your problem, Mr. McPherson,” she returned bluntly. “And he is definitely a behavior problem.”

Jake cast Jason a long look. “Back in the kitchen with you,” he told him. “And close the door.”

Without an argument, Jason did as he was told, but his parting glance in Alicia’s direction was filled with defiance and, she thought, a touch of fear. She’d never attempted to instill fright in a child, and she didn’t plan on starting with this one, but he must learn respect.

“He needs some sort of guidance,” she began, unable to speak the words that would condemn the child, that would make his life any more difficult than it already was. Having Jake McPherson as a father was problem enough. Motherless, and part of an unstable household, the boy didn’t stand a chance of making anything of himself. Unless Jake took hold and changed his style of fathering.

“He gets guidance.” Jake looked at her from dark, angry eyes. “He doesn’t need any Goody Two-shoes coming around trying to reform him. He’s a boy, and boys get in trouble once in a while.” He settled back in his chair and his chin jutted forward. “What’s he done?”

Alicia felt like crying. For no earthly reason whatever, she felt tears burn against her eyelids and she turned aside, lest they be visible to the man before her. Not that he’d be able to make them out in the dim hallway, where tall, narrow panes of fly-specked glass on either side of the front door provided the barest minimum of light.

Beyond the wide parlor doors only gloom existed, apparently, for the curtains appeared to be closed tightly. At any rate, the man would have to peer intently at her to notice whether or not her eyes were shiny with tears.

This house…this man…the boy in the kitchen—all merited her concern, and that rush of emotion that threatened to melt her reserve held her stock-still where she stood.

HE WAS A MAN ISOLATED by his own choice. He admitted it freely to himself, and knew that the people who lived in Green Rapids were fully aware of his desire for solitude. Seldom in the past had anyone crossed his threshold, only the train of servants he’d hired intermittently, and then watched depart.

Housekeepers were hard to come by, a fact Jake was only too aware of. A decent cook would come in handy. As it was, his only household help was a widow lady who picked up their laundry once a week, then delivered it back to them a day or so later.

Beyond that, he and Jason were on their own, except for the occasional visit from his brother’s family. That the boy needed a woman’s touch was true. That he was likely to be the beneficiary of such a luxury was out of the question, unless some miraculous creature turned up on their doorstep and waved a magic wand over the household.

The woman who stood before him did not fit that description. Yet, she held his interest, as had no other woman in his recent past.

“I repeat, madam—what’s the boy done?” Hearing the harsh tone of his own voice, Jake restrained himself a bit. If Jason was really in trouble, he needed to know. “I’m sure I can handle the problem, once you fill me in on the details,” he continued, forcing his voice to be civil.

From the kitchen door, a scurrying sound that might have been mice, but was, no doubt, Jason’s attempt at eavesdropping, caught Jake’s attention. It was just as well, he decided, that the boy hear what his teacher had to say.

“He broke the windows in the schoolhouse today,” she said quietly. Her eyes offered a mute appeal, glancing up at him, shining with a film of tears, unless he was mighty mistaken. “Not all of them,” she was hasty to add. “But the two closest to my desk.”

“Where were you when it happened?” he asked, his gaze focused upon her person.

“Sitting at the desk, going over my pupils’ work. I’d just let school out for the day.” She looked at him directly. “Before you ask, I have to tell you that Jason did not attempt to hide his mischief. He stood not more than ten or twelve feet from the building, and when I looked out through the first broken window, he lifted another rock and threw it at the one closer to where I normally sit.”

“You’re telling me you saw him break the windows?” His heart sank within him. Jason was belligerent at times, hard to handle for the past year or so, but his actions today went beyond mischief.

The woman only looked at him, as if she would not further verify the story she’d told. It was no doubt true. She had no reason to lie, or even stretch the truth. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. The boy needs help, and he won’t accept it from my hand. He resents authority.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Jake said. “I’ll find some appropriate punishment to deal out, and settle the matter.”

“At least he’ll know you’re paying attention, won’t he?” she asked quietly.

Jake’s head came up abruptly, and his glare dissolved any small amount of amity he’d projected. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“He seems to be asking for you to notice him, and he doesn’t care how he accomplishes it, Mr. McPherson. This isn’t the first time he’s been in trouble.”

Jake winced inwardly. She was right. He’d received a note from the sheriff, asking for reparations when Jason had ruined the flower bed in front of the bank. The boy had come home with a black eye more than once, and his trousers were continually needing repair, where he’d fallen in the dirt, tussling with several boys in town. But then, fighting was something all boys indulged in, Jake had told himself.

Now he viewed the signs he’d ignored—and didn’t relish the picture they drew.

“Do you have another idea, Miss…” His voice trailed off, wondering for the first time just who this woman was.

“I’m Alicia Merriweather,” she said. “I teach the first six grades at the schoolhouse. Jason has been a student in my classroom for almost two years.”

“You’ve been in town that long?”

Her smile was cool. “You don’t get out and around much, Mr. McPherson. I’ve lived here for a bit over two years.”

“My social life has nothing to do with you,” he said harshly.

“I’ve had articles in the weekly newspaper,” she said. “I’d have thought you read the Green Rapids Gazette, and might even have recognized that there was a new teacher at the school.”

She was smart-mouthed, he decided. A woman who spoke her mind. He could just imagine the sort of articles she wrote. A smile begged for existence on his lips as he considered her. Her writing was no doubt aimed at cleaning up the saloons and driving the women who worked there out of business.

“Get to the point, Miss Merriweather.”

She inhaled and her ample bosom rose in response. He’d never been overly fond of women so well endowed, but she was well-formed, if a bit too full-figured for his taste. Even so, the dress she wore concealed a shape beneath its folds that would bear further study. And suddenly that idea appealed.

“I think Jason should be made to come to the schoolhouse, and at least sweep up the mess he made, and then help me board up the windows until I can get Ben from the hardware to replace the glass.”

“You’re going to board up the windows?” he asked. “And you want Jason to clear up the broken glass?”

She shot him a level glance. “He broke it, didn’t he? He needs to learn that there are responsibilities that go along with his actions.”

“And if he cuts himself in the process?” Deliberately, he was making this difficult, but the woman was persistent and he was rising to the challenge.

“What if he burns himself cooking on your stove, Mr. McPherson?” She pursed her lips and then lifted a brow as if she awaited a reply.

“Well, you have me there, ma’am,” Jake answered. “The difference is in who takes the blame for his injury.”

“In the case of the windows, he takes the blame, sir. Both for the damage he wrought on the school, and for any harm he comes to in the resolution of the problem.”

“He’s only nine years old,” Jake said, intent on continuing the argument, the best one he’d had in a month of Sundays. This woman knew how to hold her own.

“He may never reach his tenth birthday if he doesn’t learn some rules of decent behavior,” she said firmly. “He has half the parents in town out for his hide. There isn’t a boy in school safe from his fists, and the little girls have suffered ink splattered on their dresses and skinned knees from being pushed down in the schoolyard.”

Jake was silent, absorbing her words. If it was indeed as bad as all that, the boy had to be taken in hand.

“I’ll agree to him cleaning up the mess,” he said grudgingly. “As soon as he’s eaten his supper, I’ll send him on over.”

She gritted her teeth. He saw her jaw clench and noted the militant gleam in her eyes as she defied him again. “He’ll do it now. I won’t be eating my supper until the windows are boarded up and the school is back in shape for tomorrow. He can just do without his meal until that’s been accomplished.”

“Do you always get your way, Miss Merriweather?” Jake asked, fuming inwardly, yet aware that the woman had a point.

“Only when I’m right.” The words were a taunt, delivered with a smug smile. Then she clutched her reticule and stiffened her spine. “Now, will you tell him to come along with me? Or shall I go out into your kitchen and drag him out the back door?”

“It’s against the law to manhandle a child who is not your own,” Jake told her.

“I have the right to discipline the children in my classroom,” she reminded him. “The school board has put that into my contract.”

He might as well let the creature have her way. She was going to go over his head if he didn’t give in gracefully. Or at least without a fuss.

He raised his hand from the arm of his chair and waved toward the closed kitchen door. “He’s on the other side of that, ma’am,” he told her. “I’ll warrant his ear is glued to it, in fact.”

“Call him in here,” she said, moving to plant herself halfway down the hallway. “He needs to know that you’re aware of what he’s done.”

“Oh, I doubt there’s any question he hasn’t already heard every blessed word you’ve spoken, ma’am,” Jake said harshly. Then he raised his voice a bit. “Jason, come on out here.”

The door opened after a few seconds and the boy sidled into the hallway. His face was pale now, and Jake felt a moment’s pain at the look of confusion his son wore.

“You’ll go with Miss Merriweather and clean up the mess you made, Jason. You’ll help her board up the windows, and then you’ll do extra chores to earn money for the new glass it will take to repair the damage.”

Jason’s eyes widened. “I have to pay for new windows, Pa?”

“You broke the old ones, didn’t you?”

For a moment a look of despair came over the small freckled face, and Jake felt a pang of guilt. When had the boy gotten so far from his reach? Then Jason’s head lifted and a look of defiant pride touched his features.

“Yeah, I broke them.”

“‘Yeah’ is not an appropriate word to use, Jason,” Alicia said quietly. “You may change your statement, please.”

He shot her a resentful look, then turned as if to seek out Jake’s opinion in the matter. When nothing was forthcoming from his father, the boy nodded.

“Yes, ma’am, I broke them,” he said, and for a quick moment Jake thought he saw a bit of himself in the boy. Given to impetuous behavior, frustrated by authority and determined to flaunt his shortcomings in the face of others, he was indeed a problem.

But one, it seemed, Alicia Merriweather could handle.

## CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here’s your hammer,” Jason said, handing her the tool and then stepping away from her. “If you’re done with me, I’m goin’ home.”

She needed to take a stand, Alicia thought, as he turned his back and walked away. “Jason?” He halted and stood stock-still.

“I hope there won’t be a repeat of this sort of behavior. The next time I’ll probably have to involve the law. And I don’t think it would be any help to your father if you were called before a judge.”

“You won’t need to worry about that,” he said glumly. “My pa will likely find enough for me to do at home to keep me busy.”

That seemed to be exactly what the boy needed, Alicia thought. And what he asked for every time he misbehaved. Getting in trouble was an obvious ploy to gain his father’s attention. For a man of Jake McPherson’s intelligence, he seemed to be lacking common sense where his son was concerned.

She watched as Jason plodded away, wincing as she imagined his pain. Abandoned by his mother, although the circumstances had not been deliberate, he’d become a boy who was starving for that which the woman had provided in his life.

“JAKE?” The man who poked his head through the back doorway called out in a familiar voice, and Jake frowned as he turned his chair in that direction. “Are you home?” he asked loudly.

“You know damn well I’m home. Where else would I be?” Jake answered, shoving the kitchen door aside as he rolled across the threshold. “What do you want, Cord?”

“Just came to town to run some errands and I thought I’d drop in and see if there’s anything I can do for you while I’m here.” Jake’s brother was tall, muscular and walked about on two legs, a fact Jake had been able to set aside for a number of years. Now the difference that he’d once accepted seemed insurmountable.

“I’m doing just fine,” Jake answered gruffly. “Take a look around, brother. See anything that needs attention?”

Cord winced as he gave the kitchen a cursory once over. “Several somethings, actually,” he said mildly. “You need a good housekeeper.”

“Tell me about it,” Jake answered with scorn. “There aren’t any women in this town ready and willing to put in a solid day’s work and follow orders. Must be they don’t need a few dollars a week to keep them going. Probably finding other work to do.”

Cord raised a brow at that. “You’re kinda sarcastic, don’t you think? I’ve heard that you’ve already gone through the available widows and older ladies who might take such a job. You’re difficult to work for.”

“How do you figure that?” Jake’s jaw jutted forward as he faced off with his brother, almost relishing the foray. It broke the boredom to have a good argument—such as the one he’d indulged in with the schoolteacher.

“You’re a hard man to please,” Cord said. “You’re determined to sit in this house and keep the world away. You haven’t got any draperies open, and this place smells stale. You need to open those windows and let the breeze blow through. That would help, for starters.”

“Well, you find me a woman who’ll open my windows and keep my house clean and I’ll hire her.” That should shut the pompous fool up, Jake decided.

“And how long will that last? Until you decide it’s too much effort to be pleasant to another human being?”

“Some days that’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Jake muttered.

Cord leaned against the sink board. “I heard you had a visitor the other day. It seems a couple of the ladies saw the schoolteacher force her way into your house. It was all the talk at the general store. She caused quite a flurry, it seems, coming to visit you.” Cord grinned. “That bit of information has brought the gossips a new bone to chew on, and they’re settling down for a real meal, at her expense.”

Jake bristled at the thought of the meddling female who’d invaded his home, thus causing the old hens to peddle their stories about her behavior, and in turn about him.

Cord grinned. “Then your boy spread it around that he’d managed to show the woman how to pound nails in the boards that are currently covering the schoolhouse windows.”

“Jason said that?” The boy certainly hadn’t shared that bit of information, Jake thought. He’d only come home and sullenly done the chores assigned to him over the past days, earning the money to pay for panes of glass.

“Yeah, your boy said that,” Cord repeated. “But the rest of it came from a couple of passersby, I understand.” He straightened from his relaxed stance and faced Jake head-on. “Jason needs a haircut, Jake. He needs some new clothes that fit. His pants are too short and his shirts are either ripped or missing buttons. He doesn’t wear stockings half the time, and I doubt he’s washed his neck in a week.”

“He’s a boy.” The words hung between them, and Jake felt a moment of shame as his brother listed Jason’s shortcomings. And yet, they weren’t of Jason’s doing. They were items that Rena would have tended to, had she not been lying in the churchyard under six feet of dirt.

“You know, Jake, what you really need is a mother for your son.” With those words, Cord walked away, out through the back door and down the steps.

Behind him, Jake sat in his chair with a grimace of bitterness painting his features. A mother for Jason. That was about as likely as snow in August, to his way of thinking. He couldn’t even find a decent housekeeper. How the hell would he go about finding a mother for his child?

“Pa?” From the front hallway, Jason’s thin whisper reached Jake’s ears and he spun his chair around to face the boy. “What was Uncle Cord talkin’ about just now? Was he tellin’ you to find a new woman to get married to?”

“That’s not about to happen,” Jake said, dodging the query. “Who do you think would marry a man in a wheelchair? A man without any legs?”

“Mama did,” Jason answered quietly.

“Your mama was one in a million,” Jake said gruffly. “There aren’t any more women in the world like your mama.” And wasn’t that the truth. He lost himself for a moment in the memories that were stored in a part of his mind he no longer visited. Rena had been the sweetheart of his youth; and when they’d brought him back from the war without his lower limbs, she’d made it her business to crawl beneath his skin.

So well had she accomplished the task she’d set for herself, that he’d capitulated to her demands, believed her promises of forever, and married her. Now look where he was. Alone again, left to mourn.

Rena had taken ill and then succumbed to pneumonia during a week that would remain forever in his memory as the most horrendous time of his life. Pneumonia was a winter disease, and Rena had contracted it in midsummer, her stamina reduced after a cold had dragged on for three weeks.

He’d entered this house the day of her funeral determined never to leave it again. And except for a few memorable occasions, he’d kept that vow. Jason had been stuck with the most disgusting tasks imaginable, performing menial work that would have been more appropriate for a housekeeper or nurse.

Now he’d been told by two different people during a span of a few days that his son was lacking in the basic essentials of life. The love and attention of a parent and the chance to live as a child.

He rolled to the door and shut it, tempted to slam it, but leery of breaking the glass. Jason had already been responsible for repairing two windows this week; he would not add to that count. Behind him, he heard the boy’s dragging footsteps as he left the kitchen, and Jake turned the chair and followed the boy into the hallway.

“Come into the parlor, son,” he said quietly, and noted the startled look the boy shot in his direction. Had he not spoken to his boy in a decent tone of voice for so long that it would take him by surprise?

“Sit down.” Jake waved at the couch, where books lay in disarray and two dirty plates sat on the middle cushion.

Jason moved the plates and settled onto the seat, and Jake wondered that it was such an automatic gesture on the boy’s part. Used to the clutter, he didn’t seem to notice that the house was in havoc.

“I’ll try again to get us a housekeeper,” he told his son. “I’ll send you with a note to the newspaper office and have an ad put in this week. Maybe we can find someone who’ll suit us both.”

“I don’t want some strange lady tellin’ me what to do,” Jason said stoutly. “It’d be better with just you and me here, Pa.”

“It isn’t better, though,” Jake admitted. “You need someone to take you in hand, son. Someone who can take you out and buy you clothes that fit and see to it you visit the barbershop.”

Jason leaned forward on the couch and spoke eagerly. “I can do that, Pa. I can go to the barber by myself, and I’ll go to the general store and pick out some stuff. Can we afford all that?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

Jake nodded. He’d been living without dipping into his savings, Cord depositing a quarterly amount from the family ranch into Jake’s account at the bank. The house was paid for, thanks to Rena’s thrifty nature, and food for the two males in the household was the largest expense he had.

“We can afford whatever you need, son,” he said, wishing that he’d noticed for himself the boy’s general appearance. “But I’d feel better if someone went with you.”

“Can you go?” The look in his blue eyes was hopeful as Jason focused on his father, but Jake retreated quickly.

“No. You know I don’t go out.”

“You need a haircut, too, Pa.” Jason looked at his father with eyes too old for a lad of nine. “You’re not in much better shape than me.”

“Well, the difference is that you have to be out in public and I don’t,” Jake told him firmly. Then he heard the distinct rap of knuckles on the front door.

“Somebody’s here,” Jason said, rising quickly from his seat to head for the hallway.

“Wait,” Jake told him, calling him back with a single word. “Let me see who it is first.”

“You can’t see any better than me,” Jason told him, standing to one side to peer through one of the long panes of glass that trimmed the door on either side. Glass that was dirty, with cobwebs hanging from the upper corners, Jake noted.

“It’s Miss Merriweather,” Jason said, his eyes seeming to darken even as his face paled in the light from the narrow windows.

“What have you done now?” his father asked, and knew an unexpected moment of pleasure at the thought of once more fencing with the woman.

“Nuthin’,” Jason answered sullenly. “Why do you always think I’ve been bad?”

“Bad?” Jake repeated. That his son should use that word in connection with his own behavior was telling. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the apology from the depths of his heart. “Open the door, Jason. Let’s see what Miss Merriweather wants with us.”

A NARROW FACE PEERED at her from behind the dirty windowpane, and Alicia caught her breath at the apprehension displayed on the boy’s features. Fixing a smile on her face, she waited for the door to open.

“Ma’am?” Jason watched her warily as he stepped back, allowing her entrance if she wished.

“Is your father—” At the sight of Jake McPherson behind the boy, almost lost in the shadows of the wide hallway, she halted her query and nodded a greeting.

“I’m here, Miss Merriweather.”

“I noticed the sign is still there, but I wanted to talk to both of you about something, and this seemed like the best way and time to approach the subject.”

Jake’s hand sliced the air, effectively halting her explanation, and he glared in her direction. “Get to the point, ma’am. Is there a problem?”

She spoke with haste, lest he be angry for nothing. “No, of course not.”

“I’ve found there’s no ‘of course not’ with you, Miss Merriweather. There is still something on your mind.”

“Well, in this case you’re wrong, sir,” she said, standing outside the front door, feeling the air of dislike that emanated from the man. “I simply wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jake waved a hand at her. “Well, unless it’s a topic you think the whole neighborhood needs to be privy to, you’d better come on in.” He regarded her as she hesitated. “My brother tells me you’ve already done damage to your pristine reputation with your interference in our lives. Might as well do it up brown.”

And wasn’t that the truth? She’d heard the murmurs behind her in the store yesterday, and noted the sidelong glances of ladies as she passed them on the sidewalk. It could not be helped, she decided. The welfare of a child was more important than any gossiping females.

Jake turned his chair and rolled it toward the parlor, Jason scampering ahead of him, and Alicia followed in their wake. The boy was industriously picking up an assortment of objects from the couch when she stepped into the room, and he dropped them with a total lack of ceremony onto the floor in one corner.

Jake looked her way and for a moment they seemed to be in tune, both aware of Jason’s meager attempts at straightening up the room.

“Have a seat, ma’am,” Jason told her, waving at the couch, where an unoccupied cushion awaited her. Even as she watched, his eyes filled with hesitant light, as if he feared her mission might prove to be not to his liking. “I haven’t done anything bad this week, have I?” he asked.

She shook her head and smiled, sensing that he’d feared that very thing. “No, you’ve been an exemplary student for the past couple of days, Jason. I appreciated the papers you turned in to me. They’ll help your grades enormously.”

“What’s exemplary?” he asked with a frown.

“It’s a word we’re going to use in our spelling lesson on Monday,” she told him. “If you know the meaning by then, you’ll receive extra credit.”

She looked at Jake McPherson then, wondering if he saw the boy as she did. If he noticed the ragtag appearance of the child, or if he just didn’t care. If he took note of the extraordinary intelligence that gleamed from his blue eyes when they weren’t dulled with unhappiness. Then she steeled herself, putting her plan in motion.

“I received a visit from your brother,” she announced tentatively. “He told me you were looking for someone to help out with Jason. A woman who would see to him choosing new clothing at the general store, maybe arrange for a haircut, or whatever else he needs.”

And for the life of me, I don’t know why I volunteered for the job.

“Cord told you that?” The subdued tone of Jake’s voice was a cover for anger. She could see it in the flush that touched his cheekbones, the flaring of his nostrils and the glare of fury that shone from his eyes. He wouldn’t be smiling today.

“Well,” she began, hedging a bit. “He didn’t say it in so many words. Just suggested that you might be amenable to accepting my help.”

The man looked her over then as if he saw her as a slab of meat in the butcher shop on Main Street. Disdain marked his face, disapproval glittered from his eyes. She felt the brunt of both as if a sharp knife had stabbed her, slicing her good intentions to ribbons. She was no raving beauty—her own mother had told her that more than once—but she was presentable.

“And you think you qualify as an expert when it comes to young boys?” Jake asked with a cynical smirk. “How many children do you have, Miss Merriweather?”

She dropped her gaze to her lap, noting that her fingers were twisting together in an agony of embarrassment. She lifted her chin and met his eyes head-on. “None, of course. As you very well know. But I’ve worked with children for almost ten years, Mr. McPherson. I’d say I have a fair amount of experience.”

“Enough to take on the raising of my son?” he asked.

“I’m not asking for that position,” she told him forcefully. “I have no intention of interfering with the job you’re doing. I only thought to lend a hand.”

“You don’t have enough to keep you busy at that schoolhouse?” he asked sharply. “You need to spend your leisure time offering to tend to your pupils in lieu of finding a husband and having your own crop of children to raise?”

“The chances are very slight of my finding a husband and having a family of my own, sir,” she managed to say with a reasonable amount of clarity. “I’m sure you don’t mean to be insulting, but your remarks are venturing in that direction.”

Jake tilted his head and looked at her as if she were a specimen under a microscope and he was trying to distinguish her species. “Do you always talk that way, Miss Merriweather, or is it just with me that you use such highfalutin language?”

She bit at her lip. “I speak the way I was taught to speak,” she told him. “My parents were educators and raised me to be a schoolteacher. I had a good education in preparation for my life’s work.”

“Didn’t your mother ever consider the idea of you getting married and having that family we spoke of?” He leaned back in his chair and watched her closely, deciding that the flush she wore made her look almost…pretty. He cleared his throat and looked down. Damn, sharp tongue and all, she was more appealing than he’d thought.

Alicia felt heat climb her cheeks, knew she was blushing furiously and yet refused to look away from the man. “I think it’s an insult for you to even suggest such a thing,” she announced.

His gaze found her again. “You’re a woman, aren’t you?” His eyebrow twitched, and his mouth followed suit, as if he mocked her. Not quite a smile, but almost.

“A woman, yes. But perhaps not the sort of female who appeals to men who are looking for a girl to marry.”

“What sort of female are you?”

As if he cared, she thought. The man was being downright rude, perhaps wishing he could push her from this room, out the front door and away from his house merely by his behavior. She would not allow it. Not until she’d had her say. If he refused her help, so much the better, as far as she was concerned at this very moment.

“What sort of female am I? I’m a schoolteacher-sort, Mr. McPherson. I’ve never planned on marriage. At my age, it’s out of the question, anyway.”

“How old are you?”

Rude. The man was rude beyond belief! “How old are you?” she countered smugly.

“Thirty-nine,” he said. “Not that that has any bearing on the subject.”

He looked at her expectantly. “Your age, Miss Merriweather?”

None of your business. The words were alive in her mind, but refused to make their way to her lips. Instead, she found herself obediently blurting out the truth. “Thirty. I’m thirty years old,” she said firmly. “On the shelf, I suppose it’s called.”

“Surely there’s been some farmer in need of a woman, or a parson looking for a helpmate,” he said, emphasizing the words that he obviously thought described her best.

“Apparently not,” she said, refusing to rise to his bait. “Had such a man offered for me, I doubt I’d have accepted. My future does not lie in raising a brood of children whose mother had the good sense to desert them, and leaving myself open to being used as a slave by their father.”

“Not all children left alone have been deserted by their mothers,” Jake said harshly. “On occasion, such women are stricken by illness, and they’ve been known to die, leaving their households without a woman’s touch.”

Alicia felt pain strike her, the aching knowledge that she’d hurt another person with no reasonable excuse. She’d spoken out of turn because of her anger with this man.

“I apologize, Mr. McPherson,” she said quietly, unable to look into his face but unwilling to remain silent when an apology was in order.

“I’m not sure why you think I merit such a thing,” he answered. “It seems we strike sparks from one another, Miss Merriweather. I was equally at fault.”

She looked up at him then, shocked by his words, stunned by the reasonable tone of voice he used. His face had lost just a bit of its stony demeanor; his eyes were narrowed as he looked her over. The change was quite disarming.

## CHAPTER THREE

THE WOMAN HAD DUG DEEPLY beneath his skin. He’d been angry for three solid years, yet the emotion he’d bent in her direction today had made his fury during that time seem as nothing. Still, she’d tossed his anger back at him, as if she were untouched by his words. As a result he’d been unkind and insulting, to use her own description of his remarks.

Alicia Merriweather rubbed him the wrong way, and yet he felt a sense of anticipation as he thought of her next visit. Perhaps she would not return, and at that notion, he rued his bad temper.

Never in Jake’s life had he been so abrupt. Except for the early days, before the time when Rena had come back to him—those days when he’d made Cord’s new bride the target of his anger, reducing her life to a living hell for a matter of long weeks.

He thought of his brother’s wife, of the changes she’d made to his life, and then his mind compared her to the woman who had so recently left his home. Rachel was sweet, caring and petite, a woman who inspired a man to watch over her, as did Cord. Yet she was feisty, as Jake had reason to know.

On the other hand, he’d seldom seen so capable a woman as Alicia Merriweather. She was tall, big boned, and bore her weight well. He’d had a second look today. The dress she’d worn had fit somewhat better than the one she’d had on the last time she’d been here. It wasn’t too difficult to acknowledge the fact that there was, indeed, a waistline beneath its enveloping folds. Her hands were capable, her nails short, her fingers long and tapered. Her hair was nondescript in color. Brown was as close as he could come to describing it. Yet he wondered if it wouldn’t gleam with red undertones in the sunlight.

Jake shook his head. Of all the foolishness in the world, this really took the cake. Miss Merriweather was a self-proclaimed spinster. And yet, he vowed the next time he saw her, he’d coax a smile from those soft lips. Soft lips?

He shook his head at his fanciful thoughts. After all, her one redeeming feature was the fact that she seemed to truly like Jason. Make that two redeeming features, he decided with a satisfied nod of his head. She knew how to argue, and wasn’t afraid to open her mouth. A quality he admired in any human being. Rena had never allowed him to run roughshod over her, had always been vocal about her views and opinions.

Rena. My God. He bowed his head. He hadn’t known he would miss her so much. His teeth clamped together as he fought the sudden despair that gripped him.

“Pa?” From the doorway behind him, he heard Jason speak to him, and he blinked against the hot tears that threatened to unman him.

“Yes, Jason?” Was that his voice, that calm uttering of his son’s name?

“Pa, how come you and Miss Merriweather were fighting all the time she was here?” Jason sounded almost…bereft, Jake thought. And that would never do.

He turned his chair and fought for a smile. “I’ve always enjoyed a good argument, son,” he said. “I suspect Miss Merriweather does, too. I know it got a bit out of hand, but it’s all repaired now.”

“Pa? Have you thought about what she said? About taking me to the store for clothes? And to the barber for a haircut?” He thought a note of pleading touched Jason’s words, and he shot the boy a long look. Jason slouched in the doorway in a casual manner, but beneath his spoken queries lay a hope he could not hide.

“I’ve thought about it,” Jake answered. “Is that what you’d like to have happen?”

Jason shrugged as if it were of no matter to him, one way or the other. “I guess I wouldn’t mind if she took me, so long as she walked behind me or in front of me, or some way didn’t let everybody know she was takin’ care of me.”

The boy looked so earnest now, Jake almost smiled.

“I wouldn’t care, not for myself, but I wouldn’t want folks to be thinking she was trying to act like my mother. You know? They might not be nice to her.”

“Let’s send her a note, Jason.”

In an attempt that appeared aimed at hiding his pleasure at Jake’s announcement, Jason merely shrugged. “I’m goin’ outside, Pa. Just call me when you’ve got it ready, and I’ll take it to her,” Jason offered. Quite a turnabout for the boy.

Jake thought of what he might say in such an epistle. Something that would signify his change of heart, without letting her know he’d be beholden to her should she accept the task. He wheeled his chair to the dusty desk in one corner of the parlor. The rolltop slid up readily and he found a writing tablet there. A small bottle of ink and his pen lay beside it, both of them unused for so long. He’d had no reason to write a note to anyone in that length of time. Perhaps the ink had dried out.

He drew the paper before him and dipped the pen into the inkwell, pleased that it came out stained darkly. How to begin? Dear Miss Merriweather… Perhaps. Then again, she wasn’t his dear anything, now that he thought about it.

Alicia. There, that looked fine. Not that she’d given him leave to call her by her given name, but he’d managed to fight with the woman. Twice, for pity’s sake. That ought to entitle him to some small bit of intimacy.

And at that word, he stilled. Intimacy. He’d only thought it, not spoken it aloud, but the result was the same. How on God’s green earth could he think of Alicia Merriweather and intimacy in the same breath? She was a female intent on spinsterhood, a woman determined to make inroads on his life, and more frightening yet, he was on the verge of inviting her to do that very thing.

Jake pushed his chair away from the desk and looked across the room. The draperies were closed, only a crack of sunshine peeking through a place where the two panels didn’t quite cover the window. Cord’s words reverberated in his mind.

You need to open these windows and let the breeze blow through.

Rena would be heartsick if she could see her house as it was today. Just three summers past, the windows had gleamed from her efforts with vinegar and water. The floors had been burnished to a fare-thee-well, and even when the wheels of his chair had sometimes marred the surface, she’d only brought out her cloth and worked for scant moments on the trail he’d left behind, and then bent to kiss him as she passed his way.

He rolled closer to the window, tugged ineffectively at the heavy drapery and watched as a cloud of dust rose in the air. Another tug brought the rod tumbling to the floor and he winced as bright sunlight flooded the parlor.

Now, isn’t that better? He looked around quickly, for a moment convinced he’d heard her beloved voice. And then a flurry of movement from the yard caught his eye and he groaned aloud. Mrs. Blaine, a widow who had worked for him for all of three days, was marching with a militant stride up his front walkway. Even as she halted before the door, just out of his sight, he heard the back door open stealthily and his hackles rose.

“Mr. McPherson! I know you’re in there. Come and open this door.”

The woman had a voice loud enough to wake the dead, he thought, his ever-present anger fueled by the demanding tone. His chair rolled across the parlor floor and into the hallway. The doorknob turned at his touch and he looked up at the Widow Blaine’s furious face.

“Your boy has really done it this time!” Mrs. Blaine announced, her nostrils flaring, her teeth set rigidly. “If you don’t do something about him, the law is going to get involved.”

Jake sat glumly in his chair, wondering what Jason could possibly have done to infuriate the woman so. He raised his hand to cut her off mid-tirade. “What did Jason do, ma’am? And when did he do it?”

“What did he do?” Her voice elevated with each word.

“That’s what I asked you,” Jake said softly.

“I don’t need to listen to your smart mouth, Mr. McPherson. I worked in this house. I know the sort of man you are and what you expect of your help. And I certainly know that your son is capable of any number of pranks.”

“What did he do?” Jake asked again, his voice a bit stronger, his anger beginning to match that of the woman before him.

“He tore up my vegetable garden. That’s what he did. The tomatoes were just about ready to put in mason jars and the corn was ready to pick.” She took a deep breath. “On top of that, he tore down my scarecrow.”

“When did he do this?” Jake asked mildly, hoping against hope that Jason was not the culprit, and fearful that he was.

“Just about an hour ago,” she said.

Relief ran through his veins. “How do you know it was my son?’ he asked.

She sniffed, her gaze triumphant. “I saw him myself, a boy with a blue shirt and brown hair. Watched him run from my backyard, I did.”

Jake smiled grimly. “I’ll warrant there are a number of boys Jason’s size with blue shirts and brown hair.” He looked back over his shoulder, and his voice rose as he called his son’s name. “Jason? Come out here.”

Wearing a brown shirt, Jason came through the kitchen door and down the hall.

“Did you tear up Mrs. Blaine’s garden?” Jake asked him.

“No, sir,” the boy answered. “I’ve been here since school got out.” He looked at the Widow Blaine. “You can ask my teacher. She was here and we was talkin’ for a long time with my Pa.”

“Did you change your shirt within the past thirty minutes?” Mrs. Blaine asked, her eyes moving over the boy’s form.

“No, ma’am,” he answered politely. “I’ve worn this one all day long. Yesterday, too.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe the day before, too.”

Jake winced at that revelation. “Does that answer your question, Mrs. Blaine?” he asked, motioning Jason to step closer. From his chair he drew the boy to his side, his long arm circling the narrow shoulders, his hand gripping Jason’s upper arm. “You’re welcome to check with Miss Merriweather if you like. I think you’ll find she’ll verify my son’s story.”

“Well, I know what I saw,” Mrs. Blaine said with a good amount of righteous indignation. Turning on her heel, she stepped from the porch, almost tripping over the broken step. Only a quick grab at the railing stopped her from landing head over heels on the sidewalk.

She turned back and shook her finger at Jake, a good imitation of a schoolmarm if he ever did see one. “This place is a disgrace. You need to get it fixed up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake called after her as she stormed off. “Just as soon as I get my new legs I’ll do that very thing.”

“What new legs, Pa?” Jason asked softly, bending to look into his father’s face.

“I was being sarcastic,” Jake told him. “Joking.”

“You never joke around, Pa.” The boy looked dubious and Jake reached up to touch Jason’s face with his fingertips.

“Do you know that I love you, son?” he asked. “I know I don’t tell you often, but I do.”

“I don’t remember you ever tellin’ me that,” Jason said bluntly. “You just holler a lot. Especially when we get a new housekeeper.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Jake said. Frustration struck him a low blow as he shut the door, lending it a push that vibrated through the floorboards. He turned his chair back to the parlor and rolled to his desk. The single sheet of paper lay there with but a single word written on the top line. Without a word, he picked it up and crumpled it in his hand.

He would not, could not ask the woman to take Jason in hand. It would not only ruin her reputation to be hanging around his house, but make him look like an absolute failure as a father. He could not transfer his responsibility so readily, let her take the boy shopping, tend to his needs. Some way, he’d figure out another plan.

“I KNEW the meaning of it, Pa.” Jason’s eyes were bright with the joy of accomplishment as he waved his spelling paper before Jake’s face. “See, there it is. Exemplary. I knew how to spell it, too.”

The moments spent with the boy late last evening had borne results, Jake thought, and for a moment he shared Jason’s exhilaration. The spelling paper bore a bright red score at its top. An A was written with a flourish there, and Jake looked at the precise lines of the grade Miss Merriweather had given the boy.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Jake said, holding the paper in his lap. He wondered when he’d last said those words to the boy.

“Are you, Pa? Really?” The brown shirt was dingy from wear. How many days had Jason donned it early in the morning. Four? It exuded an odor of boyish sweat and a definite doggy smell.

“I think you might want to put that shirt in the trash bin,” Jake told him. “How about you taking a bath today?”

“A bath?” Jason cringed. “It’s only Thursday, Pa. I took a bath last Saturday.”

“No,” Jake said, correcting him. “It was a week ago Saturday, I believe.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy to be scrubbin’ up all the time,” Jason said earnestly. “It lets all the germs into your skin.”

“What do you know about germs?” And where on earth had he gotten that idea?

“Miss Merriweather has been teachin’ us about science stuff.”

“Well, if you ask your teacher, I’m sure she’ll tell you that a little soap and water never hurt anyone.” His words were firm, implying a stance he would not budge from, and Jason appeared to get the message.

“Do I hafta get the tub out? Or can I just wash in the basin like you do?”

“I wash in the basin because I can’t get in and out of the tub easily,” Jake told him, and wished for a moment that he might soak his body beneath hot water and allow the warmth to penetrate his skin.

“I could help you,” Jason offered, and Jake was hard put not to smile at the eager offer. The boy would collapse under his father’s weight should he attempt such a project.

“Let’s just concentrate on your own.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped as the ultimatum was delivered, and he trudged away toward the kitchen. “I’ll get out the kettles to heat the water,” he muttered.

Then Jake could only hold his breath and watch as his son poured the hot water into the round wash tub. The chance of Jason being scalded was slim, since they only heated the water until it was barely hot enough to allow steam to rise. The danger was in the kettles, and the fact that Jason was not tall enough to handle them readily.

Another housekeeper was becoming a necessity, Jake decided. The boy was in need of help. He scanned his mind for another prospect for the job, and came up blank. As Cord had said, he’d already gone through all the widow ladies and the women who were willing to work outside their own homes. His reputation had been blackened by the stories those women told—tales of his foul moods, the angry tirades he’d aimed in their direction when they’d attempted to open the windows and doors.

Jake looked now out of the single window that bore no covering to soften the glare of sunlight through fly-speckled panes. Rena would be aghast at the sight.

His chair rolled across the bare, wooden floor to the second window and he grasped the draperies in his fist, and tugged them from their moorings until they landed with a muffled thud on the floor. Somehow the act was satisfying, as if he rebelled against the darkness that had gripped him for so long.

“What’cha doin’, Pa?” Jason stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and pale, as if the disturbance in the parlor had frightened him.

“Your uncle Cord told me we needed to open the windows in here,” Jake told him. “Do you think you can push them up? Let some fresh air in?”

“I can try.” And wasn’t that the crux of the matter? Jake thought. If the boy was willing to try to change things, how could his father do any less?

“Let me know when the water’s hot and I’ll come out to the kitchen and help you,” he told Jason. “In the meantime I’m going to write a note to Miss Merriweather, and once you get cleaned up, you can deliver it.”

“I’m gonna get new clothes?”

Jake looked at the shaggy locks that covered Jason’s head and hung against his collar. “And a haircut,” he said firmly.

CAN YOU COME BY to talk with me?

The note was brief and to the point, Alicia thought, and looked into Jason’s face, aware that his eyes shone with a hopeful light. The man hadn’t even had the courtesy to sign his name, she thought, exasperation making her cross. It would do no good, though, to take it out on the boy.

“Tell your father I’ll come by tomorrow at suppertime.” A sudden urge prodded her to action. “Tell him I’ll bring a picnic with me. We can eat in the parlor.”

“A picnic?” Jason’s mouth curved into a smile. “I can’t remember havin’ a picnic since my mama died, ma’am. We used to go to the celebration on the Fourth of July when I was real little. Mama got someone to help and my Pa would go, too.”

Real little? The boy was far from grown now, she thought sadly. And living on memories of a better time in his young life.

“Do you like fried chicken?” she asked, and at his enthusiastic nod, she determined to borrow the kitchen of the house where she resided and make the most mouthwatering meal she could put together. There was no time to waste.

Friday was Alicia’s favorite day of the week. Two whole days, in which she could please herself, loomed ahead. She’d sometimes found herself walking beyond the town and exploring the countryside during the nice weather. She had a lonely life, but had learned to enjoy her own company. A light quilt tucked under her arm, she frequently took her current volume of history or novel of adventure, finding a tree under which to sit, the book on her lap. Pure heaven, she thought. The whole of an afternoon in which to enter another world, where her imagination could run riot and her mind be refreshed.

Today was Friday, and for another reason she felt the swell of anticipation. A stop at the butcher shop gained her a plucked chicken, one the butcher was happy to cut into pieces. The general store yielded a supply of small new potatoes, fresh from some industrious soul’s garden. Early carrots and a large crimson tomato for slicing filled her basket and she set off for the house where the parents of one of her students had offered a room for her use.

Her landlady, Mrs. Simpson, was willing for her kitchen to be used for Alicia’s project. By the time the chicken was fried and the potatoes made into a salad, Alicia was ready to walk out the door.

Her meal was packed into the market basket and covered with a clean towel. She set off at a determined pace down the street toward the big house where Jake McPherson lived with his son. The front gate sat permanently ajar and the yard was still weed-infested, but the front parlor windows were barren of covering. She looked at them in surprise, noting the shadow of a man in a chair almost out of sight.

Edging past the broken step, she climbed the stairs and crossed to the front door. Before her knuckles could rap, announcing her presence, the door was opened wide, Jason standing before her. His hair was combed, still wet from the dousing he’d given it, marks of the comb he’d used still apparent. That the part was crooked and the dark locks hung to his shoulders was of little matter; the boy had made an effort.

“Come on in,” he said. “My pa’s in the parlor.” He lowered his voice and bent closer. “I don’t know if he’s happy about this or not, ma’am. He looked kinda cross when I told him you was bringin’ supper with you.”

“It will be just fine,” she said, offering assurance and wishing she felt some of the same. The basket was heavy and she sought for a flat surface upon which to deposit it. A library table stood near the door and she placed her bundle there and then turned to face Jake. “I hope I didn’t intrude with my offer,” she said, addressing the man with a confidence she did not feel. “Jason thought a picnic would be nice.”

“I don’t go outdoors,” Jake said flatly.

“We’ll have it in here,” she answered. “Jason and I can sit on the floor on a quilt and you can join us from your chair.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” he asked, and she took note of the burning resentment in his dark eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a managing woman?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve been called even worse than that.”

His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “It doesn’t bother you?”

She met his gaze head-on. “Do I look bothered?” She turned to Jason and issued an order. “Please go and find a quilt we can sit on. I’ll get the food ready.” That she’d brought napkins and plates was probably a good thing, she decided. Three forks and a salt shaker made up the rest of her supplies.

Jason carried a folded quilt into the parlor. “This was in the airing closet,” he said, breathless after his jaunt up and down the stairs. Eyes glowing with anticipation, he spread it on the floor and sat on one edge. “Now what?”

Alicia arranged the small tablecloth she’d brought, then placed the bowl of chicken, the potato salad and the carrots and sliced tomatoes in the middle. A loaf of bread, freshly baked only this morning and sliced into thick slabs, was wrapped in a clean dish towel, and she opened it, tucking the edges beneath the offering. Butter in a small bowl completed the arrangement.

“Oh, dear. I forgot to bring knives for spreading the butter,” she said softly. Her gaze flew to Jake’s. “May I send Jason to the kitchen?”

He nodded curtly, and Jason rose, almost trotting from the room, so anxious did he seem to get this meal under way.

“Don’t spoil this for him,” she said, warning Jake quietly. She bent to arrange the food on their plates.

“I do own some semblance of courtesy,” he told her harshly. “I don’t need a lesson in manners from the schoolmarm.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” she shot back, looking up as Jason skidded to a stop just inside the parlor door.

“Here you go,” he said, a grin bringing to life a dimple in his left cheek, something she’d never noted up until now. He handed her the three knives and she inspected them with a cursory glance and deemed them clean enough to be used.

She sat on the edge of the quilt, across from Jake’s chair, and folded her hands in her lap. “Shall we say grace?” she asked, and then at Jake’s snort of disbelief, she offered a glare in his direction. “You needn’t join us,” she said politely, “but Jason seems to understand the concept.”

For indeed the boy had folded his hands nicely, waiting for her to speak the words. “My mama used to pray before we ate,” he told her, and then looked up at his father. “Remember, Pa? I always liked it when she did that.”

Jake nodded curtly. “Go ahead, if it gives you pleasure, ma’am.”

His words were brief, and her mind churned as she attempted to decipher his mood. The man was angry again, probably as riled as he’d been on their first meeting. Unless she missed her guess, he was not about to accept her help with Jason.

“What part of the chicken do you prefer?” she asked her host.

“Whatever’s left,” he said. “It’s all food.”

Jason bit into a drumstick. “This is good food, Pa,” he said, the words muffled as he chewed. Some potato salad followed and he relished it for a moment, then swallowed. “My mama used to make stuff like this. Does it have eggs in it?”

Alicia nodded. “And mayonnaise and a touch of mustard and a big onion.”

Jake accepted his plate from her hand and their fingers touched during the interchange. His were warm, hers chilled, and he raised a brow as he looked down at her.

“Surely you’re not cold, Miss Merriweather?” She thought a gleam of satisfaction shone from his eyes as he spoke, and rued the apprehension she’d tried so hard to hide. The man was enjoying her discomfort.

“No, just afraid that I’ve offended you, sir.” She bent her head and took up a wing in her hand, breaking it apart and nibbling at the sparse amount of meat it held. The bones were placed neatly on the edge of her plate and she speared a slice of tomato, shook salt over it, then cut it up with her fork.

“I’m surely more offensive, than offended,” he suggested, and she looked up quickly, catching him with a look of appraisal alive on his face.

His gaze was warm and she shifted uncomfortably under it, feeling self-conscious. Her black boots were large, her hips wider than most women her age, and the size of her bosom was “magnificent,” a gentleman caller had said, long years ago. Back when she had thought there might be hope of a man in her life, and children born from her body.

“Well, you do know how to cook,” Jake conceded reluctantly. “I’ll have another piece of that chicken, if you don’t mind.”

She offered him the bowl and he took a thigh, then glanced at the potato salad. “Would you like another spoonful?” she asked, and lifted it within his reach.

“Maybe a slice of tomato, too.” His voice softened as he grudgingly asked for her help in serving him, but she refused to feel triumph at his expense. The man was making a stab at good manners, and she subdued her own natural inclination to gloat.

“Do you cook often?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the napkin she’d provided. She’d already noticed Jason copying his father’s example, placing the napkin across his lap before he began eating.

“Not very. I don’t have a kitchen of my own.”

“Miss Merriweather lives with Catherine Simpson’s mama and papa,” Jason offered. “Catherine thinks she’s real smart because the teacher has a bedroom next to hers.” He looked gloomy, Alicia thought, as if a bit of jealousy had popped up its ugly head. And then he wiped his mouth, following Jake’s example again and looked hopefully at Alicia.

“Do you think you could come and cook in our kitchen once in a while?” he asked.

“Jason.” The single word was a reprimand and Jake’s lowered brows emphasized the rebuke.

“I just thought—”

“You’re imposing on Miss Merriweather,” Jake said firmly. “She was decent enough to bring us supper tonight. It would be rude to expect her to repeat the gesture.”

No, Alicia thought grimly. Rude was a man who offered cutting remarks to the woman who’d carried a basket all the way across town to his house, a place where that man sat, totally lost in self-pity, brooding day in and day out.

“I’d be delighted to come and cook your supper once in a while,” she said brightly, knowing that Jake was ready to burst with irritation at her high-handedness. “Shall we say once a week?” She smiled encouragingly at Jason.

“That would be…” Jason fumbled for a word to express his delight, and only grinned widely, including his father in the elation he made no attempt to hide.

“Will I be able to take Jason to the general store?” she asked Jake. “I am free tomorrow if that would be a good time for him.”

Jake simmered, she could easily tell from the look he gave her. She had him neatly boxed in, and reveled in the fact. How she could find joy in making him fume was a question she wouldn’t even attempt to answer. She had to admit, there was a certain sense of satisfaction that had accompanied this meal, eaten at his feet, so to speak, and obviously enjoyed by both father and son.

She decided to change the direction of their conversation, and pointed up at the two windows where late afternoon sunlight shone. “I see you decided to uncover your windows,” she said. “It’s an enormous improvement, Mr. McPherson.” Tilting her head to one side, she made a sober observation.

“Perhaps I could bring over a bottle of vinegar and clean them for you tomorrow after Jason and I complete our shopping.”

“I’m sure there’s vinegar in the pantry,” Jake said forcefully. “If you’re of a mind to be our household help for the day, you just go right ahead.”

“I’ll help,” Jason said quickly. “I can do all kinds of stuff to help.”

She looked at the boy, her heart aching at his eagerness. “Perhaps we can repair the front step,” she suggested. “You’ve a fine hand with a hammer and nails, Jason. We’ll look for a board to use and make that second on our list.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly. Then he looked at his father. “Ain’t that a good idea, Pa?”

“I’m sure your teacher has any number of talents that might come in handy around here,” Jake told him, his gaze turning to Alicia as she got to her feet.

Never the most graceful of women, she came close to falling across his chair as she took note of his sarcastic observation. Her eyes burned as she turned aside and reached for her basket. “If you’ll take the leftovers into the kitchen and put them away, I’ll take the dirty dishes and go home, Jason. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome for today.”

With a flourish of white tablecloth and the clatter of forks and plates, she packed up and headed for the parlor door.

Jake watched her leave, his eyes pinned to the straight line of her spine, noting the brown braids that circled her head, crossing over almost double. Her hair must be very long, he thought. Probably past her waist. Dark and thick, it was probably her best feature. Unless he counted the clear gaze she afforded him from blue eyes that did not waver or retreat from his own. Strangely enough, she seemed to fit the body she’d been given. In fact, she could almost be considered attractive, in a regal sort of way.

All that aside, she was definitely a woman to be reckoned with.

## CHAPTER FOUR

JASON LOOKED ABOUT as uncomfortable as a boy could get, Alicia thought. She sat in a straight chair next to the door of the barbershop and tried unsuccessfully to pin a pleasant smile on her face. Jason slunk down in the black leather chair a bit farther, to no avail. Joe Hamlet, the barber, merely tucked his hands beneath the boy’s armpits and boosted him higher.

It was an ordeal for both of them, Alicia decided. Jason, because he was the center of attention; herself, because the men who lined the wall on a row of chairs were offering her long looks of appraisal. She was unaccustomed to being the focus of male attention and found it disturbing. Not that the gentlemen who awaited their turn in the barber’s chair were rude, only curious. Somehow that fact did not ease her discomfort.

The barber, mindful of the boy’s wiggling, placed a firm hand atop the lad’s head to hold him still. If it turned out to be a halfway decent haircut, Alicia would be most surprised.

“I think an ice cream is in order,” she said to a very relieved young man as they exited the shop ten minutes later.

“I’m not goin’ back there again,” Jason said vehemently, totally ignoring her offer.

“I suspect I can do as well as Mr. Hamlet, myself,” Alicia said. “Shall I give it a try when it’s grown out enough to tackle?” She steered him into the doorway of the drugstore and approached the counter. “What flavor do you want, Jason?”

“Flavor?” He looked around, as if only just now aware of his surroundings. “Ice cream flavor?”

“How about chocolate?” she asked, and lifted a hand to Frank Gavey, the owner of the store.

They ate their ice cream slowly, savoring each lick, every bite of the sugared cone and finally the pointed end where the last drops had melted. The general store was behind them, their bottoms firmly parked on a bench just outside the establishment, and Alicia prepared herself for the next leg of this outing.

“Are you ready to pick out some clothing?” she asked Jason. She rose, leading the way to the double doors that opened into the store. Jason followed slowly, dragging his feet, as if the experience at the barbershop had made him leery.

Alicia waited inside the door for him, then placed her hand on his shoulder as they approached the long counter. A short, squat gentleman approached. Mr. Harris was a businessman. Perhaps he spotted Alicia’s determined look, or else he saw a likely prospect for a complete wardrobe when he looked at Jason. Either way, he made it his business to be cordial.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” Mr. Harris greeted them jovially. “How about some new shirts for the lad? Looks to me he’s been growing like a bad weed.”

“We’d like some trousers and then Jason will choose some other things,” she said crisply. “Is there somewhere he can try them on?”

“Naw. Just take them home, and if they don’t fit he can bring ’em back.”

“All right.” One way or another, she’d see to it that the boy was outfitted with a new wardrobe today.

“May we see what you have in his size?” she asked.

The counter soon was literally covered with clothing. Trousers, shirts, drawers and stockings were stacked in separate piles, and Jason obligingly held them up before himself, testing them for size. As the pile grew, his eyes kept pace, growing wider with each item chosen.

Alicia nodded her approval. “Now, how about some new shoes?” she asked.

“Mine are good enough,” the boy said quickly.

“That’s a lot of stuff for Pa to pay for, Miss Merriweather,” he said beneath his breath, for Alicia’s ears alone.

“He’ll want you to be outfitted properly,” she said firmly. “We’ll look at shoes next,” she told the storekeeper.

The man beamed. It was likely the best sale he’d had all week, Alicia thought. Well he might smile. Jacob McPherson’s credit was as good as gold. The shoes were selected and tried on, then the items they’d decided on were wrapped in brown paper in two separate bundles and tied with string.

“There you go, ma’am,” Mr. Harris said, pushing their purchases across the counter. “You’re gonna clean up fine, young man,” he announced to Jason.

“Ma’am?” Jason halted on the sidewalk and looked up at Alicia. “Don’t you ever ask me to do that again. That fella was…” He groped for a word and Alicia filled the gap nicely.

“I believe condescending is the word you’re searching for,” she told him. “And I agree with you entirely. The gentleman needs to learn how to deal with the younger members of the public a bit better. ‘Clean up fine,’ indeed!”

If ever a youth needed some bolstering, it was Jason. Alicia could barely keep her arm from encircling his narrow shoulders, in fact had a hard time resisting the urge to drop a quick kiss on the top of his freshly barbered hair.

“Let’s go and show your father the results of our morning,” she said briskly, leading the way, paper-wrapped bundle in one hand, her reticule swinging from the other. Jason followed, his package carried in front of him, like an offering. Several townsfolk nodded and eyed the two of them surreptitiously as they made their way home. Alicia breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner and walked along the line of picket fences that fronted the properties to the south of Main Street.

“Today was quite an ordeal for you, wasn’t it?” she asked, slowing her pace a bit.

“I didn’t have much fun, if that’s what you mean.” He kicked at a clod of dirt and frowned. “I won’t have to do that again for a long time, will I?”

She thought his words were hopeful, and could not resist a smile. “I know how you feel,” she said.

He looked up at her in surprise. “You do?”

“I dislike shopping for clothing myself,” she confided. “In my case, it’s because I’m not as small as most other women, and I feel uncomfortable choosing things that are the largest size the store has to offer.”

“Being small isn’t so great,” he told her, as if to boost her confidence.

“It is if you’re a woman,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten into this conversation with a child.

“I think you’re a nice lady,” he told her staunchly. “I don’t think you’re too big at all.”

They turned at the open gate and walked to the front steps. “When are we gonna fix this thing?” Jason asked as he stepped carefully on one side of the broken board.

“How about this afternoon?” She waited as he opened the door and then followed him inside the house.

“Pa?” Jason’s voice echoed in the empty hallway, where no carpet muffled the sound. “We’re back, Pa.”

The wheelchair rolled from the back of the house toward them. He eyed their purchases and then waved toward the parlor door. “Let’s go take a look,” he said.

They spread out the clothing over the couch and Jason waited silently as his father inspected each item. “Is it okay, Pa?” he asked hesitantly. “I told Miss Merriweather it was a lot of stuff to get, and I really didn’t need new shoes, but she said you wanted me to have it all.”

Jake looked at Alicia. She sat on a chair, watching as he picked up the shoes they’d chosen. “I think Miss Merriweather did exactly right,” he said finally. “I couldn’t have done better myself.” Then, as if the words he’d spoken registered with him anew, he looked away from her.

“I couldn’t have done as well,” he amended. “It would have been a day-long venture, just getting me to the store and back home. Thank you, ma’am, for helping Jason today.”

She felt the flush of color rise to her cheeks as he expressed his appreciation. It was the next best thing to a compliment, she decided, both his approval of her actions and his appreciation of her efforts. “I enjoyed it,” she said. “Well—” she smiled at Jason as if they shared a secret “—all but the haircut part. That was an experience I’m not willing to repeat.”

Jake frowned. “Did anyone give you a problem?” he asked harshly. “Did someone say something out of line?”

She shook her head. “No, I just felt uncomfortable in the barbershop with a whole row of men looking me over.”

His eyes narrowed and then he made his own once-over of her appearance. “I don’t see anything about you that would warrant undue interest,” he said, his mouth twisting into a seldom seen smile.

“Well, that certainly put me in my place, didn’t it!”

“You mistake my meaning,” he told her. “You look like a decent, well-dressed woman to me.”

She was silent. Decent and well-dressed. The epitome of womanhood. Somehow she would have preferred pretty, or elegant.

“I’ve hurt your feelings.” It was a statement of fact. Jake rolled his chair closer to where she sat. For the second time in their brief acquaintance, he touched her. He reached out his hand and his long fingers grasped hers. Again she felt the warmth he exuded, and this time knew the strength of his grip. Along with that sensation was a tension that seemed to travel from his hand to hers, a fact that surprised her, causing her to remove her palm from his grip. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed, unsmiling, and then glanced down at his own hand, clearing his throat.

She supposed he was strong, wheeling his chair around the house, lifting himself in and out of bed. She looked at him more fully. How did the man manage to tend to himself? It must be a major undertaking to get from his chair to his bed. She’d known him for almost two weeks—or at least been acquainted with him for that length of time, and was only now curious about the life he lived outside of the confines of that chair.

He reached for her hand again and held it firmly. She looked down at their joined fingers. “My feelings are not so easily hurt. I’m not so soft-skinned as all that.”

“Perhaps your feelings are not especially tender,” he told her. “But you are soft-skinned.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, and she felt the contact as if he’d dropped hot butter there and then rubbed it in. Silky smooth, his thumb massaged her flesh, and the gentle pressure sent heat shooting up her arm.

The man was only being polite. And she was behaving like a foolish female given her first bit of attention by a member of the opposite gender. Sadly, she’d had few encounters with men, and none of them had led to more than smiles and murmurs, and one never-to-be-forgotten kiss behind the lilac bush next to her parents’ porch.

This time Jake was the one to break contact, dropping her hand as he backed his chair away and cleared his throat. “I repeat, Miss Merriweather. My thanks for your help.” He looked over at Jason and raised his voice a bit. “How about taking your new things upstairs to your room? I expect you to put them away neatly.”

As Jason gathered up his clothes and shoes and headed for the stairway, Jake turned back to Alicia. “The problem is that I have no idea how bad his room looks. I haven’t been upstairs since we moved into this house. I thought of closing it off, but Jason wanted the bedroom next to the big maple tree and I couldn’t refuse him.”

“Are there bedrooms down here?” she asked, then recognized the foolishness of her query. There must be at least one, if Jake had a bed available to him.

“I sleep in the library,” he told her. “The folks who lived here before called it their study, but I’ve filled it with books. If Jason slept downstairs, he’d have to use the dining room, and that would give him no privacy.”

Alicia rose, smoothing down her skirts. “I think I’d better take my leave, Mr. McPherson.”

“Alicia.” He spoke her name softly and she turned toward him abruptly. “I think we might use our given names, don’t you? I mean no disrespect, but Miss Merriweather is a pretty formal title for a woman who has made herself so important to my son.” He smiled, and the effect was startling. The frown lines on his forehead disappeared and a small dimple appeared in his cheek, matching the one Jason owned.

“I think that would be permitted,” she said. “Shall I call you Jake, or Jacob?”

“Better either one of those choices than the things you’ve been tempted to call me over the past couple of weeks,” he said quietly. He watched her closely. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

She stood stock-still, her gaze caught by the look of embarrassment he wore. “If I can do something to help, I’ll be happy to accommodate,” she replied.

“Do you think you could trim my hair?” he asked. “I know it’s an imposition, and I have no right to expect such a thing from a lady, but I want Jason to—” He halted in the midst of his explanation and spread his hands wide. “I’m not much of an example for the boy. I’ve let myself become a recluse. I look like a hermit, and Jason deserves better than that from his father.”

Alicia wanted to weep. It took all of her willpower to smile at Jake without allowing tears to well up. “I’d be happy to trim your hair…Jake. I watched Mr. Hamlet cut Jason’s and I really think I could do as well.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” He rolled his chair to the parlor door. “I have a pair of scissors in my room if you wouldn’t mind doing it today.”

The kitchen seemed to be the place best suited for the task, and Alicia found herself pinning a large towel around Jake’s neck ten minutes later. She’d pushed the kitchen table against one wall, freeing up a large area in which to work. Jason sat wide-eyed on a chair and held the scissors. Jake’s shaving mug and straight razor sat on the sink, in preparation for trimming his sideburns, and Alicia held a comb at the ready.

“Shall I wash it first?” she asked, for some reason breathless as she considered the deed she was about to embark upon.

“If you like,” Jake said. “I washed it two days ago, though.”

“It should be fine then,” she said. Gathering her courage, she stepped closer to his chair and ran the comb hesitantly through the length of dark hair. Extending over his collar, it was raggedly trimmed. Obviously Jake had done it himself; the back looked as if it had been sawed at with a dull knife.

Beneath her fingers his hair was soft, silken to the touch, and she inhaled, aware that her breathing was a bit uneven. He glanced up at her, his eyes questioning, as if he sensed her apprehension. “All right?” he asked, then his mouth twitched and his eyes darkened as if he knew the extent of her unease, and was amused by her dithering.

Alicia only nodded and went to the sink for a cup of water. Dampening the comb, she drew it through his hair and then made her first cut. Uneven bits of hair fell to the kitchen floor and she blinked. Once she’d made the initial cut, she was committed.

Moving in a half circle, she trimmed and evened out the length of his hair, dampening as she went. And then she was faced with the front, where it hung over his forehead. “How do you want this part cut?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he told her. “However it looks best to you.”

She leaned from the side and gauged the first snip, only to have her wrist caught in his grip. “Step around in front of me,” he told her. “I promise not to bite, Alicia.”

Too close…she was too close to him. Too near the masculine scent of him, that musky blend she’d come to associate with this man, and the aroma of shaving soap that emanated from his skin. He’d shaved today, a fact she’d noted upon arrival. For her benefit? She smiled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, barely moving his lips as though he might disturb her concentration.

“Nothing. I was thinking of something else,” she said hastily. Then she moved even nearer, her legs touching the front of his chair, the pressure of his right knee against her thigh. It was an intimate touch, his body heat radiating through her dress and petticoat. Beneath her fingertips, his face assumed a solemn look as she lifted the hair from his forehead and cut it in soft layers. The trembling she could not control threatened to botch her task before it was well under way.

He closed his eyes and she blew softly at the small clippings that fell on his cheeks. His nose wrinkled at that and she laughed, a soft sound that stilled his nose from wiggling and appeared to halt his breathing. Then his eyes opened—dark orbs that seemed to see beneath her skin, to the woman she kept concealed. She tensed, a shiver of anticipation traveling the length of her spine.

“You have lovely eyes,” he said quietly. “I thought your hair was brown, but it isn’t, is it? It’s the color of chestnuts, sort of a ruddy hue.”

She paused, holding the scissors upright. “Chestnuts?”

Again he smiled, and she stepped away from him, her fingers still tingling from the moments spent buried in his silken hair. He smiled at her, one corner of his mouth twitching. And yet, more than amusement lit his gaze as he searched her face and posed an idle query.

“Haven’t you ever picked up horse chestnuts in the late summer and shucked them?”

She hesitated, not entirely trusting her voice to be steady. “No, I can’t say I have,” she replied, feeling she’d succeeded, her breathing steadier now that she was no longer held a willing captive by his warmth.

“I’ve done that, Miss Merriweather,” Jason said eagerly, perching on the edge of his chair. “We play stuff with them. Kinda shoot them like marbles.”

“I didn’t do much playing when I was a child, Jason. You’re a fortunate young man to have a father who allows you to play as a young boy should.”

“All the boys play,” Jason said, his brow furrowing as if he did not follow her line of thought.

“And so they should,” she murmured, once more moving closer, the better to finish the task she’d begun. She lifted a lock of hair, drawing it to its full length, then trimmed the edges and allowed it to fall into place. The bits and pieces of shorn hair fell to Jake’s shoulder and she reached automatically to brush them away.

“There,” she announced briskly. “That should do it. I think you look fine, Mr. McPherson.”

The word he murmured beneath his breath made her smile and she repeated it after him.

“Jake.”

THE HAMMER HIT THE BOARD and the nail went in true. “Bravo!” Alicia said, and offered Jason another nail. “We’ll be hiring you out as a handyman before you know it,” she told him.

“I suspect we can find enough for him to do right here for a few days,” Jake said from his place on the porch. He’d rolled out the door, stopping the chair a foot from the edge. Alicia had given the railing a dubious look, wondering if it was as sturdy as it should be, and felt a sense of relief when Jake moved no closer.

“I told Miss Merriweather I could do a lot of fixin’ stuff around here.” The boy was filled with his own importance this afternoon, and Alicia rejoiced in it. His eyes glowed, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled and joked without ceasing, it seemed.

“Maybe Miss Merriweather would let you call her Miss Alicia instead?” Jake suggested, aiming a questioning look in her direction as he spoke. “I think as long as you remember her proper name while you’re at school, maybe she wouldn’t mind if you break the rules just a bit after hours.”

Jason’s eyes widened as he considered the idea, then he looked at Alicia, his face earnest as he made his plea. “I’d like that if you don’t think it would be disrespectful, ma’am.”

She felt a churning in her breast and bent her attention fully on the boy. A wave of yearning almost swamped her, spilling over into two tears that made paths down her cheeks. “I think that would be fine,” she said, her words clear and concise, her voice barely trembling. This boy had stolen a part of her heart.

Jake cleared his throat and issued a request. “Jason, do you think you could go out in the kitchen and get two glasses of that lemonade Miss Alicia made for us? My throat is drier than the Sahara Desert.”

The boy grinned. “You’re makin’ jokes again, Pa.” He placed the hammer on the step and sent a warning glance at Alicia. “Just leave it there, Miss Alicia, and I’ll finish up the job when I get back.”

The door closed behind him and Jake bent forward in his chair. “Can I say something to you, Alicia?”

She could only nod, acutely aware of her already teary state. She would not subject the two of them to such a display of sentiment.

“I’ve been thinking about something all day,” Jake said. “I’d like you to be considering it, too.”

She looked at him, frowning at the sober expression he wore. Only a moment ago he’d been smiling. Now he viewed her with a look akin to trepidation. “If you refuse, I’ll understand,” he said. “But at least think about it, will you?”

She was confused. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” she said finally.

“I’d like you to consider marriage, Alicia. To me.” He sat upright again and his expression seemed remote, as if he were lost in a memory to which she would not be allowed access. “You said you did not plan on marriage, but I think you’d be a fine mother to my son. I’d ask nothing more of you than that you take him under your wing, be a mother to him and tend to his needs. On top of all that, I feel responsible for the damage done to your reputation over the past weeks.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her words were slow, even though her mind was racing, repeating the phrases he’d used. “I don’t hold you responsible for whatever gossip has been making the rounds, Jake. As to marriage, I’ll admit that I hadn’t thought of such a thing.”

“I’ll see to it you never want for anything,” he told her, pressing on with determination. “I don’t have a lot of money, but we’re comfortable. I have an income from the ranch I own with my brother. He gives me one quarter of the profits, which is fair, since he does one hundred percent of the work. This house is free and clear and is well built.”

She was swamped with myriad emotions. The unexpectedness of his offer—for it could hardly be called a proposal—was more than her mind could absorb. “I…I suppose I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

He nodded and his eyes clouded, as if she’d denied him already. “I understand that I’m no prize,” he said quietly. “I’m hard to get along with, moody and temperamental. I’ve never been known as a nice man, Alicia. I’d probably be demanding, maybe even expect more from you than you’d be willing to give.”

She managed a smile. “I’m sure you must have a few redeeming qualities. I can think of at least one, offhand. You love your son, Jake. That you would consider taking on an old maid for Jason’s benefit says a lot for you as a father.”

“I haven’t looked at you that way,” he said. “I know you told me you’re on the shelf, that you aren’t the sort of woman to marry. But I find that I disagree with you.” He raised his hand to halt her as she began to answer him. “Wait just a second, Alicia. Let me say this. I see you as a woman with a heart full of love for my son. I can ask no more of a wife. You have a beauty of your own.” His eyes warmed as they met hers.

She shook her head. “Don’t think you have to flatter me. I look in the mirror every morning. I know what I look like.” She placed her hands on her hips and then hugged her waist. “I’m broad in the beam, my mama used to tell me. I have too much bosom—it makes me top-heavy.” A flush touched her cheeks as she spoke. “I’m plain as dishwater, Jake. I don’t consider myself a good-looking woman and that’s all right. I’m a fine teacher, and that’s what I’ve always wanted to be. I don’t know if I could be a proper mother to Jason. That’s something I’ll have to think about.”

“I won’t push you for an answer. But there is one thing you need to consider. The damage to your reputation—” He broke off suddenly, turning to the door as Jason crossed the threshold with two glasses of lemonade held before him. The boy’s tongue was caught between his teeth and a frown furrowed his brow.

“Let me take one of those,” Alicia said, reaching for a glass. She tilted her head back and drank deeply. “I was so thirsty,” she said brightly, thinking of Jake’s unspoken warning, a warning she knew was valid. “Thank you for waiting on us, Jason,” she said, flustered by Jake’s offer. She looked down at the hammer the boy had left on the step. “You’ll notice I didn’t touch your tools while you were gone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, carefully placing the other glass in his father’s hand. He stepped carefully to the ground and lifted the hammer. Alicia handed him another nail and he placed it just so, then drove it home. His smile flashed and she returned it, nodding her approval.

Jake was watching her. She felt his gaze like a ray of sunshine, his eyes offering approval, his smile almost a duplicate of Jason’s.

Jake McPherson was smiling at her, and he’d offered his approval. Indeed, for the second time today his mouth was curved in an unmistakable grin. Glory be!

## CHAPTER FIVE

THE DECISION WAS NOT difficult to make. She’d already put an acceptance speech together by the time she walked back to her boarding house. Delivering her response might pose a problem, for Alicia feared she would become emotional. Perhaps writing a note would suffice.

No. Jake had made the offer face-to-face. She would do no less in return. The pros outweighed the cons, she’d already decided. Staying single meant being alone for the rest of her life. The likelihood of another man posing the question was unlikely. And Jake had twice spoken of her nicely, complimenting her appearance. Hair the color of chestnuts. Indeed.