“How about you nap for a few minutes while I get the pizza ready?” Nathan asked the boy.

For once Zach didn’t argue. But instead of folding himself into his mother’s embrace, he lifted his arms to Nathan. “Will you carry me?”

Taken aback, Nathan checked with Catherine again.

“If you don’t mind,” Catherine said.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t mind in the least.”

Wrapping his arms around Zach, he hoisted the boy onto his hip and stood, then extended a hand to Catherine.

She accepted his hand and rose. “Let me show you to Zach’s room.”

The little boy shifted in his arms, emitting a soft sigh, and nestled closer to his heart. Nathan’s throat constricted as he stroked a comforting hand over his back. In his whole life he’d never held a child. But the boy felt right in his arms. And good.

IRENE HANNON

Irene Hannon, who writes both romance and romantic suspense, is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels. Her books have been honored with a coveted RITA® Award from Romance Writers of America (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction), a HOLT Medallion and a Reviewer’s Choice Award from RT Book Reviews.

A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time. In her spare time she enjoys singing, traveling, long walks, cooking, gardening and spending time with family. She and her husband make their home in Missouri.

For more information about her and her books, Irene invites you to visit her Web site at www.irenehannon.com.

A Father for Zach
Irene Hannon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.

—Hebrews 11:1

To my mom, Dorothy Hannon—and our special

memories of Nantucket.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Nathan Clay gazed out over the sparkling blue waters off Nantucket, scanned the pristine white beach and took a long, slow breath.

What a change from the tiny, windowless cell he’d left behind four days ago—his home for the past ten long years.

The juxtaposition was surreal.

Settling back in the white folding chair, he tugged at his unaccustomed tie, surveyed the seventy-five wedding guests assembled on the lush, garden-rimmed lawn that abutted the beach, and tried not to feel out of place. But it was a losing battle. He doubted anyone else in this high-class group had served time in prison. Especially the Supreme Court justice on the other side of the aisle, who was a longtime friend of the Morgan family.

The family his sister, Marci, would be marrying into in just a few minutes.

Talk about moving up in the world.

She deserved it, though. Marci had worked hard to build a better life. To rise above their tough upbringing.

He wished he could have done as well.

Then again, his childhood had been even rougher than Marci’s or his big brother’s had been. Thanks to the secret that had darkened his life for more years than he cared to recall.

Bile rose in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow past it, to suppress the ugly memories. Those days were history. They couldn’t hurt him unless he let them. And he’d resolved never again to give his past that kind of power.

A string quartet positioned to his right began to play, and he focused on the baroque music, letting its measured cadence calm him. Attired in black dresses, the four musicians blended together perfectly, each handling her instrument with a confidence that spoke of long hours of practice.

But it was the violinist who caught his attention. Eyes closed, she swayed slightly as she drew the bow back and forth over the strings, producing pure, clear notes that quivered with emotion.

Nathan didn’t know a lot about music. He hadn’t had much opportunity to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. But he understood the creative process. Knew all about losing oneself in one’s art. That had been his salvation during his decade behind bars. And he sensed this woman felt the same way.

He studied her, appreciating the sweep of her long lashes as they feathered into a graceful arc beneath her eyes. Although her light brown hair was secured at her nape with a barrette, the no-nonsense style was softened by wispy bangs that brushed her smooth brow. The early afternoon sun highlighted her classic bone structure and warmed her flawless complexion, while the whisper of a smile touched her soft, beguiling lips.

Nathan’s gaze lingered on their supple fullness…and all at once he found it difficult to breathe.

Reaching up, he ran a finger around his suddenly too-tight collar and forced himself to turn away. Only to discover his new landlady, Edith Shaw, observing him with a smile of her own from two rows back. He had no idea how to interpret the gleam in her eye…nor the wink she directed his way.

And he didn’t have a chance to figure it out, because all at once the music changed and an expectant hush fell over the guests.

The minister, groom and best man took their places beside the wooden gazebo where the vows would be exchanged. Nathan watched his sister-in-law, Heather, start down the aisle. The matron of honor was as radiant as a bride herself—due to the slight bulge in her tummy that heralded the arrival of a new generation of Clays, Nathan suspected.

As the music changed again and Marci appeared on J.C.’s arm, Nathan’s breath once more caught in his throat. With her blond tresses and pinup figure, Marci had always been beautiful. But today she was luminous as she slowly made her way toward the gazebo—and the man she would soon promise to love and cherish all the days of her life.

She smiled at him as she approached, her wispy veil drifting behind her in the soft May breeze, her hand tucked in J.C.’s. It was fitting their older brother should walk her down the aisle, Nathan thought. He’d stood by both of them through the tough times, believing in them when neither had believed in themselves.

Much to his surprise, Marci paused beside his chair and reached out to take his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Nathan.”

At her soft words, he blinked away the moisture that pooled in his eyes. “So am I.”

With a gentle squeeze, she moved on to take her place beside the tall physician who had claimed her heart. As they joined hands beneath swags of white tulle held in place by sprays of pale pink roses and feathery fern, Nathan was glad she’d found her happily-ever-after.

He hoped someday he could do the same.

His escort duties finished, J.C. joined him in the first row. As Nathan shifted over to give his older brother a bit more room, he checked out the violinist again. She was looking over her shoulder now, giving him an excellent view of her appealing profile. Leaning back slightly, Nathan caught a glimpse of a little blond-haired boy sitting behind her on a white folding chair. Her son?

Checking out her left hand, he noted the glint of gold in the early afternoon sun. It figured. She appeared to be in her thirties, and most women that age were married.

Not that it mattered.

The odds of connecting with the first woman to catch his eye were miniscule at best.

But maybe…just maybe…there was a woman out there somewhere who would be able to overlook his past. Who would delve into his heart and see that it had been transformed.

“I, Marci, take you, Christopher…”

As his sister’s words echoed strong and sure in the still air, Nathan shifted his attention to the weathered gazebo. Marci stood framed in the lattice archway, her head tipped back, her gaze on the man she loved as she repeated the words after the minister.

Today she would begin a new life.

And so would he, Nathan vowed.

So would he.

An hour later, a piece of cake in one hand and a glass of punch in the other, Nathan stepped into the garden of The Devon Rose. He wasn’t surprised Marci and Christopher had decided to have their reception at Heather’s tearoom, Lighthouse Lane’s most prestigious address. It was where fate—or perhaps the Lord—had brought them together for the second time, setting things in motion for their courtship.

Once more, the genteel music of a string quartet drew his attention. Weaving through the crowd, he followed one of the brick paths that crisscrossed the formal garden with geometric precision.

When the ensemble came into view, he stepped off to one side. It was the same group that had played at the wedding, he noted, homing in on the slender violinist. The musicians must have packed up their instruments and headed straight for the reception the instant the ceremony ended.

The little blond boy was here, too, tucked into a nook a few feet away from his mom, who was shooting him frequent, protective glances. He was sitting on a folding chair, swinging his dangling feet, not in the least interested in the book lying in his lap. Instead, he was hungrily eyeing the plates of cake being juggled by the guests who were milling about.

On impulse, Nathan worked his way through the crowd and headed for the child. Holding out his untouched plate, he smiled. “Would you like some cake?”

The little boy’s eyes lit up, but he hesitated and cast a silent plea toward his mother.

As Nathan glanced her way, his stomach knotted at the mistrust in her eyes. He was used to suspicious looks. They’d been part of his life for as long as he could remember. But he’d hoped he’d left them behind.

Summoning up a stiff smile, he waited for her decision.

Finally, without missing a beat of music, she gave a slight nod.

“Oh, boy!”

At the youngster’s enthusiastic reaction, Nathan’s taut smile softened and he handed over the plate. “How come I knew you liked cake?”

The boy dived in, spearing a hunk of frosting with the fork. “I like the icing best.” He proved it by putting the whole glob in his mouth at once. “Than koo.”

Chuckling at the garbled expression of gratitude, Nathan lifted his cup of punch in salute. “Well, enjoy it.”

He started to walk away, but the boy’s voice brought him to a halt. “My name’s Zach. What’s yours?”

A quick look confirmed that the violinist’s jade-green irises were fixed on him. Watchful. Warning him off. Her tense posture was in direct contrast to the soothing classical music emanating from her violin.

Instead of moving back toward the boy, Nathan responded from where he stood. “Nathan.”

“You want to see my book?” Zach held up a Dr. Seuss classic, his expression hopeful.

“I don’t think your mommy would like that.”

Zach’s face fell and he lowered the book to his lap. “Yeah. I guess not.” He poked at his cake. “The only good thing about weddings is the cake.”

“Do you go to a lot of weddings?”

“Uh-huh. They’re all the same. Boring.”

In his peripheral vision, Nathan could sense the boy’s mother still watching him. He wanted to ask Zach some more questions. Find out why he wasn’t home with his father. Or a babysitter. Sitting still for such an extended period had to be torture for a youngster.

But he didn’t think the woman would appreciate his interest. Not in light of the strong back-off vibes she was sending.

It couldn’t be personal, though, he consoled himself. He’d noticed her protective behavior at the wedding, too. And here, as well, even before he’d spoken to Zach. She was just wary, period.

And that raised more questions.

None of which were likely to be answered, Nathan conceded.

Writing off the encounter, he smiled once more at Zach. “Hang in there, champ. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s what Mom always says.” The youngster heaved a resigned sigh and continued to shovel the cake into his mouth.

“She’s right. It will still be daytime when this party is over. Maybe you can play with your friends later.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

Before Nathan could follow up on that unexpected response, the song ended and the little boy’s mother spoke in a soft but insistent voice.

“Zach, come over here and let me wipe that sticky icing off your fingers or it will get all over your jacket.”

The youngster speared the last bite of cake and shoved it into his mouth. Scooting off his chair, he trotted over to Nathan and handed him the empty plate. “Thanks a lot. That was good.”

“You’re welcome.”

He took the plate and watched the boy join his mother, she gave him another suspicious scan as she fished a tissue out of her purse and pulled her son close.

Taking the hint, he turned away and strolled back into the crowd of guests. Still wondering why the precocious little blond-haired boy had no friends.

And why the green-eyed beauty was so wary.

“Mom! You’re gonna rub all the skin off my face!”

At Zach’s protest, Catherine Walker eased off on the vigorous scrubbing she was giving her son’s cheeks and double-checked to confirm that the tall, brown-haired man with the slightly gaunt face had disappeared into the throng of wedding guests.

“Sorry, honey.” She took one more swipe at a stubborn speck of icing that had somehow found its way to his eyebrow, then pocketed the sticky tissue.

“How much longer is this thing gonna last?”

“A while.”

He huffed out a sigh. “That means a really long time.”

“I brought a lot of books for you. And there are paper and crayons in the tote bag, too. Why don’t you draw some pictures?”

“I’d rather go to the beach.”

“I know. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and surveyed the wedding guests. “Maybe that man will come back and talk to me again.”

“You know the rule about talking to strangers, Zach.”

“He gave me cake. And he was really nice. Besides, he’s not a stranger. He told me his name.”

“Just because you know his name doesn’t mean he’s not a stranger.”

“You were right here, Mom. You could see me the whole time.” Zach gave her a disgruntled look and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the brick walkway. “I wish you weren’t so scared all the time.”

Jolted, Catherine frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious.”

“What’s the difference?”

He wandered back to his seat and began to poke through the tote bag, his apathy for her time-killing suggestions obvious.

As her son withdrew a book and settled into his chair, Catherine pondered his question. What was the difference between caution and fear? Not much, she conceded. But she had good reason for both. Thanks to David.

Her stomach clenched, and she forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. Someday…maybe…she’d be able to think about him with joy instead of sorrow. But she wasn’t there yet. And after two years, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would be.

As for Zach…she was sorry he was unhappy. And she sympathized with his plight. Being confined to a chair for an extended period was about the worst possible punishment you could inflict on a boy his age. In the past, David had watched him during her musical engagements, saving her son this agony. But David was gone. And she didn’t trust Zach with anyone else.

Nor had passing up this job been an option. In her short time on Nantucket, the high cost of living had been an unwelcome surprise. She needed the money this gig would bring in.

At a signal from the group’s leader, the string quartet struck up “Ode to Joy.” Scanning the crowd again, Catherine saw no sign of the man who’d spoken to Zach. That was good. Her trust level with strangers was zilch. Even ones who were guests at a lovely wedding like this. Because you never knew where danger lurked. Sometimes it was found in the most innocent of places. Places you’d assumed were safe.

Yet…as an image of the cake-bearing stranger who’d befriended Zach flashed across her mind, she found it hard to believe he was a man to be feared. Particularly in light of that moment when their gazes had connected. She knew hers had been filled with suspicion, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d reciprocated with coolness or antipathy. In fact, that kind of reaction would have been okay.

Instead, she’d been jarred by the hurt in his deep-brown eyes.

All she’d meant to do was warn him off. She hadn’t intended to cause him pain. Yet she had. And that disturbed her. A lot. Causing pain was as unacceptable to her as letting Zach out of her sight.

But it was too late to fix things now. She doubted he’d come anywhere close to them again today, considering the unfriendly reception she’d given his kind gesture. And there was little chance their paths would ever cross again.

She needed to let it go.

Catherine tried hard to follow her own advice, doing her best to immerse herself in the lilting, joy-filled strains of one of Beethoven’s most uplifting works. To focus on the happy faces of the guests enjoying a perfect celebration in a beautiful garden on this sunny, warm day.

But somehow she couldn’t erase the image of a weary face that she sensed belonged to a man who had endured more than his share of hostile looks.

Talk about dumb.

In the split second it took for the gallon can of paint to slip from her fingers and smash into her toes, Catherine Walker knew her decision to pad around the house barefoot as she organized her remodeling supplies had been a huge mistake.

And the sharp pain that shot through her foot and set off bright pinpricks of light behind her eyes confirmed it.

Choking back a cry, she stared down at her crushed toes as the can rolled away. And came to the obvious conclusion.

Her do-it-yourself remodeling plans for the B and B she was scheduled to open in eight short weeks were hosed.

“What was that noise, Mom?”

Exiting the main house, Zach skidded to a stop in front of her in the breezeway that connected the two parts of their new home near Surfside. Soon to be known as Sheltering Shores Inn.

Maybe.

She cast another dubious eye at her foot, blinking back tears.

Without waiting for a reply, Zach squatted in front of her and examined her swelling toes.

“Wow! They’re turning purple, Mom. Do they hurt?”

“Yeah.” A lot.

“Should we call 911?”

He gave her a hopeful look. She knew he was desperate for some excitement, some activity to break the monotony of his days on this quiet byway they’d called home for the past three weeks. Their occasional trips to the grocery and hardware stores didn’t provide enough variety for her inquisitive six-year-old. And he’d hated sitting through weddings, like the one she’d played at two weeks ago. But since their move from Atlanta, she’d been too busy settling in to do much exploring with him.

That was about to change, she conceded as she tried to put her weight on her foot and cringed. She didn’t intend to summon an ambulance, but a trip to the ER seemed unavoidable.

“No, honey. I don’t need 911. But I think I better have a doctor take a look at my foot.”

“In town?”

“Yes.”

“Can we stop at Downyflake before we come home?”

Already the local hangout, known for its sugar doughnuts—which had edged out Hershey’s Kisses as her son’s favorite treat—was high on his list of must-visit places whenever they ventured out.

“We’ll see what time it is when we’re through.”

“Okay. Want me to get your purse?”

“That would be good. And grab my sandals, too, okay?”

While he headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the items, Catherine tested her foot again. If she put her weight on her heel, she could hobble as far as the car, she decided. But beyond that…

A sudden surge of panic swept over her, and she did her best to stifle it. She’d find a way to cope. She always did. Things would be okay.

They had to be.

“Here they are, Mom.” Zach burst through the door, purse and shoes in hand. “You want to lean on me?”

Despite the pain that was intensifying with every passing minute, she dredged up a smile as she gazed down into his earnest, trusting face. What would she do without this little guy? If it hadn’t been for him—and her music—she’d never have made it through the past two years. Yet she’d come so close to losing him, too. Fear clutched at her, twisting her stomach and renewing her resolve to make his safety her top priority.

“That would be nice, Zach. Thank you.”

After she slipped her feet into her sandals, he moved beside her. She’d intended only to lay her hand on his shoulder, but she found herself leaning on him more than she expected as she locked the door and they headed for her Honda Civic, parked in front.

“I guess it hurts, huh, Mom?”

“A little. But the doctor will fix it up and I’ll be good as new. Can you get your seat belt on by yourself?”

“Sure.”

He hopped into the backseat while she took her place behind the wheel and carefully lifted her injured foot inside. As she put the key in the ignition, she checked on Zach. He was already strapped into the car they’d driven up from Atlanta, eager for an outing—no matter the destination.

She grimaced as she eased the car back, every little bump on the gravel drive reverberating through her foot. Zach was watching her face in the rearview mirror, his expression somber.

“I guess maybe you should have worn shoes when you were carrying those paint cans,” he offered.

No kidding.

A tall, white-coated man with light brown hair entered the examining room at Cottage Hospital and smiled first at Zach. “Hey, big guy. How are you doing?”

The youngster shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Getting tired of sitting around?”

“Yeah.”

“I hear you. Let’s get your mom taken care of so you can go home.”

He turned to Catherine and held out his hand. Midthirties, she estimated as he approached the examining table, with an appealing compassion in his blue eyes. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Christopher Morgan, Mrs. Walker. Sorry it took me a while to get to you. We were dealing with some victims of a car accident who needed immediate attention.”

She took his hand. “No problem. So what’s the bad news?”

“Two broken toes.”

Her shoulders drooped. The verdict wasn’t a surprise, but she’d been hoping they might only be bruised. She’d even toyed with the idea of praying for that outcome, though she’d quickly dismissed that notion. Why bother? God hadn’t come through for her the last time she’d sought His help.

“What does that mean in practical terms, Doctor?” She tried not to panic again, but it was difficult to remain calm when she had no idea how she was going to whip the inn into shape in time for her first customers.

“No strenuous activity involving your feet for the next six weeks.”

“I suppose climbing up and down ladders falls into that category?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Definitely.”

She stared down at her elevated foot, which was surrounded by ice packs.

“Are you gonna put on a cast?” Zach interjected. “You know, the kind people draw on?”

“Nope. That’s the good news.” The doctor smiled at him, then redirected his attention to Catherine. “A hard-soled, sturdy shoe should do the trick. You need to protect your toes from further injury while they heal.”

“I have some hiking boots.”

“Those will work.”

Good thing she’d thrown them into a box at the last minute instead of giving them to charity, as she’d been tempted to do, Catherine reflected. Although looking at them had evoked a bittersweet pang and reminded her of happy times never to return, the thought of cutting that link to David had been more painful than dealing with resurrected memories. So she’d kept them.

“Now let’s talk treatment.”

The doctor’s voice drew her back to the present, and she shoved her melancholy thoughts into a dark corner of her mind.

“Expect quite a bit of bruising and swelling. Prop your foot on a pillow when you’re sleeping, and stay off it as much as possible for the next few days at least—no prolonged standing or walking. Keep your foot elevated above your head, if possible. That will help reduce the swelling. For the first couple of days, put ice on it for fifteen to twenty minutes every hour or two. You can use a plastic bag filled with ice, but be sure to put a towel between it and your skin. Take an over-the-counter pain reliever if you need it. Any questions?”

“No.”

He tipped his head. “I have one. Why did you ask about ladders a few minutes ago?”

She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m renovating a house I just bought that I plan to turn into a B and B. We’ve only been here three weeks, so I haven’t gotten very far. And my first guests are arriving August 1.”

“Are you doing the work yourself?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Yes. Or I’d planned to, anyway. It’s mostly cosmetic. Nothing too heavy, but it does require a lot of climbing up and down ladders.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find someone to help if I want to be ready for opening day.”

“I can help you, Mom,” Zach volunteered.

She smiled and reached out to take his small hand. “I know, Zach. And you’re a good worker. But I’ll need someone a little bigger, too, to carry heavy things and climb the ladder.”

“If you’re in the market for an extra pair of hands, I’d be happy to give you the name of my brother-in-law,” the doctor offered. “He’s new on the island, too. I know he has some training in carpentry and painting, and he’s already done some work at our church.”

Catherine sent him a grateful look. “That would be great. Thanks.”

The doctor pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket and jotted a couple of lines. Stifling a yawn, he gave her a sheepish grin and handed it over. “Sorry about that. I just got back from my honeymoon yesterday, and I’m fighting a little jet lag.”

Honeymoon.

The word conjured up a poignant image of white beaches, palm trees and a tall, sandy-haired man with love and laughter in his eyes.

It also reminded Catherine where she’d seen the doctor before. She’d played at his wedding two weeks ago. He’d looked quite different that day, in a tux instead of a white coat. Besides, her attention had been on her son, not the bride and groom, whose happiness had brought back bittersweet memories.

Somehow Catherine dredged up a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Let me help you off the table.”

He freed her foot from the ice bags, waited while she gingerly swung her legs over the edge and supported her as she fitted her feet into her sandals.

“Is someone waiting to drive you home?”

“We drove ourselves,” Zach piped up.

The doctor frowned. “Driving in your condition isn’t the best idea.”

It was all Catherine could do to hold her tears at bay now that her foot was flat on the floor again—and throbbing with pain. How could two little toes possibly hurt this much?

Summoning up a shaky smile, she brushed his concern aside. “I don’t have far to go. Besides, my car’s an automatic, and my right foot is fine.”

“I’d feel better if you were a passenger instead of a driver. Isn’t there anyone you could call?”

She didn’t miss the subtle glance he cast toward her wedding ring.

“No.”

At the finality in her tone, he capitulated. “Okay. I’ll have one of the aides take you to your car in a wheelchair. But no more driving for a few days. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Five minutes later, as Catherine maneuvered herself into her car with the help of the aide, she thought back to the doctor’s question about whether there was someone who could assist her.

She wished she’d been able to answer in the affirmative. That she could pick up a phone and call the man who’d been the center of her world for eight glorious years.

But she was alone now, except for Zach.

And she always would be.

Because a broken heart was a whole lot harder to heal than two broken toes.

Chapter Two

Nathan braked to a stop on the side of the bike path as he approached Surfside and pulled out the directions he’d jotted down when Catherine Walker had called last night. Her street should be the next one on the left, he concluded, pocketing the slip of paper.

The three-mile bike ride from Nantucket town hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he’d expected, so he slowed his speed as he turned off the main road and headed down the dirt lane. The houses here were spread much farther apart than the ones in town, and all were constructed of weathered clapboard. Although they were too far from the beach to offer a glimpse of the sea, they had a wide-open vista of the blue sky and felt a world removed from the tourist crowds and noise. He liked that.

He had no trouble spotting the house his potential boss had described. It was a bit unusual in that it consisted of two clapboard structures joined by a breezeway. The one on the left was a story and a half, Cape Cod in style, while the smaller section on the right appeared to be one level.

Unlike the houses closer to town or in ’Sconset, it didn’t boast lush, well-tended gardens and tall privet hedges. Instead, it seemed to blend into the open, windswept terrain, as if it was a natural part of the landscape. He liked that, too.

Leaning his bike against the rail fence that separated the property from the dirt road, he walked up the gravel path to a front porch rimmed with budding hydrangea bushes. After ascending three steps, he rubbed his palms on his jeans and knocked on the door.

“Hey, Mom, he’s here!”

The sound of a child’s voice drifted through one of the front windows, which was open two or three inches. That was followed by the sound of eager, running footsteps. And a woman’s voice.

“Wait for me, Zach. I’ll open the door.”

Zach.

Nathan had only the space of a few heartbeats, while he listened as a lock was slid back and a dead bolt turned, to process that name and come to a startling conclusion.

But it was more warning than the woman who opened the door was granted.

Stunned, Nathan stared at the wary violinist. The mother of the friendless, blond-haired little boy.

She stared back.

Several beats of silence passed.

Her son recovered first. A wide, welcoming smile split his face as he beamed up at the visitor. “Hey, Nathan! It’s me, Zach, remember? From the wedding. You gave me your cake!”

Grateful for the distraction, Nathan tore his gaze away from the woman’s startled green eyes and smiled down at the youngster. “Hi, champ. I’m surprised to see you again.”

“Yeah. Me, too. Isn’t this cool, Mom?”

One look told Nathan that cool didn’t come anywhere close to describing Catherine Walker’s reaction. Cautious, guarded, uncertain—those adjectives were more accurate. Placing a protective hand on her son’s shoulder, she edged closer to him.

“Mr. Clay, I assume?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated for another moment, as if still processing this peculiar coincidence and debating how to proceed. But at last she took a deep breath and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. “All the work’s in that building.” She gestured toward the smaller structure on the other side of the breezeway. “I’ll show you around and you can put together an estimate.”

He followed her in silence, noting her limp—and the sturdy, somewhat clunky hiking boots that were out of place with her slim capri pants. When they reached the porch steps, she descended slowly, one at a time, bottom lip caught between her teeth, features contorted with pain.

In his thirty-four years, he’d had more than his share of cuts, scrapes and broken bones. And he knew how much they could hurt. For an instant he was tempted to take her arm in a steadying grip. But he quashed the impulse at once, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead as he followed at a nonthreatening distance. If he so much as breathed on her, he suspected she’d send him packing.

“My brother-in-law told me about your accident,” he offered. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll live. But it’s not very convenient.”

“She dropped a can of paint on her foot in there.” Zach pointed to the breezeway, throwing the words over his shoulder as he trotted along beside his mother, his hand firmly held in hers. “I heard it all the way in the living room. Then her toes got purple. And they puffed up. They look really gross. And she can’t walk very…”

“Zach.” Catherine’s quiet but firm tone cut him off. “I’m sure Mr. Clay doesn’t want to hear about my toes.”

“He might. Did you ever break anything?” Zach directed the question over his shoulder.

“A couple of fingers once.”

“Yeah?” Zach gave him an interested glance. “How?”

He should have seen that question coming, Nathan realized in dismay. No way did he intend to share that bit of background with this duo. Telling this wary woman they’d been smashed by a police officer’s baton wasn’t likely to win him any brownie points.

Pulling open the door of the breezeway, Catherine saved him by changing the subject.

“Let me explain the project.” She stepped inside and he followed. “I plan to use the smaller part of the house as a B and B. It’s already set up as guest quarters, with two large bedrooms, each with a private bath and a separate entrance. However, it’s in desperate need of some TLC. I have guests booked beginning August 1, which would have given me plenty of time to get the work done myself. But now I’m going to need some help.”

She took a key out of her pocket, fitted it into one of the two doors in the breezeway that led into the structure and pushed it open.

Nathan followed her in. The empty room was large and boasted a vaulted ceiling, but evidence of disrepair was obvious. Some of the drywall was damaged, paint was flaking off in several areas and the stained carpet smelled musty.

“The other room’s worse,” she told him as she limped over to the bathroom and pushed the door open. “It has peeling psychedelic wallpaper that will have to be stripped—meaning lots of drywall repair, I suspect. I also want to install Pergo wood-grained flooring in both rooms. Any experience with that?

“No. But I’m a fast learner.”

She gave a slight nod. “I installed some a few years ago in our old house. It’s not that hard. I can guide you through it. Maybe even help by that point.” She flipped on the light in the bathroom. “These aren’t as bad. They need more redecorating than repair.

He moved close enough to get a glimpse of a basic bathroom over her shoulder. The fixtures and tile floor appeared to be in decent shape, but the space was bland.

Stepping back into the room again, he planted his fists on his hips and gave it a dubious scan.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Clay, this room has great potential.”

At Catherine’s wry comment, Nathan felt heat rise on his neck. He hadn’t meant for his skepticism to be so obvious.

“I’ll have to take your word for that. The repairs I can do. The decorating…” He shook his head. “Making this room appealing would be beyond my talents.”

“I can take care of that part. I used to be an interior designer.” She moved toward the door. “Let me show you the other room.”

When he leaned around her to open the door, she jerked back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He eased away, pulling the door wide, wondering again why she was so skittish.

A soft flush colored her cheeks, as if she was embarrassed by her reaction. “Thanks.”

She limped through, tugging Zach along with her, but he pulled free. “We’re not crossing a street, Mom. And there aren’t any strangers around. We know Nathan now. You don’t have to hold my hand.”

As he dashed ahead to wait at the adjacent door, Catherine’s flush deepened. Averting her head, she led the way to the second door in silence, inserted the key in the lock and pushed it open. Gesturing Nathan inside, she remained on the threshold as he and her son entered the room.

Catherine’s assessment had been correct, Nathan concluded, inspecting the sorry wallpaper and faded vinyl floor covering. This room was in worse shape.

He shook his head. “I hope the part of the house you’re living in is in better condition than this.”

“Nope,” Zach chimed in. “There were spiders in my room when we moved in. Yuck!”

“Just a few. And they’re gone now,” Catherine corrected her son before answering Nathan’s question. “It’s livable until we get the guest quarters fixed up.”

Her response suggested it wasn’t much better than the room in which he was standing. Making him wonder what had compelled her to buy such a fixer-upper.

As if she’d read his mind, she folded her arms across her chest and regarded him from the threshold. “Prices are very high on the island. Especially property. This was the best I could afford. Besides, it met my criteria of keeping our home and the guest quarters separate. I wanted to maintain some privacy.”

She glanced around the guest room, her features tightening in pain as she shifted her weight to relieve the pressure on her injured foot. “This property used to be owned by an older couple, but they hadn’t visited for a long time. And this section has been ignored for years. According to the Realtor, after the woman’s husband died she became too feeble to travel. But she hung on to this place because it held a lot of happy memories for her.”

“Kind of like you kept those hiking boots you’re wearing, huh, Mom?”

At Zach’s comment, she sucked in a sharp breath. Before she could recover, the youngster continued.

“My mom and dad used to go hiking a lot when I was little. Mom says my dad used to carry me on his back. That was when we lived in Atlanta, before my dad went to heaven.”

As Zach’s last comment echoed in the empty room, Nathan tried not to let his shock register on his face.

Catherine’s husband was dead.

Now he knew why Zach had been with her at the wedding instead of at home with his dad. And why she’d planned to tackle this job alone.

It also explained the deep sadness in her eyes when their gazes met for a brief, compelling instant before she jerked hers away and took a clumsy step back.

“So…do you want to bid on the job?”

“Yes.” His response was immediate. The work was within his abilities, and he wanted to spend more time with these two people who seemed in such desperate need of a friend.

“Could you get back to me by tomorrow with a number? I need to move on this quickly.”

“I can give you an estimate now. For labor, anyway. We can adjust it if the project is finished sooner.” He’d been doing some mental calculations as they’d looked over the structure, and he’d already estimated the number of hours it would take to complete the work.

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s fast.”

He shrugged. “I know about how much time I’ll need. The math after that is easy. And if I finish sooner, the cost will be less.” He named a dollar amount.

When she frowned, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Look, if that’s too much, we can negotiate. And if you need a reference, the pastor at the church I attend can vouch for me. I’ve done a couple of jobs for him in the past three weeks.”

“It’s not the reference. It’s the bid. I probably shouldn’t say this, but—that’s on the low side for Nantucket. Prices here are high for everything.”

“It seems like a fair wage to me. And I don’t have a lot of expenses.”

“Well…if you’re sure. Can you start Monday?”

“Yes.” A surge of elation washed over him. He’d gotten a job! Maybe not much of one. But it was a start. And that’s all he needed right now. Just someone to give him a chance. To believe in him. To trust him.

Zach grinned up at him. “Maybe you can be my friend, Nathan.”

“Honey, his name is Mr. Clay,” Catherine corrected.

“Actually, Nathan is fine with me if it’s okay with you.” He managed to coax his tense lips into a smile. “I’m not much into formalities.”

He waited for her to reciprocate. Hoped she would. But she didn’t.

“If that’s what you prefer.” She moved away from the door, and Zach and Nathan exited. Once they were out, she locked it and tucked the key into the pocket of her capris. “I’m going to put my foot up again. We’ll see you Monday. Come on, Zach.”

She started to reach for his hand, but when he backed off, she let her arm drop to her side. Then she headed for the door that led into the main house, on the other side of the breezeway.

Zach’s farewell was much warmer and delivered with a megawatt smile. “Next time you come, I’ll show you the toy soldiers my grandma and grandpa sent me from Germany, okay?”

“That sounds great.”

Beaming, the youngster trotted off to follow his mother inside. A moment later, Nathan heard the distinctive sound of a lock sliding into place.

Retracing his steps down the gravel path in front of the house, he mounted his bike and set off for town, mulling over all he’d learned today—and wrestling with a new question.

Why had Catherine Walker moved far away from her home to start a new life in a rundown house on an island where everyone was a stranger?

As Nathan pedaled toward town, the answer eluded him. Yet one thing did become clear. While some of his questions about the beautiful violinist and her charming son had been answered today, a lot more had cropped up to take their place.

On the plus side, though, if all went well with the job he’d have ample opportunity to find some answers.

No. Scratch that. There was no if about it. Everything would go well. He was done messing up his life. He might not be able to delete the dark chapters, but he was determined to fill the ones yet to be written with light and grace.

And maybe, with God’s help, he could help a wary woman and a lonely little boy do the same.

Chapter Three

“My goodness! That’s amazing.”

At Edith’s comment, Nathan swiveled in his seat, paintbrush in hand. His landlady was staring at the canvas on the easel he’d set up in her garden, just outside his rental cottage. Her lips were slightly parted in astonishment, the chocolate-chip cookies and glass of milk she was holding apparently forgotten.

Feeling self-conscious, Nathan picked up a rag and wiped a smear of paint off his hand.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t have any training.”

“Who cares? You have talent. That’s even better.” She moved closer to examine the painting of a little boy on a beach, his head tipped back to the sun, arms lifted, his face the embodiment of joy and innocence and optimism.

“I saw the pen-and-ink drawing you did of The Devon Rose as a wedding present for J.C. and Heather, but I had no idea you were such a talented painter.”

Although the praise pleased him, Nathan felt uncomfortable. He’d had so little affirmation in his life, he had no idea how to respond. “I’m not that good.”

“Baloney. I’m no artist, but I know a…”

The half-moon gate to Edith’s backyard opened, and her neighbor, Kate MacDonald Cole, walked through.

“Kate…come over here!” Edith called.

Much to Nathan’s dismay, the red-haired charter-boat captain joined the group. He wasn’t used to an audience.

“Look at this.” Edith gestured to his painting. “Is that amazing or what?”

The younger woman moved closer to peruse the work in progress. When at last she transferred her attention to him, Nathan could tell by her expression that she was impressed.

“I agree with Edith. Did you paint this here in the yard?”

“No. I did most of it at Dionis Beach over the past couple of weeks. But it only needs a few more touches, so I decided to finish it up here.”

“How long have you been painting?”

“Not long. I didn’t have access to any good painting supplies in…until I came here. I did pencil sketches and pen-and-ink drawings.”

Kate gave him a steady look. “You’re good enough to do this professionally.”

Heat suffused Nathan’s neck. “I don’t think so.”

“You listen to Kate, young man,” Edith chimed in. “Her late husband was a very successful artist. She knows talent when she sees it.”

“I’ll tell you what…” Kate propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the painting. “Why don’t I mention you to the owner of the gallery where Mac sold his work? She’s always on the prowl for up-and-coming artists. That way, if you decide you want to market your work, she’ll already know your name.”

“I don’t know…I’d planned to focus on carpentry and house-painting jobs for a while.” Those were the skills he’d learned in the prison program. The ones he was comfortable with. Painting had always been just a hobby, a way to pass the time. And to express the emotions locked in his heart.

“Why in the world would you want to paint a house when you can do this?” Edith gestured toward the canvas.

“To put food on the table?” Nathan flashed her a quick grin.

Kate chuckled. “Good point. It’s not easy to make a living as an artist. But you’ll never know if you don’t try, as Mac used to say. How about I mention your name, and you take it from there? Or not. It’s the Blue Water Gallery on India Street. The owner is Monica Stevens.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Are the girls ready, Edith?” Kate asked.

“Yes. They’re in the kitchen, taking the chocolate-chip cookies off the pans.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Why do I think they’re going to pick at their dinner tonight?”

“I told them to eat only two each.”

“And you’ve been out here how long?”

“Five minutes.”

“I rest my case. See you later, Nathan.”

With a wave, she jogged toward Edith’s back door.

“I better go in and referee.” Edith set the milk and a plate of cookies on the table beside Nathan. “These are for you.”

Ever since he’d arrived, his Lighthouse Lane landlady had been dropping treats off at the cottage his siblings had rented for him in the corner of her yard, starting with the pumpkin bread that had been waiting for him when he’d arrived. He was beginning to feel guilty.

“I appreciate the cookies, but you don’t have to keep feeding me, you know.”

She waved his comment aside. “Someone needs to. You could stand to put on a few pounds. Get Heather to give you some of her scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves. That’ll do the trick. And I have the hips to prove it.” She patted the ample anatomy in question and chuckled. “But they’re worth every pound. See you later, young man.”

With a flutter of fingers, she retreated to her house.

As silence descended in the quiet, private yard shielded from the world by a tall privet hedge, Nathan picked up a warm-from-the-oven cookie and took a bite. Nirvana, he thought, savoring the burst of flavor from the gooey chocolate. It was funny how simple treats—or acts of kindness, like the painting supplies from his siblings that he’d found waiting for him in the cottage when he’d arrived—could bring a sudden lump to his throat. As could the heady scent of freedom, the trill of a bird and an endless expanse of sea or sky.

In hindsight, he wondered how he’d survived all those years of confinement—and the demeaning, soul-shattering experience of being treated like an object rather than a person.

Yet the latter hadn’t been confined to his decade behind bars, he acknowledged as the cookie caught in his throat. That legacy went back far longer.

Taking a swig of milk to dislodge the lump of dough stuck in his windpipe, he forced his thoughts in more pleasant directions.

Unbidden, an image of Catherine Walker and her son flashed through his mind. He still couldn’t get over the fact that their paths had crossed again. And based on her expression when she’d opened her door yesterday, she’d felt the same way. Except she hadn’t seemed especially pleased about the odd twist of fate.

Yet she’d offered him the job.

Meaning he could look forward to a lot more interaction with the wary violinist and her charming son. And if he was very lucky, maybe one day down the road her wariness would subside and he’d find the answers to some of his questions about the intriguing—and appealing—duo.

“Zach! It’s lunchtime!”

As she called her son, Catherine carefully lifted her injured foot off the wicker ottoman in the breezeway, where she’d had it propped all morning. She hadn’t planned to hover over Nathan during his first morning on the job, but Zach had balked at her plan to keep him inside for a few days while she observed the newcomer from a distance. In the end she’d capitulated, setting herself up in the breezeway with a stack of decorating books and a pad of paper so she could play with layouts for the two B and B rooms—and keep an eye on her new carpenter.

She’d soon realized, however, that her concern had been unnecessary. If anything, Zach had disrupted Nathan’s life rather than vice versa. Not that you’d know it by watching the man, though. He had the patience of Job. And he was good with kids.

Rising from the lounge chair, Catherine took a moment to steady herself before trekking to the kitchen to fix lunch. The two male voices continued to converse in the psychedelic room, one calm and mellow, the other high-pitched and animated. The exchange had been going almost non-stop all morning.

At one point, assuming Zach was getting in Nathan’s way, Catherine had stepped to the door and cautioned him not to bother the older man. But Nathan had won a friend for life when he’d responded that Zach was helping him—and doing a good job. At the compliment, her son’s chest had puffed out and he’d displayed the bucket of wallpaper scraps he’d peeled off the bottom of the wall.

It was the kind of considerate thing David would have done, Catherine reflected as she limped toward the kitchen door, a pain pill high on her priority list. Yet no pain pill could relieve the ache in her heart as she thought about the man she’d loved—and the father Zach would never know.

Pausing at the door to call her son again, she fought down a wave of despondency. Two years ago, everyone had told her the grief would dissipate over time. But why had no one warned her that the loneliness and sense of loss would intensify?

“Zach!”

Her second summons came out shaky—but it produced results. The little boy appeared moments later, followed by Nathan.

“Sorry he didn’t come on the first call. I was cleaning up his hands. They were a little sticky from the wallpaper paste.” Nathan gave her a probing look. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” She pasted on a smile, trying to squelch the uncomfortable feeling that this stranger had just tapped into her deepest well of sadness. “But I don’t want to be late putting Zach down for his nap.”

“Oh, Mom.” Zach thrust out his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m too old for naps.”

A pulsating pain—a twin to the one in her foot—began to pound in her head, and Catherine rubbed her temple as a wave of nausea swept over her. “We’re not going to argue about this, Zach. Go into the kitchen. Now!” The words came out sharper than she intended, and when tears welled in Zach’s eyes, her nausea ratcheted up a notch.

“You don’t have to get mad about it.”

“I’m not mad. I’m…” All at once, Catherine’s stomach revolted. Covering her mouth with her hand, she turned and clumped toward the bathroom as fast as her broken toes would allow.

She made it just in time to lose whatever breakfast remained in her stomach.

When she finally stopped retching, a soft knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Mrs. Walker? Are you all right?”

She closed her eyes. Nathan had followed her in. Meaning he’d not only witnessed her bad temper with Zach, he’s also heard her empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Not an auspicious beginning for their employer/employee relationship.

“Mrs. Walker?” The concern in his voice edged up a notch.

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. One part of her wasn’t happy he’d trespassed into their private quarters. Another part was touched that he’d cared enough to take that chance. She wasn’t sure which reaction was stronger. And she wasn’t in any shape to figure it out. “Where’s Zach?”

“He’s waiting in the kitchen. It took a couple of Hershey’s Kisses from the bowl on the counter to convince him to stay put, though.”

So much for his lunch, Catherine thought with a sigh. But at least the bribe had bought her a few minutes to get herself together.

Gripping the vanity for support, she examined her reflection. Not good. All the color had vanished from her face, and small beads of sweat rimmed her upper lip. She could try and buy herself a few more minutes, but she doubted her appearance was going to improve anytime soon. Resigned, she snagged a tissue, wiped off the moisture, straightened her shoulders and swung the door open.

Nathan sized her up in one swift but thorough scan. “You don’t look too good. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Too many pain pills is my guess.” She propped a weary shoulder against the doorframe. “I don’t take any medicine as a rule, and I’ve been doubling up on the dosage. I felt a little queasy last night, too.”

“That could be it. Why don’t you lie down for a while?”

She tried to smile. Failed. “Not an option. I have a six-year-old to feed.”

Several beats of silence passed as he regarded her. “I could do that for you. If it’s something simple.” The smile he gave her seemed a bit stiff. Like a little-used window that had to be coaxed open. “I’m afraid I never learned many cooking skills.”

Under normal circumstances, Catherine would have refused his offer. She didn’t relegate Zach’s care to anyone. Nor did she allow strangers in her home. But with a throbbing head, a throbbing foot and legs so shaky she wasn’t certain they’d keep her upright much longer, these weren’t normal circumstances. Not by a long shot.

Rather than labor over the decision, she told herself she ought to be grateful that providence or fate or simple luck had provided a set of helping hands today.

“Can you handle a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

His smile hitched up a notch. “If you direct the process, I’m sure I can manage.”

He seemed to understand that much as she might want to take his advice and lie down, there was no way she intended to leave him in her home—nor with her son—unsupervised. She was glad he’d discerned that—and hadn’t taken offense. It made things easier. Less awkward. And there was no hurt in his eyes this time, as there had been when she’d rebuffed his gesture of friendship toward her son at the wedding.

Relieved, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “That works.”

He stepped aside to let her pass as she started down the hall, but she hadn’t gone more than three steps when her good leg buckled. He was behind her in an instant, his hands firm on her upper arms, supporting her.

Fingers splayed against the wall, she drew an unsteady breath. “Sorry. I guess that little episode took more out of me than I thought.”

Without releasing his grip, he stepped beside her. “You’ve had a rough few days. Why don’t you lean on me and we’ll get you situated in the kitchen?”

The notion of leaning on anyone didn’t sit well with her, but she didn’t have much choice. Not if she wanted to make it to the kitchen on her feet instead of her knees. “Okay.”

He slipped his right arm around her shoulders, and she moved closer to him, clinging to his left hand.

As they slowly traversed the short passageway, Catherine discovered a couple of things. Despite his thinness, Nathan was strong. She could feel power in the sinewy muscles that bunched in his forearm, in the solid chest that brushed her shoulder, in the lean fingers that gripped her forearm. And he was also tall, towering at least six or seven inches above her five-foot-five frame.

Usually big, strong men scared her.

For some reason, this one didn’t.

When they entered the kitchen, Zach looked up from a small pile of incriminating silver paper, his guilty expression morphing to concern. “How come you’re so white?”

“Your mom’s toes are hurting a lot, and her stomach isn’t too happy about the medicine she’s taking to help them feel better.” Nathan stepped in before she could respond, and Catherine let him. She also let him guide her to one of the kitchen chairs. And she didn’t protest when he retrieved the cushion from the breezeway and lifted her foot to an adjacent chair, his fingers warm and gentle as he settled the soft pad under it.

A little quiver that had nothing to do with nausea rippled through her stomach, and Catherine frowned. What in the world was that all about?

“How does a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sound?” Nathan directed his question to Zach.

Her son sidled a guilty look in her direction. “I’m not real hungry.”

Nathan swiped up the incriminating silver papers and deposited them in the trash can. “You must be. Hard workers have big appetites. And you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Zach wandered over to the table and sat, chin in palm, watching Nathan.

“I thought so.” He turned toward Catherine. “Peanut butter?”

“In the cabinet on your right. Jelly’s in the fridge. Bread’s on the counter, by the toaster.” She motioned tiredly to her left, the spare response all she could manage.

She watched as he went about his task with an admirable efficiency of motion. It was the same approach he took with his work. She’d noticed it when she’d stopped in a few times this morning to make sure Zach wasn’t getting in his way.

But as she took a closer look at him for the first time, she noticed some other things, as well. Flecks of silver in his neatly trimmed brown hair. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Small scars on his temple and chin. Brown eyes that looked as if they’d seen way too much bad stuff, confirming the impression she’d had at the wedding.

Guessing his age to be midthirties, Catherine couldn’t help wondering what struggles this quiet man had endured to earn those premature signs of age. Were they as traumatic, as life-changing, as her own? Were they the reason he was trying to make a new start on this island, as she was?

“How about some milk to go with that?” Nathan set the finished sandwich in front of Zach and raised an eyebrow at Catherine.

Refocusing on the present, she nodded.

Without waiting for Zach to respond, Nathan pulled a gallon jug out of the refrigerator, poured a glass and placed it beside the youngster’s plate.

“What’re you eating?” Zach inspected his sandwich as he queried Nathan.

“I brought a turkey sandwich from home.”

“Why don’t you go get it? That way, we can eat together.”

Nathan cast a quick glance at Catherine and rested his hands on the back of one of the two empty chairs. “I think I’ll have lunch later. After you’re finished.”

Plunking an elbow on the table, Zach propped his chin in his hand again and pressed a finger into his sandwich, creating dimples in the soft white bread. “It’s no fun to eat by yourself.”

There was a cue here for her, Catherine realized. She could take it—invite this stranger to dine with her son—or remain silent and let him walk out. To eat alone.

Two weeks ago, if someone had told her she’d even consider inviting a man she’d known for only three days to eat in her kitchen, she would have dismissed the comment as absurd. She didn’t trust easily. Not anymore. But Nathan had come to her via a respected E.R. doctor. And he’d done some work at a church, offered to give her the name of his pastor. As far as she was concerned, those were good character references.

In her heart, however, she knew that wasn’t the only reason her attitude toward this man was softening. Even though she knew nothing about Nathan’s background, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, in some way, they might be kindred spirits. And her instincts also told her that this man, who had charmed her son with his patience and kindness, possessed a gentle, caring spirit incapable of inflicting pain.

When the silence lengthened, Nathan started to turn away. But not before she caught a flash of sorrow in his eyes that tugged at her soul. Again. And pricked her conscience. Again.

This was her chance to try and make amends for the hurt her unfriendliness had inflicted at the wedding reception, she realized.

“Wait!”

He cast a glance over his shoulder.

“If you’re hungry now, why don’t you eat with Zach? Unless you’d rather spend some time alone on your lunch break.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, and gratitude softened those velvet-brown irises. “I’ve had plenty of time alone. I’d welcome some company over lunch.”

His response intrigued her, but when he offered nothing else, she gestured to the refrigerator. “Help yourself to some soda. And there are a few homemade brownies left on that foil-covered plate on the counter. You and Zach can divide them up. Then it’s naptime for you, young man.”

Zach scrunched up his face. “I hate naps. I’d rather help Nathan.”

Leaning over, Nathan rested his forearms along the top of the chair back, putting him closer to eye-level with Zach. “I’m going to work on the ceiling this afternoon anyway, champ. You can help me again with the wallpaper tomorrow morning. How does that sound?”

Was this a sudden change of plan? Catherine wondered. Designed to make the nap more palatable by reassuring her son he wouldn’t be missing anything? If so, she hoped Nathan’s psychology worked. She wasn’t up to any more battles today.

“Okay, I guess.” Zach sounded more resigned than enthusiastic.

To sweeten the pot, Catherine touched his hand. “I’m going to lie down this afternoon, too, for an hour or two. How about if we nap together?”

His eyes brightened. “In your bed?”

She’d hoped that would do the trick. Sleeping with Mom was a rare treat, and she didn’t bestow it often. The child psychologist had discouraged her from making it a habit, stressing the importance of returning to a normal routine as soon as possible. Besides, there were too many nights when she still woke up crying. Or shaking. Zach didn’t need to witness that.

“Yes. In my bed.”

“Cool!” Zach went back to eating with renewed enthusiasm. “You want to take a nap with us, too, Nathan? It might be a little crowded, but I bet we could all fit.”

Heat surged on Catherine’s neck, and she made a pretense of adjusting the laces on her elevated hiking boot.

“I have work to do, champ.”

Nathan’s husky reply did nothing to quell the unexpected flurry of butterflies Zach’s comment had set off in her stomach. Fortunately he exited to retrieve his lunch, giving her a chance to compose herself. And when he returned, he kept the conversation focused on the remodeling project.

Once lunch was finished and he and Zach had polished off all the remaining brownies, Nathan went back to work with a nod in her direction and a quiet thank-you for the dessert and soda.

Fifteen minutes later, with Zach cuddled up beside her and already drifting off, her own eyelids began to grow heavy. Until a sudden realization drew her back from the brink of sleep.

For the first time in two years, she hadn’t double-checked the locks on every door before lying down.

Snuggling closer to Zach, she told herself she ought to get up and secure the house.

But she didn’t.

Because oddly enough, despite the presence of a stranger on her property, she felt safe.

Chapter Four

On Friday, as Nathan tapped the lid closed on the can containing the soft-ochre–colored paint Catherine had chosen for the psychedelic room, Zach planted his chubby hands on his hips and inspected the transformed space.

“This looks real good, Nathan.”

Standing, he did his own survey. And came to the same conclusion. Although the flooring still needed to be laid, the rest of the room was ready for decorating.

“Thanks, champ. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

A glow suffused the little boy’s face. “I like helping. Mom says I’m a good helper.”

“She’s right. I’m going to run over to the house and tell her I’m leaving, okay?”

“Okay. You want me to put your tools back in your toolbox while you’re gone?”

Nathan scanned the room. One of his ground rules was that Zach wasn’t to touch any tool without asking permission. And the little boy had followed it to the letter. But nothing lethal was lying around. Just a hammer, a paint-can opener and a couple of screwdrivers. “Sure. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As he exited the room, Nathan was pleased by the progress he’d made during his first week on the job—both with the room and with his employer. She’d begun to relax around him. To hover less. To trust him with Zach. That meant a lot. As did the routine they’d all fallen into of sharing their lunch at a glass-topped wicker table in the breezeway. Their conversation was always impersonal, focused mostly on the renovation, but the normalcy of it, and the sense of acceptance he felt, were a balm to his soul.

Crossing the breezeway, he could see Catherine through the screen door. She was angled away from him, arms akimbo, shoulders taut. As he approached, he heard her expel a frustrated breath before setting a jar on the counter.

He tapped on the door. “Looks like round one went to the jar.”

She twisted toward him and gave a rueful shrug. “Try round three. I think I’m down for the count.”

“Would you like me to give it a try?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“May I?” He gestured to the door. She hadn’t asked him in since the day she’d gotten sick, and though her wary manner was softening, he didn’t want to do anything to make her nervous.

“Sure.”

She picked up the jar and met him halfway across the room, limping a little less than she had on Monday.

“How are the toes today?” He took the jar of spaghetti sauce as he asked the question.

“The swelling has gone down, and they don’t hurt as much. Keeping them elevated helps a lot. But I don’t like sitting around.”

That didn’t surprise him. Catherine struck him as a take-charge, get-it-done kind of woman.

He took a firm grip on the lid, preparing to give it a strong twist. “Well, maybe by next week you…”

His stopped midsentence as the lid came off far more easily than he expected and spaghetti sauce spewed all over the front of his gray T-shirt, dripping onto the floor at his feet.

Catherine gave a little shriek and took a quick step back.

Recovering from his surprise, Nathan set the jar on the counter and sent her an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. I think I’m wearing your dinner. If you have a dish towel, I’ll…”

Behind him, the screen door opened. “Hey, Mom, I heard you yell. What…”

As Nathan swiveled toward Zach, the little boy froze. In the space of a few heartbeats, every ounce of color drained from his face and he began to shake.

Alarmed, Nathan took a step toward him. “Hey, champ, it’s okay.”

The boy jerked back, his breath coming in shallow puffs.

“Oh, God!”

Nathan heard Catherine’s murmured, anguished comment a second before she brushed past him, headed for her son. Wincing as she dropped to one knee in front of him, she pulled him close.

“I’m here, Zach. Hold on to me. It’s okay. Nathan spilled some spaghetti sauce on his T-shirt. That’s all. It’s just spaghetti sauce. I guess we’ll have to eat something else for dinner, huh? How does pizza sound? Would you like that?”

No response. The little boy continued to shake, his eyes glazed.

Nathan had no idea what was going on. Why was Zach so upset?

But that question could wait. At the moment, he was more interested in comforting a traumatized little boy and his frantic mother.

Stripping off the stained T-shirt that had apparently caused Zach’s distress, he used it to wipe up the spaghetti sauce on the floor, then tossed it into the sink before joining the duo huddled near the screen door.

“What can I do to help, Mrs. Walker?”

She shook her head, still clinging to her son. “Nothing. I just need to calm him down before he hyperventilates.” She backed off a bit to examine the boy’s face. “Zach, honey, it’s okay. Everybody’s fine.” She stroked his hair, his cheeks, his hands as she spoke. “Nathan’s not hurt. He’s right here.”

Nathan dropped to their level, balancing on the balls of his feet. Following his instincts, he cocooned one of Zach’s hands in his, his stomach contracting at the child’s obvious terror. He could feel Catherine quivering beside him as well, fighting her own panic. “Hey, champ, did you finish putting away all the tools?” He kept his voice gentle, soothing—the way he wished an understanding adult would have talked him through his own childhood traumas.

No response.

He tried again.

“I was thinking that next week you could help me paint, if your mom says it’s okay. Do you know how to paint?”

A flicker of awareness dawned in the child’s blue eyes, the glaze dissipating slightly.

“It’s okay with me if you want to help Nathan paint, Zach.” Catherine jumped in, following his lead. “I might join you myself. Maybe we could have a painting party. Would you like that?”

Zach blinked. Sucked in a sharp breath. Then he gripped Nathan’s hand and stared at him wide-eyed. “I saw blood.”

His quavery words jolted Zach.

“No, honey. It was spaghetti sauce.” Catherine ran her fingers through his fine blond hair. “Nathan spilled it all over his shirt. Like you spilled that jar of applesauce when we first moved here, remember? But it’s all cleaned up now. And I think we’ll have pizza for dinner instead. Would you like that?”

A shudder passed through Zach and he tightened his grip on Nathan’s hand, exhibiting surprising strength for such a little thing. “Will you stay?”

Nathan deferred to Catherine with a silent look.

Unlike the day of the lunch invitation, she didn’t hesitate. “If you can, it would help.”

He didn’t hesitate, either. “I’ll stay.”

“Thanks.” Her grateful gaze met his for a brief second before she reached for Zach, who was still way too pale. “How about you lie down for a few minutes while I get the pizza ready?”

For once he didn’t argue. But instead of folding himself into his mother’s embrace, he lifted his arms to Nathan. “Will you carry me?”

Taken aback, Nathan checked with Catherine again.

“If you don’t mind. It will help reassure him you’re okay,” she said softly.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t mind in the least.”

Wrapping his arms around Zach, he hoisted the boy onto his hip and stood, then extended a hand to Catherine. “I bet your toes didn’t appreciate that position.”

With a slight grimace, she accepted his hand and rose. “They’ll be okay. Let me show you to Zach’s room.”

She led the way down the hall, limping more than she had since early in the week. And she took the stairs to the second floor very slowly.

Meaning she was hurting a lot more than she’d admitted.

The little boy shifted in his arms, emitting a soft sigh, and nestled closer to his heart. Nathan’s throat constricted as he stroked a comforting hand over Zach’s back. In his whole life, he’d never held a child. But the boy felt right in his arms. And good.

Catherine paused to catch her breath on the landing of the dormered second floor, and he took the opportunity to get the lay of the land. It looked like the house had three bedrooms—a large master bedroom on his right, crammed with unopened boxes and furniture, and two smaller bedrooms on the left. The closest one contained a twin bed, and he started toward it.

“No…Zach’s room is next door, at the back of the house,” Catherine corrected him.

He gave the first room a quick inspection before continuing on. In addition to a twin bed, it contained a small dresser, chest, nightstand and straight chair. The bare walls were in desperate need of paint, the windows were curtainless, and the scuffed hardwood floor cried out for refinishing.

Zach’s assessment a few days ago of the state of the main house had been right on.

Yuck.

The second floor was bad. And while he hadn’t seen much of the first floor, the kitchen spoke volumes. The appliances were outdated, the flooring was cracked and the Formica countertop was chipped.

He couldn’t imagine anyone who’d been an interior decorator living in this environment.

And interior decorator or not, Catherine deserved better.

“You can set him on the bed, Nathan.”

Cradling Zach’s head, he eased through the door to the adjacent room.

Once over the threshold, he stopped in surprise. Not only was this room bigger than Catherine’s, it had been fully decorated—and with an imaginative hand. The walls were painted a cheery yellow, and a large throw rug featuring a parade of animals in primary colors hid much of the worn hardwood floor. Canvas swags at the windows were draped over stuffed giraffe heads, and the bedspread was done in a zebra pattern. Throw pillows shaped like safari hats were propped against the head-board, and a child-height coat rack was topped by silk palm leaves.

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