by Marin Thomas
Will couldn’t escape the church fast enough. He didn’t want to discuss Ryan—not when he still grappled with the fact that he was a father. He hadn’t slept well last night—his rest plagued with nightmares of the day he’d traveled to Tucson to confront his own father.
Until he’d learned about Ryan, Will hadn’t acknowledged how deeply his father’s abandonment had scarred him. His first thought had been to do the exact opposite of what his father had done to him—instead of ignoring Ryan, he’d go out of his way to be with him. Then he’d recalled Ryan’s lukewarm reception at the rodeo and had doubted himself, assuming his son needed more space.
Halfway across the parking lot Will saw Marsha walking along the path to the church. She waved and he raised his hand, the gesture awkward—everything about their situation felt uncomfortable.
Glad he wore his mirrored sunglasses, he watched her curvy hips swish-sway as she approached. She wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt with an image of a green dragon on the front. Cedar High was printed above the image—must be the school where she taught. The shirt was a men’s cut, but it didn’t conceal her feminine curves and Will silently cursed his dry mouth. If his stomach wasn’t tied in knots, he might chuckle at how the tables had been turned on him. He’d been the guy Marsha had had a crush on—according to Buck. Now he was the one drooling over her.
“Good morning.” She stopped a few feet away—not far enough to prevent the scent of her perfume from reaching his nose.
“’Morning.”
“Mom’s making fresh lemonade. Would you and Ben like a glass?”
He’d brought his own jug of water, but he said, “Sure.”
She wrung her hands, the action reminding him of the day she’d stopped at his locker and had asked what color tie he’d planned to wear to the prom. Had he worn a suit and tie that night?
She glanced at the church then at her parents’ house—lemonade wasn’t the only thing on her mind. “I was hoping Ryan could help you today.”
So much for easing into fatherhood. “Help how?”
“Maybe he could hand you tools or...” She tilted her chin, the motion freeing the hair she’d tucked behind her ear. The silky strands brushed her cheek and he stuffed his fingers into his pants pocket to keep from touching her curls to find out if they were as soft as they looked.
“Is Ryan bored?” Will sympathized with the teenager— the kid was used to city life and probably went stir-crazy stuck at his grandfather’s house.
“He’s not bored, he’s—”
“Hey, Will, what’s taking—” Ben nodded. “Hi, Marsha.”
“Hello, Ben.” Her smile drew Will’s gaze to her mouth. She wasn’t a woman who wore a lot of makeup, but the pink tint covering her lips reminded him of their heated kisses prom night. He’d been her first French kiss, but he assumed she’d had numerous kisses since him—a woman as pretty and sexy as Marsha probably had men fawning over her.
“How’s the pastor feeling?” Ben asked.
“Dad’s excited about the new classroom wing. He’ll be out later to check on your progress.”
“Look forward to seeing him.” Ben cleared his throat. “I’ll take in the weights.” He lifted the heavy discs out of the truck bed, then excused himself.
“If Ryan’s not bored, why do you want him to help?” Will asked.
Her blue eyes darkened before she looked down and drew circles in the dirt with the toe of her sneaker. “I don’t know what to do.”
Will had lost track of the conversation. “Do about what?”
“Ryan’s obsession with reading.”
What did reading have to do with Ryan helping Will today? He caught Ben poking his head outside to check on them. “Marsha, I can’t talk right now.”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her. “Never mind.” She spun, but he stepped into her path and blocked her escape.
“I can talk after work,” he said.
She jutted her chin. “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
Will stared at her retreating figure, a slow burn spreading through his chest. Whatever issue Marsha was having with Ryan wasn’t Will’s fault. And how could she expect him to fix the problem when he hardly knew his son?
“Everything okay?” Ben asked when Will entered the church.
“Yeah.” Will checked the plastic sheeting, making sure there were no gaps. Then he put on his safety goggles and grabbed a sledgehammer.
The first whack jarred his shoulder and sent plaster chips spewing in all directions. He raised the hammer again, but Ben’s cell phone rang. When Ben ended the call, Will asked, “What’s going on?”
“That was the Yuma county clerk. She said I’m missing a building permit. I’ve got to drive into town and take care of this.”
“Are we stopping for the day?”
“Hell, no.” Ben glanced at the chapel ceiling. “I mean heck, no.”
“While you’re gone, I’ll tear down this section of the wall to the studs,” Will said. He waited until he heard Ben’s truck pull away, then swung the hammer hard, splintering off a large chunk of stucco. Swing after swing, he demolished the wall, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his shirt. When he finished, he surveyed his work.
“You taking a break?”
Will jumped inside his skin. “Hey, Ryan.”
“My mom said you wanted lemonade.” He held out a plastic cup.
“Thanks. I could use some sugar after knocking out that wall.” He swallowed a big gulp.
“Grandma doesn’t put sugar in her lemonade.”
Startled by the sourness Will sucked his cheeks in.
“Why is that wire in the wall?” Ryan examined the exposed mesh.
“The wire gives the stucco something to adhere to when it’s applied.”
“Oh.” Ryan glanced behind him as if searching for a quick getaway.
Will hadn’t forgotten that Marsha had asked if Ryan could help today. “How would you like to tear the wire out?”
“No, thanks.” Ryan scuffed his shoe on the ground—a nervous habit he must have picked up from his mother.
“You sure? I’ve got an extra pair of work gloves and I could use the help.”
“Okay.” He didn’t sound very enthusiastic.
Will tossed a pair of leather gloves at Ryan then motioned to the wall. “Take the corner and pull from the top down.” Once Ryan gripped his section, Will said, “Pull.”
Will yanked hard and his piece separated from the wood studs. Ryan continued tugging but the mesh remained intact. “I can’t do it.”
“Let me take a look.” Will threaded his gloved fingers through the holes in the wire and pulled it free on the first try. “Nothing to it.”
Ryan backed away. “I’m going inside.”
“You don’t want to help with the other sections?”
“I’d rather read.”
Before the boy reached the door, Will said, “What are you doing this Saturday?”
“Nothing.”
“I promised my nephews I’d build a house for their dog. Would you like to come out to the farm and help us?”
“Maybe.”
“Think about it then let me know later this week.”
“What kind of dog?” Ryan asked.
“A black Lab named Bandit.”
“How old are your nephews?”
“Five and they’re twins.”
“Okay. I’ll help.”
Talk about a quick turnaround.
“Can my mom come, too?”
The last thing Will needed was Marsha watching his every move with Ryan, but obviously his son didn’t want to be alone with him. “Sure. Your mom’s welcome to hang out at the farm.”
Ryan nodded then left.
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After tugging off the wire mesh Will spent the next hour cleaning up the mess and hauling the debris to the Dumpster in the parking lot. When he moved aside the protective sheet to make sure no debris had fallen inside the sanctuary, he came face-to-face with Pastor Bugler.
It had been years since Will had seen Marsha’s father and the pastor’s frailness shocked him—even his clothes hung loose on his frame. Hearing that someone had cancer was a whole lot different than seeing firsthand the effects of the disease on the person. He felt bad for Marsha and Ryan and predicted it would be an emotional summer for both of them.
“William.”
Willie was the name printed on his birth certificate, but he didn’t bother to correct the man. “Pastor Bugler.”
“Under the circumstances I believe you should call me Jim.”
Will had convinced himself that he was prepared for this moment, but he caught himself staring at the exit.
“I thought we should talk.” The pastor patted the space beside him on the pew.
Will hadn’t sat in a church pew since Johnny and Shannon had married—and that ceremony had lasted fifteen minutes.
“I don’t know who I’m angrier with—you for taking advantage of my daughter or my daughter for letting you take advantage of her.”
Will sensed what the pastor was thinking... Any other man would have made a better father for my grandson than a Cash boy.
“I’m not surprised you didn’t offer to marry Marsha,” he said. “But I am surprised that you didn’t want to raise your child.”
Marsha hadn’t told the whole truth to her father. If Will was any kind of man at all, he needed to own up to his actions even though his honesty wouldn’t earn him points with the pastor. He shoved a dirty hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I told your daughter to get an abortion.”
The disappointment in the pastor’s eyes cut Will to the core.
“Don’t look at me that way.” He sprang from the pew and paced across the sanctuary. “You know I’m not cut out to be a father.” His outburst echoed through the church.
“So you abandoned Ryan and forced my daughter to raise him on her own?”
“That’s what my father did to me. I didn’t know any other way.”
“You’re a liar, William Cash. You did know another way. Your grandfather never walked out on your grandmother, and he helped raise all of you hooligans.” Marsha’s father turned away, his spine bowed as if the truth was too heavy to carry.
“Hey!” Will shouted. “Your daughter said she’d take care of things, so I assumed she had. If I’d known she’d kept the baby...” I would have helped raise my son. Will couldn’t make himself finish the lie. Not that it mattered—the pastor had left the church.
Before he demolished a second wall—with his fists—Will headed outside, stopping when he almost kicked over the glass of lemonade Ryan had delivered to him. He picked up the cup and stared at the tepid liquid. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, he’d come up short—if not in his son’s eyes then in Marsha’s and Pastor Bugler’s.
Would he ever be able to banish the image of his birth father shutting the door in his face? It was mighty tempting to take the easy way out, but he’d already turned his back on Ryan once. He wouldn’t do it again. In the end, if his son wanted nothing to do with him—so be it.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU think of your dad?” Marsha’s father asked Ryan Friday evening as they sat at the kitchen table studying a chessboard. Marsha eavesdropped from behind the laundry-room door.
“He’s okay,” Ryan said.
Her father ran with the lukewarm response. “Your mom said you helped him in the church earlier this week.”
“He asked me to pull off this wire stuff in the walls.” A chair scraped against the tile floor, then the refrigerator door opened and she heard the pop of a soda-can tab.
“How’d it go?” her father asked.
“Not too good.”
“What happened?”
“I tried to tug the mesh free, but it was hard and he had to help me. I’m not good at construction stuff.”
Almost a week had passed since Ryan had met Will and he’d yet to ask Marsha any questions about him.
“I don’t care for physical labor,” her father said. “I’d rather save my energy for more important things.”
If her father didn’t keep his opinions about Will to himself she’d have to intervene.
“I’d rather read and study,” Ryan said.
“You’re like your mother. She values a good education and look how smart she is.”
“Mom said she doesn’t know if my dad went to college.”
“I don’t believe he did.”
“Do you think he knows how to play chess?” Ryan asked.
“Probably not. But I’ll always be your chess partner.”
Marsha’s eyes watered when she heard the hitch in her father’s voice. He knew there would come a day when he’d no longer play chess with Ryan—a day she didn’t want to think about.
“Do you like my dad, Grandpa?” A heavy silence filled the kitchen, then Ryan said, “You don’t like him, do you?”
“Can’t a man think about his next move?”
Her father was stalling. C’mon, Dad, give Will a chance.
“Check.”
“Grandpa!”
Her father cleared his throat. “Ryan, I’m not sure how to answer your question about your father, because I don’t really know him. His family didn’t attend my church.”
“Oh.” More silence then Ryan said, “He wants me to help him and his nephews build a doghouse.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow. He said Mom could come, if she wanted to.”
This was the first Marsha had heard of Will inviting them to the farm. Her son shared everything with her—the good and the bad. That he hadn’t mentioned building a doghouse suggested that he remained undecided about going.
“Do you want to help your dad?”
“Not really.” There was a pause, then she heard Ryan say, “But I wouldn’t mind seeing the dog. It’s a Lab named Bandit.”
Her son loved dogs, but she’d never allowed him to have one because she hadn’t thought it fair to leave an animal home alone all day while she and Ryan were at school.
“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” Her father pushed his chair away from the table. “I’d planned to drive into Yuma tomorrow. I can drop you off at the library if you want.”
Her father was trying to persuade Ryan not to spend time with Will. Marsha understood and sympathized with his fear of losing his grandson to Will, but he should know that Ryan’s love for him was strong and true.
She lifted the wash-machine lid and closed it loudly, then stepped into the kitchen. “How’s the game going?” she asked.
Her father frowned.
“Grandpa’s beating me as usual.”
“Grandpa’s a tough opponent.”
“Ryan said William asked—”
“Dad, his name is Will, not William.” Everyone knew that the Cash brothers’ mother, Aimee, had printed her sons’ monikers on their birth certificates exactly the way their country-western namesakes spelled them, which proved a problem for Will because Willie was not a name most adult men prefer to be called.
“Will asked Ryan to help him build a doghouse,” her father said.
Marsha pretended she hadn’t overheard their conversation. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” Ryan said. “You’re invited, too.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said.
“Are you going to come with me?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I can pound a nail or two,” Marsha said.
&nb
sp; “We’ll finish this game later,” her father said. “I need to rest.”
Marsha blocked Ryan when he tried to follow his grandfather out of the room. “How come you didn’t tell me that Will invited you to the farm?”
He dropped his gaze and scuffed his shoe against the floor.
“Talk to me, Ryan. What’s going through your mind?”
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“Will?”
Ryan nodded.
“What makes you say that?”
“When I couldn’t pull out the wire, he said it was easy.”
Now she understood why Ryan had remained holed up inside the house the rest of the week while Ben and Will worked.
“You should help build the doghouse,” she said. “Besides, you love dogs.”
“I guess we can go.”
It hadn’t taken much effort to sway Ryan, and Marsha hoped that meant he was considering giving Will a chance. “Set your alarm for eight-thirty. I want you to eat breakfast before we leave.” Marsha poked him in the shoulder and teased, “I heard building a doghouse is strenuous work.”
Ryan’s mouth twitched as he struggled to contain a smile when he walked from the room. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe he was looking forward to tomorrow.
Marsha, on the other hand, had mixed feelings about spending an entire day with Will. She worried that the crush she’d had on him all those years ago hadn’t died. She’d counted on the physical attraction being there between them but not the vulnerability in Will’s brown gaze that tugged at her heartstrings.
That she definitely hadn’t counted on.
Chapter Six
“Uncle Will?”
“What?” Will stopped sketching the plans for the doghouse and waited for Javier to speak.
“Is there gonna be room for Bandit’s bed in there?”
“How big is his bed?”
The screen door banged against the side of the house and Miguel stepped onto the porch, carrying a massive dog pillow twice the size of him. Will rushed forward and took the pillow before the kid tripped and fell down the steps.
