by Dana Corbit
“You’re right about that.”
At the intrusion of Miss Lafferty’s voice, Shannon regretted that she’d lashed out, but she still couldn’t help wondering how the officer would have answered if given a chance. Why did she care? Why had she allowed him to get under her skin?
“Blake’s going to need you both.” Miss Lafferty waved away their arguments. “Neither of you can handle this alone. But together... Well, it just might work.”
Shannon met Mark’s wary gaze with her own cautious one, worrying now that working with him would be a bad idea.
“You.” The state worker pointed at Shannon. “Whatever you were planning to do when you met him in four years no longer matters. Blake is here now, although as yet we haven’t proved he’s your son. Even after that, it’s going to be a long, tough road before you can reestablish a legal connection to him. You’ll need a lot of help—including mine—to make that happen.”
Shannon drew her brows together in confusion, but Miss Lafferty must have been satisfied she’d made her point because she dismissed her.
“And you, Trooper. You’ve offered to take in this boy, but you have zero experience working with kids like him, except for yourself. That doesn’t really count. I can help you receive emergency certification, if you pass the home visit, but you’ll need additional help while you’re catching up with the training hours.” She indicated Shannon with a wave of her arm. “She knows how to handle kids like Blake, and she’s willing to share some of the lessons she’s learned with you.”
When he shook his head, Miss Lafferty nodded hers.
“I realize you didn’t have time to really think about this before you volunteered, but did you consider that your job won’t allow you to be home 24/7, though Blake needs regular supervision?” She crossed her arms. “Didn’t think so.”
Mark opened his mouth as if to respond, but then he closed it again.
“In addition to welcoming her suggestions, I recommend that you hire Miss Lyndon to stay with Blake when you’re working and he’s out of school.”
Shannon held her breath as the possibility dangled there before her, almost within reach. A regular schedule with Blake. Time to love him. Time to explain. She was so caught up in the prospect that she didn’t realize at first that the room had become quiet. The others were watching her, waiting.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I wanted to know if your work schedule is flexible enough for you to help Trooper Shoffner out.”
“Oh. Sure. I’ll just switch shifts with Katie, the other social worker.” She shot a glance at Mark, but he pointedly looked away from her. “I won’t take any pay for it, though.”
“Then it’s settled,” Miss Lafferty said with a nod.
Mark said nothing. He stood with his legs in a wide stance and his arms crossed, an intimidating posture that probably had criminals laying their weapons at his feet.
Miss Lafferty pursed her lips. “Bottom line. Either you agree to work together for Blake’s sake, or I will be forced to recommend placing him at the children’s center.”
Mark cleared his throat. “Fine by me.”
Shannon could only nod. Was there really a chance that all of this could work out?
“Great. Trooper Shoffner, you’ll provide a temporary home for Blake until Miss Lyndon’s maternity can be established and legal matters are settled. And Miss Lyndon, you’ll provide after-school supervision and parenting support.” She held her hands wide and smiled as if she’d just solved all the world’s problems. “That will work out fine...at least until a more permanent placement is located.”
Shannon’s breath caught. Of course it was only temporary. She knew that. So why did this interim plan seem so incredibly brief now?
But Trooper Shoffner and Miss Lafferty had moved past the subject, as if it wasn’t worth even a pause. Mark had made some suggestion about Blake doing community service with him before his juvenile court date to encourage the judge’s leniency, and the state worker agreed it was a good idea.
“We should do it right on Hope Haven’s grounds.” Mark’s gaze darted to Shannon. “The place looks like it could use some work. Cracked gutters. Ripped screens. Broken concrete.”
Shannon’s cheeks burned. “Well, money’s tight right now. Nonprofits, you know. There’s not even room in the budget for repair supplies. I appreciate the offer, but—”
“I’ll get donations for that,” Mark said, as if fund-raising wasn’t a constant challenge for charitable organizations.
With some of the details in place, they returned to the interview room, where Blake slouched low as though it didn’t matter to him what had happened outside that door. And what was about to happen with his life. Shannon didn’t buy his indifference any more than the others should have accepted her own mask of certainty. Now shell-shocked, that was exactly what she was.
As if providing a home for Blake wasn’t enough, Trooper Shoffner had volunteered not only to do repairs on the Hope Haven buildings that were falling down around them but also to find a way to pay for improvements.
Still, she couldn’t worry now about her lingering doubts over all the plans they’d made, or even the recurring image of Mark as that knight in the blue squad car with its red spinning light. None of that was important. Not now that Shannon and a ticking clock had been drafted to opposing teams. Mounting a legal custody challenge and building a solid mother-son relationship with a child who wanted nothing to do with her would be challenging enough without adding the pressure of a looming deadline. She had no choice, though, but to tackle both of those monumental tasks before Blake could be placed in another foster home. Possibly somewhere far away.
Seconds ticked on a loudspeaker in her ears. This tiny window of time might be her only opportunity to get to know Blake, to earn his forgiveness. Would he give her the chance? He had to. And she had to make this right with him, had to show him that no matter how wrong her decisions had been, she’d made them out of love. She had to do it...before time ran out.
* * *
“So why’d you do it?”
At Blake’s question, Mark looked up from the kitchen sink where he’d just put the pans in the sudsy water. He didn’t look back at him, but he didn’t pretend to miss the boy’s meaning, either. This was the most civil comment Blake had made all night. The twelve hours of foster parent training the private agency would still require Mark to take would be nothing compared to these three hours of introduction by fire.
Mark took his time drying his hands on a towel. “It was the right thing to do.”
“For me, you or my mother?”
He swallowed, and this time he glanced over his shoulder at the boy. Leaning against the kitchen doorway, his arms and ankles crossed, Blake stared right at him. What did the kid know? Had he noticed that Mark hadn’t been able to resist looking at Shannon’s smooth-looking skin, at her full, kissable lips? Had she noticed?
“For everyone,” he somehow managed.
He hoped the finality in his words would put an end to that line of questioning. He tried not to dwell on the way Blake had stressed the word mother, nor on how succinctly he’d encapsulated the situation. And Mark’s uncertainties. Out of the mouths of surly teens....
“Nobody asked me what I wanted.”
“Guess not.”
Mark wasn’t about to ask him now, either. Instead, he dunked his hands in the soapy water and tackled the pan with pasta noodles stuck to the bottom. All night Blake had made it clear that Mark’s three-bedroom rental home was the last place he wanted to be. He’d complained about everything from their dinner of slightly charred hamburgers and boxed macaroni to the bare walls and the basic bed and dresser in the guest room. And if Mark had ever been under the mistaken impression that Blake thought the plan to work at Hope Haven tomorrow was a good idea, then
the kid had set him straight about that.
Okay, Blake had a point about the dinner. It hadn’t been Mark’s most shining culinary moment. But he’d been wrong to call the freshly painted two-story a dump. At least it had the bedroom and bathroom locks required for the foster care home visit.
Shutting off the water, Mark glanced over his shoulder again, but Blake was gone, so the opportunity had passed. He probably should have laid down some rules such as that the boy would help him clean up after meals. He should have done many things. Too bad for him he didn’t know what they were.
What had he been thinking, volunteering to become a foster parent? And, worse yet, offering to do work at Hope Haven. He was in so far over his head that his hands wouldn’t break the surface if he held them straight up and started jumping up and down. Just because seeing Blake was like looking at his fourteen-year-old self in the mirror, it didn’t mean that at thirty-three he had any idea what to do with the kid.
The disappointment-filled voices of his parents, of his brothers, of his ex-wife, Kim, even, the same ones that had been whispering in the background all day as he’d arranged details for Blake’s arrival, boomed in his ears now. The wheelchair-bound image of Chris Lawson stared back at him, a permanent reminder of the mistakes that Mark couldn’t take back. If he’d thought that working with one troubled teenager would be enough to prove that he was no longer the guy in that accident, then he’d never considered what would happen if his charity project was a major failure. And right now it looked as if that was exactly what it would be.
When the floor creaked behind him, Mark blinked away the painful memories and turned to find Blake standing there with a stack of plates, cups and silverware in his hands. Mark accepted the stack with a nod of thanks, and then as he returned to the sink, the boy spoke from behind him.
“But you didn’t have to do it.”
“Guess not,” he said again, though this time he had to forcibly keep his voice calm.
He could just imagine Blake staring at his back, trying to understand the angle he was playing with his offer of help. At least the boy, who was more accustomed to people failing to meet their obligations than those volunteering out of true charity, wouldn’t be surprised by Mark’s self-serving purpose. That only made Mark feel guiltier over Blake’s comment, which was the closest thing the boy would give to a thank-you. His chest squeezed with something unfamiliar and a little scary. He was becoming attached, which might have been his biggest mistake of all.
Once the last dish was in the dishwasher, he started in the direction that Blake had taken. He found him in the living room, watching television. Blake patted the spot next to him on the navy corduroy sofa and then gestured toward the brown-and-orange-plaid recliner near the window.
“Your ex must have really taken you to the cleaners.”
His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. The boy was baiting him, maybe to step back from the words he’d said before. No matter how much Mark wanted to declare that subject off-limits, he wouldn’t give the kid the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to him.
“Yeah, we get a raw deal in life sometimes,” he said instead. “But I guess you already know about that.”
Blake shrugged, sank back into the sofa that Mark had intended to be only a temporary furnishing and started flipping through the channels.
Mark smiled. He’d asked himself how he could dive into this mess of a situation, but he hadn’t asked the more important question: How could he not? It was the right thing to do for Blake’s sake—the Christian thing to do. With everything Blake had faced in his young life, he deserved to have someone unapologetically in his court.
Blake also deserved the chance to get to know his probable birth mother, even if Mark was taking a risk by exposing the boy again to a woman who’d once given away her own child. Mark hoped that Shannon was ready to commit to her son now, to be the mother he deserved, but if she still couldn’t do it, at least he could be there to support the boy. Although he might not be able to protect Blake completely, at least he could shield him from some of the pain.
Chapter Five
Shannon’s breath caught as a silver extended-cab pickup drove past the kitchen window, spitting gravel until it came to a stop in front of the pole barn. Not that seeing it should have surprised her when she’d been cleaning the sink long enough for it to have a showroom shine while waiting for Mark and Blake to arrive.
At least with the two of them on the Hope Haven grounds, it wouldn’t be so quiet there. The place had been tomblike ever since she’d returned home yesterday afternoon and the girls had started in with their silent treatment. Fair or unfair, the silence magnified every squeak of the old floorboards, every click of a door latch, and it was making her climb out of her skin.
Now she tried to convince herself that it was only the prospect of seeing her son that had her face feeling flushed because it couldn’t have anything to do with the man driving the truck. But when the driver’s door opened, a work-booted foot stepped out onto the running board and a muscular, jeans-clad calf came into view, she stuck her hands under the running water. If her palms were a little sweaty, at least she didn’t have to admit it this way.
What was the matter with her? Hadn’t she ever seen a man in scuffed work boots before? Trying not to rush, she dried off her hands, pulled on a fleece jacket and came down the back steps, crossing the drive to the barn. It was as cold as it had been yesterday when Blake had stood on her front porch in that flimsy zip up, but at least it wasn’t as windy.
When Shannon reached the truck, Mark had closed the door and was shrugging into a heavy work jacket. He wasn’t wearing his uniform this time, but instead of having the decency to look like a slob, he had the gall to look just as great in faded jeans and a threadbare red-plaid shirt.
She was just considering how a leather tool belt might perfectly accent Mark’s construction-worker ensemble when Blake stepped around the bed of the truck. If she’d ever needed a reminder of why they were all there together—the only reason—he was standing right in front of her. Why did she keep losing track of her priorities whenever the police officer was around?
“Blake, I’m so glad you’re here.”
He didn’t answer, instead finding something interesting on the ground to study. With the toe of his scuffed work boot, he shifted the broken piece of cement. She wanted to tell him how handsome he looked now that his still-messy hair was at least clean and he’d shaved the crop of hairs on his chin, but she doubted that he would appreciate the compliment. He was determined to hate her. How was she ever going to build a relationship with him if he didn’t give her a chance?
“New clothes?” She indicated the weathered jeans and hoodie sweatshirt that hung on his thin frame. At least they were clean. Over them he wore a newer-looking winter jacket.
Blake’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “They’re his.”
The crunch of gravel announced the officer’s approach, but she didn’t need the sound to know that Mark was just behind her. The odd awareness she had around him was really starting to bug her.
“We figured he shouldn’t ruin the new stuff on the first day,” Mark said.
She turned to the side. “Oh. Hi, Trooper Shoffner.” She managed not to wince. Was she trying to convince him that she hadn’t noticed he was there?
He shook his head. “Nope. Not on the job right now, so it’s just Mark.”
“Okay...Mark.” She tested the name on her tongue. It felt a little too informal for the distance she planned to keep between them, but how could she tell him that without explaining why she needed that distance? “This...uh...is my work, but you can still call me Shannon.”
He nodded but didn’t try it out, which was just as well. She would probably like the way he said it. Maybe she should have kept it at Miss Lyndon after all.
“
And we all know I’m Blake,” the boy nearly spat. “So are we going to get started or what?”
Her cheeks burned. Could even Blake see how flustered she became around the police officer?
“Yeah. Of course. So...um...Mark, where would you want to get started?”
“Anywhere is probably good,” Blake answered before he could and then gave Mark a conspiratorial grin. “This place is almost as much of a dump as yours is.”
“Yeah.” The side of Mark’s mouth lifted. “But it makes my house look like a palace.”
“It would be a better idea to level the joint and start over.”
Great. They were going to talk around her just like her girls had been doing all morning. Could one person here at least pretend to commiserate with her over the awkward situation she was in now?
“Yes, I realize there are several projects that need attention.” She couldn’t keep her chin from lifting as she said it. This was her life’s work after all, and they were making fun of it. “The churches in the ecumenical council support Hope Haven, but with the recession, all of their offering plates have been lighter than normal.”
“Hey. Sorry,” Mark said. “I just—”
She cleared her throat to interrupt him and then licked her lips as shame welled. If she was a better fund-raiser, then maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. “As I mentioned, there isn’t a budget for significant repairs. Or any, really.”
But Mark wasn’t listening. He kept several steps ahead, scanning the edge of the roof at the back of the house, his gaze following the line of the gutters to the downspouts at the foundation.
