by Irene Hannon
“The nurse already asked that. I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you take our arms at least—” he gestured to Jarrod “—just to be safe?”
The wisdom of his suggestion was apparent the instant her feet hit the floor. The room seemed to shift slightly, and she tightened her hold, feeling his muscles bunch beneath her fingers.
“Okay?”
His one-word query was laced with concern, and she lifted her chin. At this proximity, she could see the fine lines at the corner of his eyes that spoke of both sun exposure and worry, as well as the appealing flecks of gold in the depths of his green eyes.
“Ms. Peterson?”
At his prompt, warmth crept over her cheeks. “I’m fine. And since we’re taking advantage of your hospitality for the night, I think it’s time we switch to first names.”
“Fine by me.” He urged her toward the door. “There are a couple of spare toothbrushes at the house. Do you want to pick up any other toiletries on the way?”
“No.” What she wanted to do was lie down again. As soon as possible.
He seemed to read her mind. “Gram’s house isn’t far. In less than half an hour, you’ll be set for the night.”
“Sounds great.”
He didn’t talk much during the drive, and her throbbing head was grateful for the quiet.
Fifteen minutes after they left the E.R., Scott pulled into the driveway of a bungalow largely obscured by the fog that had made navigating even the lighted city streets a formidable challenge.
“Let’s get you inside and settled.” He shut off the car. “How does some soup sound?”
“Perfect.” Her stomach was empty but queasy. Soup, however, she could manage.
“Coming up in five minutes.” He rounded the car to help her out. Jarrod continued to stick close, and he shot the boy a grin. “Once we get your mom down for the night, we can rustle up some real grub. I know I have fries in the freezer—and chocolate cake for dessert. If that’s okay.” He checked with her.
“Fine. Jarrod loves fries—and chocolate. Right?” She nudged her son, who had apparently lost his voice.
“Yeah.”
She sent Scott an apology with her eyes as he fitted his key in the door that led from the attached garage to the house.
He responded with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind a challenge.”
Grateful for his understanding, she let him lead her through the kitchen and into the hall. She had only a fleeting impression of the house, but it appeared well-kept and decorated in an understated, contemporary style she wouldn’t normally associate with an octogenarian. Nor did the colorful, impressionist watercolors on the walls fit the stereotypical image of a senior citizen’s dwelling.
Scott stopped at a door halfway down the hall and reached in to flip the light. “This used to be my sister’s room. Gram didn’t change it much. I hope it’s okay.” He inspected the furnishings as he spoke. “I haven’t been in here much since I moved back six months ago. It might be dusty.”
The twin beds were covered with patterned throws in bright colors, and several autographed pictures of show business personalities were framed on the walls. It looked like a teenager’s room.
“It’s fine—and far better than a motel. Thank you.”
“The bathroom’s right across the hall. I’ll put out some clean towels for you. While you get settled, I’ll heat the soup. Chicken and rice okay?”
“My favorite. Except for the broccoli cheddar at the Orchid.”
He smiled. “I second that.” Without prolonging the conversation, he retreated to the hall and closed the door.
As it clicked shut, Jarrod stuck his hands in his pockets and gave her a disgusted look. “Are we really going to sleep here?”
“I see you found your voice. And yes, we are.” She carefully lowered herself onto the side of the bed and closed her eyes. Bliss.
“I bet he doesn’t even have cable.”
A lecture hadn’t been on her agenda for this evening, but neither did she want Scott’s kindness repaid with surliness.
Opening her eyes, she patted the bed beside her. “Sit. We need to have a talk.”
“About him?”
“Yes.”
He shuffled over and plopped on the bed, setting off fireworks in her temple.
“Jarrod!” She gritted her teeth and braced herself on the mattress. “Bouncing hurts my head.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” His tone was subdued. Contrite. Carefully scooting closer, he put his arm around her. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really scared when you fell.” His breath hitched. “What would I do if something happened to you?”
The broken words twisted her heart, and her aggravation evaporated. She wanted to assure him he didn’t have to worry. That she’d be around as long as he needed her. But she couldn’t promise that. They both knew better.
“I’m fine now, honey. And remember, no matter what happens, God is always with us.” She pressed her cheek against his fine blond hair. After tonight’s trauma, her son needed reassurance, not scolding. If he still had an attitude about Scott tomorrow, she’d address the issue then. She could, however, lay the groundwork tonight. “And we have a lot of people who care about us. Mr. Walsh, for one. He did a very nice thing by inviting us to stay with him tonight. Like the good Samaritan. You remember that story from the Bible.”
“Yeah.” He scuffed his toe on the carpet.
“Will you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Go out and eat some dinner. You haven’t had anything since lunch, so I know you’re hungry. And try to be nice to Mr. Walsh. “
“What if he yells at me again?”
“I doubt that will happen.”
“I think he’s only being nice ’cause he feels bad about how mean he was to us in the beginning.”
“There may be more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
Like what, indeed?
She could remind him again that Scott was living the very faith she and Steve had tried to instill in him. That he was performing an act of charity, as he’d said. And that was true.
But she couldn’t help wondering if part of his motivation was more personal. If he, too, had felt the attraction between them.
She hoped not.
Because romance was at the bottom of her priority list.
“Mom?”
She was saved from having to answer by a soft knock on the door and a muffled call. “Room service.”
“Come in.” She started to rise as Scott pushed the door open with his shoulder, but he waved her back to the edge of the bed.
“Stay put.” He carried in the soup and a cup of tea on a collapsible TV tray and placed it in front of her.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.” She touched the edge of the tray. “My mom had a set of them.”
“Gram’s got all kinds of old stuff like this stashed in the basement and the attic.” He gestured toward the bowl of soup and tea. “Would you like anything else?”
“This is plenty. Thank you.”
With a nod, he turned to Jarrod. “Why don’t you stay with your mom while she eats? I’ll raid the fridge and see what I can find for us.”
“Okay.”
“If you need anything tonight, Cindy, don’t hesitate to let me know. My room’s at the end of the hall.”
Her gaze connected with his, and once more that electric jolt zipped through her. Based on the sudden darkening of his eyes and his abrupt step back, she suspected he’d felt the same thing.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
With that, he exited.
Leaving her to conclude that his invitation had, indeed, been prompted by more than charity—and to wonder if she’d made a big mistake by accepting.
Unfortunately, it was too late for second thoughts.
Chapter Four
Footsteps alerted Scott to Jarrod’s approach, and he looked toward the hall as the boy entered caref
ully balancing the TV tray, eyes downcast. After setting it against the wall, Jarrod retreated to the doorway and hovered there, hands stuck in pockets.
Boy, did he have a lot of ground to make up with this kid.
Scott summoned up a smile, shut the door to the freezer section of the fridge and hefted a bag of frozen fries. “Found them. How’s your mom doing?”
“She fell asleep. I was going to go to bed, too...but she made me promise to come out and eat.”
In other words, he’d rather have gone hungry than share a table with the mean guy who’d scared him at The Point.
Scott had no regrets about confronting him that day. Better he be scared than injured. Or dead. But he did regret using his typical intimidation approach. There was an echo of sadness in Jarrod’s eyes, as there was in Cindy’s. Because the dad was nowhere to be seen, his guess was that a recent divorce had torn the family apart. And like any breakup, it had left victims in his wake.
Especially vulnerable children.
An image of seven-year-old Leah, with her long dark hair and big brown eyes, surfaced, and he clenched his teeth. He’d felt badly about ending things with Angela, but it was the memory of her daughter’s stricken face the night he’d told her he wouldn’t be coming around anymore that plagued him. He’d felt like a heel as the tears trailed down her cheeks. Worse still after she’d run from the room screaming that she hated him.
That was the moment he’d resolved never again to get involved with a woman who had children.
But tonight wasn’t the time to dwell on regrets. He had a more pressing task—smoothing things out with Cindy’s son.
“So do fries, burgers, corn on the cob and chocolate cake sound okay?” He tossed the package of fries onto Gram’s speckled Formica counter and flipped the toaster oven setting to broil.
“Yeah. I guess.” Jarrod remained in the doorway, as if poised to flee.
Scott propped his hip against the edge of the counter. “Will you come in if I promise not to bite? Scout’s honor?” He grinned and held up his hand in a pledge.
The boy’s face remained solemn. “Do you have cable?”
“No. Sorry.” One more thing he’d given up when money got tight.
“I didn’t think so.” Letting out a resigned sigh, Jarrod shuffled into the room and slid into a chair on the other side of the table. As far from Scott as possible.
“Would you like some soda?”
Jarrod bit his lip. “Mom only lets me have soda on special occasions.”
“The first visit to someone’s house is a special occasion in my book.” Cindy might not approve, but breaking a few rules might be the only way to loosen up her son.
“Yeah?” Jarrod brightened a few watts. “What kind do you have?”
“Check out the door.” Scott gestured to the fridge.
The boy considered that. Taking inventory of the soda would put him close to his host. Scott could almost hear the wheels turning as Jarrod debated the pros and cons.
The pros won. He sidled over to the fridge and pulled open the door, keeping one eye on Scott as he selected a Sprite.
“My favorite, too.” Scott handed him the bag of fries after Jarrod popped the tab on the can. “There’s a baking sheet in the cabinet under the stove. Why don’t you shake some of these onto it?”
He took the bag in silence and did as Scott asked. When he finished, Scott had him dig the frozen corn on the cob out of the freezer. In between he tried to engage the boy in conversation, but none of the subjects he introduced—sports, school, his recent spring break—broke the ice.
In the end, it was the scratching on the back door that did the trick.
Jarrod froze as he searched for a pot in the cabinet Scott had pointed out to him. “What’s that?”
“Toby.” Scott finished flipping the burgers. “Do you like dogs?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ll like Toby.” He walked to the back door and opened it. “He’s my grandmother’s dog. Mostly he stays outside, but he likes to join me for dinner.”
The white ball of fur bounded in the instant the door opened, tail wagging, eager eyes searching the room. He skidded to a stop after he spied Jarrod, front paws down, rump in the air. For a few seconds he checked out the interloper. Then his tail started a slow wag.
“Huh.” Scott put the hamburger buns on plates as he watched Toby. “That’s a first.”
“What do you mean?” Jarrod and the dog continued to assess each other.
“He always expects to find Gram in the kitchen, and once he realizes she’s not here, his tail usually droops and he just lays there whining. He still misses her a lot, even after almost a year.”
“Can I pet him?”
“Sure.”
Jarrod approached the dog, knelt beside him and stroked his fur. “What is he?”
“A mutt. Gram and Gramp got him at the pound about eight years ago. I think he’s part cocker spaniel, but on the small side.”
The dog inched closer to Jarrod and put his chin on the boy’s knee. “He’s nice.” Jarrod continued to pet him as he spoke. “We had a great dog once, a little bigger than Toby. Her name was Skippy, and she was golden-colored. She was a mutt, too, but she was smart. I taught her to fetch and play ball.” He leaned close and buried his face in Toby’s fur. “She got hit by a car right after Christmas a year ago. Almost the same time my dad died.”
The final, muffled words were a mere whisper—and laced with tears. But Scott had no difficulty hearing them.
Closing his eyes, he gripped the edge of the counter. Cindy was a widow, and Jarrod had lost his dad and his dog within weeks of each other.
No wonder they both looked sad.
In silence, he crossed to the boy and dog and dropped down beside them. Jarrod’s shoulders were shaking, and Toby wiggled closer to him, as if sensing his new friend needed comforting.
“I’m sorry, Jarrod.” He wanted to touch the boy but had a feeling the youngster would prefer Toby’s ministrations. “It’s really hard to lose people you love. I know. It happened to me, too.”
Jarrod raised his head and swiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Your dad died, too?”
“Yeah. Also my mom. They were killed in a car accident when I was nine.”
“Wow. That would be even worse.” He sniffled. “I miss my dad a lot. Did you miss your mom and dad a whole bunch?”
The similarity in their stories ended with their loss, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Jarrod. So he sidestepped the question. “It’s natural to miss people who have been an important part of your life. I was lucky, though. I had a grandma and grandpa who loved me. They brought me and my sister out here to live with them, and that helped a lot.”
“Yeah. Like I have Mom. She takes real good care of me.” Jarrod cuddled the dog closer, and Toby lifted his head to slurp the boy’s cheek. “But what if...if something happens to her, too? What if she falls off another ladder? Or gets hit by a car? Or has a heart attack, like my dad?”
Heart attack. Scott filed away that new piece of information.
“Your mom’s awfully young to have a heart attack.”
“So was my dad.”
Ah. Now he understood why Jarrod had looked terrified in the E.R. When you were eleven, the death of your remaining parent would wreak havoc in your life.
Given his recent losses, Scott had a feeling the trauma of this night would remain with the youngster for a long time and leave him worrying about stuff kids his age weren’t supposed to worry about.
There wasn’t much he could do to fix that problem in the long-term, but maybe for tonight he could feed the boy a decent meal and keep him from fretting.
“Well, if you ask me, your mom looks very healthy—except for that bump on her forehead. I don’t think you need to worry too much about anything happening to her anytime soon. You want to give Toby his dinner while I rustle up our burgers?”
“Sure.”
“His food’s in the pantry�
��” Scott rose and gestured to the other side of the room “—and his bowls are in the corner. Looks like he needs a refill on water, too.”
As the boy took care of the dog, Scott served up their food. While Toby chomped through his own dinner in the corner, they took their seats.
“Do you and your mom usually say a blessing before you eat?”
“Most of the time.”
“I do, too. I’ll start, and you can add something at the end if you like.”
Scott bowed his head and folded his hands. “Lord, we thank You for this food. We thank You for protecting Jarrod’s mom from more serious injury, and we ask for her quick recovery. I also thank You for keeping Gram safe tonight, and I pray that You heal her body and spirit so she can come home again.” He stopped, giving Jarrod the floor.
The youngster scrunched up his face. “Thank you for giving us a place to stay tonight. Please make Mom better real fast and make her job easier so she doesn’t have to work so hard and worry so much. Please say hi to Dad for me, and would You tell him I still miss him? Amen.”
Scott’s throat tightened as he echoed the amen. The more he learned about the mother-son duo, the more guilty he felt about the distress he’d caused.
And what was Cindy’s job, that it kept her too busy—and stressed?
As Scott passed the corn to Jarrod, he tried to think of a way to get more information without pumping her son. Nothing came to mind. At least nothing that wouldn’t leave him feeling more guilty.
Jarrod was shoving fries into this mouth so fast Scott was afraid he was going to choke, and he moved the boy’s glass of soda closer to his plate. “You might want to wash a few of those down before you create a logjam.” He smiled, hoping that would soften the remark from criticism to suggestion.
In silence, Jarrod reached for the glass and took a long swallow. “These are good.”
