Finding Home

by Irene Hannon

  “I agree.” Scott squirted some more ketchup on his plate and swirled a fry in it. “They’re not real healthy, but I have to confess I eat more of them than I should. Especially at the Orchid. They make the best fries I’ve ever had.”

  “Yeah. Mom and I eat there a lot, since she started working again. More in the last couple of months, ’cause she gets home later now. It’s really busy at her job. Somebody quit, and everybody had to do more work. Now somebody else quit and they gave Mom her job. So she’ll be even busier.”

  The perfect opening. It wasn’t prying if you were responding to a comment.

  Scott took a sip of his own soda. “What does she do?”

  “She works for a museum here in Eureka. Doing history stuff. She likes it a lot most of the time, but she worries about leaving me alone after school, even though I’m almost twelve. I guess she’s afraid I’ll get into trouble. Like I did last week.” The boy’s voice grew more subdued and he broke eye contact to play with a fry.

  “The Point is a dangerous place. Your mom is right to worry. But I’m sure you promised her you wouldn’t go back there again.”

  “Yeah.”

  Toby finished his dinner and trotted over to see what he could scavenge from the table. He stopped at Jarrod’s chair and placed one paw on the boy’s leg. Scott stifled a grin. Smart dog. He knew better than to approach his caretaker.

  Jarrod looked over at him. “I think he’s still hungry.”

  Not likely. However, the dog knew how to use his soulful baby browns to advantage.

  “I never feed him from the table. This kind of food isn’t healthy for him.”

  “We had the same rule for Skippy. Sorry, Toby.” Jarrod sighed and patted the white head.

  Scott looked from boy to dog. Both of them could use a friend, and this was a surefire way to solidify the bond already forming between them.

  Knowing he’d live to regret his decision, he relented. “Maybe we could break the rule once. With one fry.”

  “For real?” Jarrod’s face lit up.

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool!” He selected the biggest fry from his plate and held it down to the dog. “Here you go, boy. A special treat.”

  Toby gobbled it down in two long gulps, tail thumping. Then he lay beside Jarrod’s chair and gazed up at him adoringly.

  Mission accomplished.

  They finished their meal on a more pleasant note, and Jarrod even offered to help load the dishwasher. By the time they put Toby out for the night and Scott walked him to his room, the boy was as relaxed as he’d ever seen him.

  “Remember, if you or your mom need anything tonight, I’m right there.” He pointed to the next door down on the same side.

  “Okay. Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” He cracked open the door enough for Jarrod to slip through.

  Soft light from the hall spilled in, faintly illuminating Cindy’s sleeping form. She was on her side, facing the door, pillow scrunched under her head. In repose, her face was serene. Lovely. Appealing.

  Too appealing.

  He swallowed. When he’d issued his invitation earlier, he’d told himself it was the Christian thing to do. That there was no ulterior motive.

  That had been a lie.

  Cindy Peterson was a beautiful woman, and the temptation to get to know her better had been too strong to resist.

  But that was a bad idea.

  Breaking a rule about a dog was one thing.

  Breaking a rule that could break hearts was another.

  He wasn’t going there again.

  Stepping back to block her from his line of sight, he managed to coax his lips into a smile. “See you in the morning.”

  And after shutting the door behind the little boy, he walked down the hall to his room. Alone. As always.

  * * *

  Despite a reluctance to rouse herself from the best sleep she’d had in months, Cindy couldn’t resist the mouthwatering aroma of frying bacon that was tickling her nose.

  Resigned, she lifted her eyelids—and found herself staring at a huge poster of George Clooney.

  She blinked. Okay. Right. She was in Scott Walsh’s sister’s room in his grandmother’s house. And the dull ache in her temple was the result of the mild concussion from her adventure on a shaky ladder last night.

  Gingerly, she turned her head toward the other twin bed in the room. Empty. The bacon aroma had already gotten to Jarrod. She smiled at his attempt to make the bed. The pillow was crooked and the comforter hung too long on this side, reminding her of his bed at home. But he’d tried. That was the important thing.

  Throwing back the covers, she swung her feet to the floor, gave her equilibrium a few seconds to adjust, then stood. The floor remained solid. A positive sign—as was the rumble in her stomach.

  Time to check out that bacon.

  Ten minutes later, after freshening up as best she could, she walked down the short hall toward the kitchen. The muted sound of voices—one deep, one higher-pitched—were too indistinct for her to make out the conversation, but a sudden laugh from her son sent a clear message. He and Scott had mended their fences.

  Another positive sign.

  When she reached the threshold, she found the two men in the house focused on a white, furry dog that sat next to the table beside Jarrod. The pup was quivering with eagerness, his head tipped back as he watched her son select a piece of bacon from his plate.

  “You know, Toby will be spoiled rotten by the time you and your mom go home.” Scott was standing beside the coffeepot, angled away from her as he filled the mug in his hand, his complaint mitigated by his good-natured tone.

  “But you didn’t feed him. He won’t expect you to break the rule. Only me.” Jarrod held out the bacon to the dog. He wolfed it down and nuzzled her son’s knee. Jarrod petted him and turned his attention back to his plate, downing the last slice of his bacon as he slanted a look at Scott. “I guess he’d be happy if I came back to visit.”

  Cindy didn’t miss the touch of hope in her son’s voice. Talk about a change of heart.

  She waited for Scott to respond, but as the silence lengthened she realized he didn’t want to commit to any future invitations.

  Stifling a surprising pang of disappointment, she came to his rescue. He’d already done far more than most people would have by taking them in last night. And his reluctance to make promises about any further contact quelled her concerns about sending the wrong message in case the attraction was mutual. Obviously it wasn’t, or he’d have been all over Jarrod’s comment. Besides, a man like Scott Walsh wouldn’t lack for female companionship. For all she knew, he had a serious girlfriend. Better still, right?

  Then why did she suddenly feel depressed?

  “Mom!” Jarrod spotted her and jumped out of his chair to fly across the room. Skidding to a stop mere inches away, he toned down his exuberance and gave her a careful hug.

  “Good morning.” She kissed his forehead and sized up the two empty plates on the table. “I see you both got a head start on breakfast.”

  “We saved you plenty.” Scott gestured to a chair. “Have a seat and I’ll dish it up. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starved.”

  He remained by the chair until she took her seat, then slid it under the table. “See? I’m not always rude. Only when my temper short circuits the good manners my grandparents taught me.” He smiled, displaying that endearing dimple in the corner of his cheek again. “And I try not to let that happen too often.”

  The man definitely knew how to turn on the charm.

  She cleared her throat, shook out the napkin beside her knife—and tried to think of some witty response.

  Her mind went blank.

  “Hey, Mr. Walsh, I think Toby wants to go out.”

  Saved by the boy!

  Toby had trotted over to the back door and stood patiently waiting.

  “You’re right.” Scott moved away, leaving the faint trace of an appeali
ng aftershave in the air. “If it’s okay with your mom, you can go out with him.” He addressed her as he unlocked the door. “Gram has a fenced yard. It’s safe.”

  “Okay.”

  “Great!” Jarrod bounded out after the dog.

  “So much energy at such an early hour.” Scott grinned as he closed the door and crossed to the oven to remove a foil-covered plate, grabbing a pot holder en route. “Would you like orange juice or coffee, or both?”

  “Both, thanks, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  He slid the plate in front of her. “Coffee’s made, and I always have orange juice on hand.” He loosened the foil and pulled it off, steadying the plate with his left hand.

  His badly scarred left hand.

  She stared at the network of shiny white lines. Why had she never noticed them before? And what sort of injury would cause that kind of scarring?

  Before she could compose herself, Scott tugged off the paper and tucked his left hand in his pocket. Sending a clear message.

  Not open for discussion.

  Okay. Despite her curiosity, she didn’t intend to invade his turf any more than she already had.

  “Wow.” Cindy focused on the plate brimming with bacon, hash browns, sausage and scrambled eggs, forcing herself to switch gears. “This is a feast. Almost like eating at the Orchid.”

  “Trust me. I’m no competition for the sisters. And Genevieve’s cinnamon rolls are the icing on the cake. Pardon the pun.” He retrieved the juice from the fridge, filled a mug with coffee and placed both in front of her. One at a time. With his right hand. “Cream or sugar?”

  “Neither. I take it straight.”

  “A woman after my own heart.” He settled into the seat across from her with his own java and inspected her forehead. “That’s quite a bump.”

  She shrugged and dug into the eggs. “It looks worse than it feels.” That was an understatement. After she’d peeled back the tape and removed the gauze this morning, she’d been shocked by the size of the black-and-blue goose egg with the scraped-raw center. “If it’s too unappetizing, I can put the bandage back on.”

  “I already ate. How did you sleep?”

  “Better than I expected.” She continued to shovel in the food. When had she last been this hungry? She couldn’t remember. “How’s your grandmother this morning?”

  “Bruised. Sore. Cranky. I’ll stop by to see her later.” He wrapped his fingers around his mug and studied the dark depths of his coffee, his expression troubled.

  Cindy didn’t want to pry. Not after the signal he’d sent about his hand. Yet neither did she want to appear uncaring. It was a fine line to walk, and she stepped along it with care. “From what you said last night, she’s had more than her share of problems.”

  “Yeah. She’s always been a strong person, but everyone has their limits. Even though the doctors all say she could come home again if she’d commit to some rigorous therapy, she doesn’t believe it. Or doesn’t choose to believe it. She’s decided she’s going to end her days at Seaside Gardens, and the sooner the better. She doesn’t even ask about Toby anymore. It’s as if she’s already said goodbye in her mind. Once Gramp died, a lot of the spirit went out of her.”

  Cindy played with her hash browns. “That can happen. I lost my husband fifteen months ago. I know what she’s going through.”

  “Jarrod mentioned that. I’m sorry. He said it was a heart attack?”

  Her son had talked about his father to a stranger? That was a rarity. The two of them must have really clicked.

  “Yes. He was an international business consultant. It happened on an overseas flight. The captain made an emergency landing as soon as he reached land, but Steve was already gone.” Cindy took a sip of her juice, her hand steadier than she expected. “Jarrod had a tough time for a while. I took him to counseling for months, but his grades continued to slip and he became very withdrawn. We finally got past that, but I’m afraid last night’s events might bring back the bad dreams and clinginess. Me working longer hours isn’t going to help either.” She forked another bite of sausage, but her appetite had diminished.

  “Jarrod mentioned that, too.” Scott lifted his mug and leaned back in his chair. “Sounds like you have a busy job. He said it was a museum of some sort?”

  “The Humboldt County Historical Society. I went back to work about a year ago. I used to work at a museum in Dallas, but I quit after Jarrod was born. Steve and I agreed that a parent should be a child’s primary caregiver if at all possible. A few years later we moved to Starfish Bay, where his parents lived, because we thought it would be a better environment in which to raise a child. And Steve’s work was portable.”

  “Admirable choices.”

  Some nuance in Scott’s inflection intrigued her, but when he offered nothing more, she continued.

  “Anyway, not only are we shorthanded at the museum, I was also just promoted. It’s a nice bump in salary, but now I’ve got three weeks to come up with a blockbuster theme for the centerpiece exhibit that kicks off the society’s annual fundraising drive. I have no idea how I’m going to manage that.” She took a deep breath and finished off the last sausage. After Scott’s effort to prepare a nice breakfast, she wasn’t going to insult him by leaving any of it. “But we were talking about your grandmother. Is there some hobby or interest that might tempt her to reinvest in life?”

  “She used to love to paint.” He gestured toward the living room. “All the impressionist-style pieces in the house are hers, but she gave that up after Gramp died, long before she broke her hip. She used to love Toby, too, and I even took him to see her once, in the garden where pets are allowed. I hoped that would give her an incentive to get well, but I think it had the opposite effect. She told me not to bring him anymore.” His eyes clouded briefly, then cleared as he gave her a smile that seemed forced. “On a brighter note, the fog’s lifted. I’d be glad to take you back to Starfish Bay.”

  “We’ve already overstepped the bounds of hospitality. I called a friend last night after we got here and arranged for a ride home. But thank you.” She checked her watch and stood, fingertips pressed to the polished pine to steady herself. “I’d better round up Jarrod.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” He crossed to the back door, pulled it open and called out to her son.

  Ten seconds later Jarrod zoomed inside. “Are we leaving, Mom?”

  “In a few minutes. Let’s go make sure we haven’t let anything in the bedroom, okay?”

  “Okay.” He turned toward their host. “Thanks for letting me play with Toby. And for dinner. And breakfast.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Scott’s gaze connected with hers as he responded to her son.

  Once again, something electric zipped between them.

  And unless she was way off base, he felt it, too.

  But Scott seemed reluctant to acknowledge it. And that was for the best. She had enough to deal with already. She didn’t need to add the stress of a new relationship—or the guilt. How could she be having these feelings when she was barely past the traditional one-year mourning period?

  It was best to just walk away with a thank-you.

  Even if her heart said otherwise.

  Chapter Five

  Scott paused outside the door to Gram’s room, adjusted one of the pink carnations in the vase of flowers he’d picked up en route to Seaside Gardens, then stepped inside.

  For one fleeting instant her eyes brightened. Then she gave him a stern look. “Why are you wasting your money on flowers for an old woman?”

  “Brightening someone’s day is never a waste of money.” He set the vase on the nightstand and gave her a once-over. “You don’t look much the worse for wear.”

  “You should see the bruise on my leg.”

  “The doctor said it shouldn’t keep you from getting your exercise. Let’s walk.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Gram, you need to walk. If you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t quote silly sayings to me. I’m too old for intimidation tactics.”

  “Okay.” He sat in the cushioned chair against the wall and crossed an ankle over a knee.

  She gave him a wary look. “Aren’t you going to badger me like you usually do?”

  “Nope. I’m too tired today. I had company last night, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. I have a bad hip, not a bad brain. Did your guests keep you awake?”

  As a matter of fact, they had. Or one of them had. The one with blue eyes, sleeping on the other side of the wall. All through the long dark hours, he’d kept picturing her blond hair spilling across the pillow, the way it had looked when he’d glimpsed her before he and Jarrod had parted for the night. He doubted he’d clocked more than three hours of shut-eye.

  “My guests were fine. I just didn’t sleep well.”

  “So tell me what happened. You were very cryptic on the phone.”

  He gave her the short version, sticking to the basics, hoping she wouldn’t try to read too much between the lines, as she often did.

  No such luck. Her eyes grew more and more animated as he talked.

  “This widow is the same woman you met a week ago, with the trespassing son? Is she pretty?”

  “She’s attractive.” He did his best to maintain an impassive expression as he delivered that understatement.

  “How old is she?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “No, of course not. That would be rude, and I raised you to be polite. Let’s see, if she has an eleven-year-old, she’s probably about mid-thirties. That’s a perfect age.”

  For you.

  Gram didn’t say that, but he could read between the lines, too.

  When he didn’t respond, she adjusted the blanket and laced her fingers on top. “Is she nice?”

  “We had a pleasant conversation.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing more to tell.”

  “Hmm. You just don’t want me jumping to conclusions, do you?”

  “There aren’t any conclusions to jump to. A very nice-looking man picked her and her son up this morning. It was clear the three of them knew each other well—and liked each other a lot.”