Unexpected Son

by Marisa Carroll

  She shrugged. “That’s the way small towns work.”

  “Well,” he said, “I guess it’s time for me to move on.”

  Something in his tone must have alerted Sarah to what he was feeling. “Why?” she asked, tilting her head just a little in a mannerism he was coming to know meant that she was zeroing in on the emotions underlying a conversation. “Why should you leave?”

  “C’mon, you’ve seen the movies. Ex-con comes to town. People find out. The good citizens of the place ride him out of town on a rail.”

  “This has never happened to you before, has it?”

  God, she was fast on the uptake. Him, the guy who’d gotten the nickname “Stoneface” in the joint because he kept his emotions so well hidden from them all. She took one look at him and knew what he was thinking, or thought she knew. If being ostracized by the citizenry was what she thought had upset him, he wasn’t going to disabuse her of the notion.

  “I’ve never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to find out,” he replied.

  “Then you have no idea how people will react.”

  “I’ve got a damn good idea. And so do you.” She didn’t have an answer for that and looked down at her hands. “We know what Angela Murphy thinks. How many others have you heard from?”

  “One or two,” she admitted. “But they just wanted to—”

  “Warn you?”

  Her head came up. Her chin jutted out. “Inform me,” she insisted. “And even if they did want to warn me about you, don’t you think I can take care of myself? You’re not a murderer or a rapist, after all.”

  He wondered if she would be so certain of his essential harmlessness if she became aware of how prominently she had figured in his dreams—hot, hard and totally erotic dreams—these past few nights.

  “No, I’m not a murderer or a rapist. I’m just a dumb guy who let someone he trusted make a damn jackass of him. It cost me my business, my reputation and three years of my life.”

  “You really were framed?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “What happened, Michael?” She leaned forward and the empathy and compassion in her gold-and-green eyes were almost his undoing. He sucked in his breath and took a step backward, away from her heat and her scent, away from temptation.

  “I’ll tell you all about it sometime. But not tonight, okay.” He felt like crawling into a deep hole and dragging it in on top of him.

  “Do you still want to take me to Marge’s? Or are you going to stand me up again?” she asked unexpectedly.

  Michael jerked his head up, his eyes drawn to hers. Their gazes met and held. “I...” Maybe he should tell her now. It was nothing so terrible, after all.

  “You can’t stay holed up in here, Michael. Unless you’re going to pack up in the dead of night and leave town, you’ll have to face them all sooner or later.”

  “I’m not going to leave town.”

  She nodded. “Good. I knew you didn’t mean that when you said it earlier.”

  “But I still don’t feel like eating out in public tonight, do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “And you don’t have to be my champion, Sarah.” He amazed himself by saying that. It had been a long time since he’d thought of anyone but himself first. He wasn’t ready to tell her everything there was to know about him. And he didn’t want her drawn into any controversy he might arouse.

  “I know,” she said and smiled, a quick, almost-mischievous twist of her lips. “You want to fight your own battles. But don’t be surprised if I do start acting like your knight in shining armor.” She laughed and threw up her hands, blushing a little. “Sometimes I can’t help myself. I’m good at it.”

  The door closed softly behind her. Michael stood rooted to the cold linoleum floor for five seconds longer, then padded to the window behind his bed so that he could watch her walk into her house. What was it about this small, shy woman that drew him so irresistibly? She was nothing like the women who had always attracted him.

  And he sure as hell must be nothing like the man that she had loved and lost. But it was there—something in the air between them. The shy and chaste Reverend Sarah might not recognize it for what it was, but he did. It was sex, the basic primordial attraction of male to female. It was lust. And he had it bad. It was that more than uneasiness about meeting a Tyler gossip in Marge’s that prompted him to stand her up yet again. Or fear that he might weaken and tell her the real reason he didn’t want to leave Tyler.

  Difficult as it was, he could put Sarah out of his mind if he had to. He wasn’t that much of a slave to his hormones. And he had other fish to fry tonight. Having the townspeople know about his past was a blow, but not a knockout punch. He still had his secrets, and with any luck they’d stay just that—secret. He wasn’t ready to leave Tyler, not yet. There were still too many questions he didn’t have the answers to, too many people he wanted to meet, too many things about the Barons and the Ingallses that he still wanted to learn.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “AND THAT CONCLUDES the sports-awards portion of our ceremony.” The public-address system suddenly decided to become temperamental, and the voice of Tyler High’s principal, Clint Stafford, was drowned out by a series of clicks and squeals that had half the three hundred or so parents and students in attendance covering their ears and frowning in discomfort.

  Clint signaled the students who were manning the sound system’s controls, and adjustments were made, then he lifted his hands and grinned. “Sorry about that, folks. Can you hear me okay now?” He was a tall man, strong and sturdy looking with dark hair and eyes. He’d been hired as vice-principal eighteen months earlier. He was a tough disciplinarian and an innovative teacher and administrator, just what Tyler High needed.

  Sarah found herself nodding in answer to his jovial question and felt foolish for doing so. She shifted on the hard bleacher seat and tried to get comfortable. The ceremony had lasted more than an hour already. Two teens from her Scripture-study group were receiving awards tonight, one for English and one for music, and she’d promised weeks ago to be in attendance. But with all that had happened regarding Michael Kenton in the past few days, she wished she could have stayed home. She wasn’t in the mood to defend her decision to allow him to remain in the garage apartment to any more of the members of Tyler Fellowship, or the townspeople at large, for that matter.

  “Ladies and gentlemen and Tyler students, it’s now my pleasure to introduce Dr. Jeffrey Baron, who will announce the candidates chosen to enter the Ingalls F and M apprenticeship program for the current school year. As you know, each semester two students are invited to work in the Ingalls lab on a project they’ve submitted to the screening committee. Tonight two juniors will join the students already enrolled in the program. Dr. Baron will present the award on behalf of his grandfather, Judson Ingalls.”

  Jeff Baron rose from his seat beside his mother on the stage and came to the microphone. He was a very good-looking man, with old Judson Ingalls’s commanding profile and the chestnut hair and dark blue eyes that must have come from the Baron side of his family.

  “Tonight I’d like to honor two young people for their initiative and hard work by giving them a chance to develop further in the lab at Ingalls F and M science projects they’ve planned. Matt Hansen will be working on hormone production in dairy goats.” There was a polite round of applause as the tall, slender young man rose from his seat on the gym floor and climbed the steps to the stage. Jeff presented him with a plaque and shook his hand. There was more polite applause.

  Sarah’s bottom was getting numb. She glanced down at her program and noted there were only two more awards after this one. Thank goodness. In a few more minutes she could go home.

  “And our second winner is Jonathan Weiss, who will be studying the effects of ultraviole
t radiation on single-celled plant life.” A tall, rangy sixteen-year-old sitting two rows below Sarah, ordinary looking except for his devastatingly sexy smile, unfolded himself from his seat and headed toward the stage. The woman sitting beside him must be his mother. Marina, Sarah thought her name was. If there was a Mr. Weiss, Sarah had never met him. The family was new in town and didn’t attend Tyler Fellowship, so her contact with them had been limited. She had met Jon a few months earlier, when he’d stopped by the parsonage one afternoon with a friend who was a member of her teen group. She had invited him to return and join the group if he liked and his mother approved, but he never had.

  “Congratulations, Jon,” Jeff Baron said. The boy took the plaque Jeff handed him, shook hands, mumbled his thanks and returned to his seat as the awards ceremony continued.

  Fifteen minutes later it was all over. Sarah stayed in her place until the gymnasium had started to empty. If she got caught up in the milling throng of proud, camera-toting parents and their embarrassed offspring, she was sure to be stopped and questioned by someone else with an opinion on how the problem of an ex-convict in her garage should be handled.

  Finally she saw a clear path down the bleacher steps to the double doors that led to the parking lot behind the school. Looking neither right nor left, she made a beeline in that direction, only to be caught up in a small traffic jam of people directly in front of the door as they stopped to zip up jackets and fumble for scarves and gloves.

  “It’s snowing,” someone called out. There were moans from the adults and whistles and whoops from the kids.

  “The first snowfall,” Alyssa Wocheck said, coming up behind Sarah. “When I was a child I couldn’t wait for it to happen so I could get out my sled and have my father sharpen my skates.”

  “Hello, Alyssa.” Here, at least, was one person who wouldn’t lecture her about the possible dangers of harboring an ex-convict on her property. Alyssa had been keeping Michael busy with repairs to the big old house on Elm Street. “You sound as if it isn’t such an exciting event for you anymore.”

  “Well,” she said, and laughed as she smoothed her gloves over her hands, “that was more than forty winters ago. Now I think how long the winters will be, but inside I’m still that same wide-eyed little girl. Yes, I do get excited by the first snow.”

  “So do I,” Sarah confessed. “I feel just like those kids. Right up until I have to wrestle the snowblower out of the garage and tackle my driveway.”

  The knot of people in front of the door began moving forward once more. Outside it had indeed begun to snow, big fluffy white flakes coming straight down out of a charcoal-gray sky that seemed low enough to reach up and touch. They walked in silence for a minute or so, adjusting to the cold wet air in their lungs and the slippery snow underfoot.

  A woman waved at them from behind the first row of cars. “Sarah! Reverend Fleming! Wait, please.”

  “Oh dear,” Sarah said, half under her breath. “It’s Myra Allen. And we were so close to making a clean getaway. Hello, Myra.”

  “I would like to talk to you for a moment. It’s about that man. Hello, Alyssa,” she said, bobbing her head in the birdlike manner that annoyed Sarah so. “That convict that you have staying in the apartment over the parsonage garage.”

  “He’s not a convict, Myra.”

  “Well, ex-convict. Why split hairs? I’m just worried about you. A woman alone...”

  Sarah was tired of defending her decision to let Michael Kenton remain in the garage apartment. The man had done nothing wrong. But Myra was a member of her congregation. She’d been attending services faithfully for the past fourteen months, and Sarah couldn’t tell her to her face that she thought she was out of line. “What are you trying to say, Myra? That I’m not safe in my own home?”

  “Well, we really don’t know anything about that man, and you are all alone in the pars—”

  “Your concern is admirable,” Alyssa broke in, her voice unruffled. “But Sarah is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And really, Myra, as Christians, we should be more tolerant of the mistakes of others. As Sarah said, Michael Kenton is a free man. Whatever crimes he committed in the past he’s made restitution for.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Myra.” Sarah smiled again, this time without any effort. “And don’t forget, the church board is aware of Michael Kenton’s record. They have voted to allow him to stay on. That should carry some weight with you.” She closed her eyes for a moment and said a quick, silent prayer of thanksgiving for Jonas and Randy Phillips. Their solid, unwavering support had helped convince the other three board members not to send Michael packing. “Don’t worry, Myra. And don’t rush to judge him. He’s been a godsend for the church.”

  “And a real help for the rest of us who have availed ourselves of his services,” Alyssa prompted.

  “When you put it that way...” Myra wasn’t a mean or vindictive person, but she was easily swayed. Sarah just hoped they had nudged her far enough in the right direction that she didn’t slide back again.

  “I knew you would understand, Myra. Now I really must be going. I’ll see you at choir practice Thursday evening, won’t I?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on. Goodbye, Sarah. Goodbye, Alyssa.”

  “I take it this isn’t the first heart-to-heart you’ve had with one of your flock?” Alyssa asked as they started walking again.

  “No, and it probably won’t be the last. I may have to start behaving like the old-time fire-and-brimstone preachers and harangue them from the pulpit Sunday morning.”

  “I think you would be very good at it,” Alyssa said unexpectedly.

  Sarah laughed, half embarrassed, half pleased by the remark. “I usually try to get my point across a little more subtly than that. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar doing the Lord’s work, too.”

  “I imagine that’s true. May I offer you a ride home?” Alyssa asked. “I’ll be going past the parsonage on my way out to Timberlake.” She pushed up the sleeve of her coat to look at her watch. “Devon’s finally returned from Europe, and if I hurry I can be there in time to say good-night to my father-in-law before he goes to bed.”

  “Thank you, but no. I think I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll walk with you partway then, if you don’t mind. I was lucky and found a parking space right by the sidewalk.”

  “Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’d like the company.”

  Alyssa smiled as though she had read her thoughts. “We don’t have to make small talk, you know. And I certainly won’t lecture you about Michael Kenton the way Myra did.”

  “What do you think of him, Alyssa?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to venture an opinion,” she said cautiously. Her tone was neutral, but there was a slight frown between the older woman’s eyebrows as Sarah glanced over at her. “He’s punctual, neat, a hard worker. And I don’t believe he’s said more than a dozen words to me over the past three days. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb if I say he’s a very hard man to get to know. Although...” She laughed a little and shook her head. “It’s odd. I can’t get him to string more than a dozen words together at one time, but the little ones think he’s wonderful.”

  “Your grandchildren have met him?”

  “Yes. They were all three running around the house the other afternoon. They were fascinated by what he was doing to the porch. They pestered him with questions for a good fifteen minutes, and he answered each and every one as if he were talking to the three most important young women on earth.”

  Sarah liked hearing that about Michael Kenton—that he was good with children.

  Alyssa opened her purse and began looking for her car keys. “Are you sure I can’t drop you at home?”

  “No, thanks. I like walking in the snow. G
ood night, Alyssa.”

  “Good night, Sarah. And stick to your guns where Michael Kenton is concerned.”

  “I will.” She had no choice. Already she was aware that her interest in him had gone far beyond her role as pastor of her flock. She was interested in Michael Kenton the man as well as Michael Kenton the lost soul.

  * * *

  HE WAS LIKE a kid when it came to snow. He couldn’t get enough of it. Of course, he’d never spent the entire winter in a place like Tyler, never stuck around for the short, dark February days and braved the cold, biting winds of March. Before today the longest he’d lingered along the shores of the Great Lakes had been when the weather was unusually mild and the shipping season dragged on into late November.

  He turned his collar up around his ears and stuck his hands in the pockets of his old navy peacoat. He wasn’t wearing a hat but he’d grabbed his gloves on the way out of the apartment and now he was standing under the branches of the crippled maple near the driveway, his face lifted to the sky, letting the big, wet snowflakes melt on his skin and tongue just like a ten-year-old.

  He wondered if the tree would make it through the winter, as Sarah insisted it would, or whether it would have to be cut down in the spring. He smiled a little to himself. If anyone could will the old maple into good health, it was Sarah. She believed in miracles even if he didn’t.

  Michael heard Sarah coming before he saw her, the heels of her boots tap-tapping along the sidewalk, loud in the quiet that was settling over Tyler with the first snowfall. He spoke as soon as she turned onto the sidewalk that paralleled the driveway so that she wouldn’t be frightened when she spotted his dark figure under the tree.

  “Do you think the snow will stick around or will the sun come out and melt it all tomorrow?”

  “Michael?” She didn’t sound in the least startled. “What are you doing standing under that tree?”

  “Playing in the snow.”

  She laughed, and he thought that must be how sleigh bells sounded. She settled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder in a purely feminine gesture he found surprisingly erotic—but then, for him, just about any movement Sarah made was erotic. “I forgot you’re from Florida. Have you seen snow before?”