Isabella was drawn to him in spite of their limited conversations, and she found herself staring again. But this time, his attention seemed as focused on her as hers was on him.
“I do have a question, though, for Isabella,” he said, then looked toward the hallway that led to the playroom. “I’m also going to take the rest of the day off and spend some time with Savannah, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. You’ve been working much longer days than Brodie and I ever intended,” she said, grabbing a spatula and flipping the sandwiches.
Isabella’s pulse had skittered when he said he had a question for her. The fact that he still hadn’t asked it made her wonder if he’d learned the truth. Did he know that she’d befriended Nan? And that she hadn’t been honest with any of them about her reason for showing up in Claremont? Was he going to ask her to stay away from him? Stay away from Savannah? Because she couldn’t think of a thing that would hurt her heart more.
“You want to ask me something?” she finally managed.
“Can we talk outside?” His voice seemed even deeper, full of emotion, and her skin prickled again.
God, please, let him forgive me.
Isabella followed him outside, her shoulders dropping and feet dragging in much the same manner as Savannah’s.
* * *
Fighting his attraction to Isabella was going to prove more difficult than he thought. Even now, with the way her green eyes studied him as he led her to the small table on the deck, Titus found himself wondering what those eyes looked like when she was blissfully happy. Maybe even what they looked like when she was in love.
He swallowed past that thought. He had no business thinking anything of the sort, and he’d get a grip on it right now. He’d just lost his wife, and he needed to concentrate on helping his daughter.
She took a seat across from him at the table but had barely sat down before she asked, “Are you okay? Did I—do something wrong?”
He should’ve realized she might think that, should’ve thought about her feelings, but it’d been three long years since he’d been around a woman enough to truly remember how sensitive their feelings are. Something else God had allowed: Titus had grown numb to observations of the opposite sex that should come naturally.
“I’m sorry,” he said, at least remembering that apologizing was always a good start to rectifying acting like a typical male. “You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you’ve been the most right thing about the past week. Savannah looks forward to getting here each day so she can spend time with you.”
“I’m glad for that.” Her soft smile, which did reach her eyes and happened to show him how pretty she was when she smiled, lifted his spirits and gave him the push to go forward with this conversation.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “Before I learned what had happened to Nan, you mentioned teaching her to swim. She hasn’t said anything else about it, but I think that’s because I’ve been...well... I haven’t been as approachable for her over the past few days. I’m sure she can sense that I’m dealing with a lot, because she finally asked me if she’d made me sad last night, and so I had to tell her the truth.” The memory of her question, delivered quietly before bed, stabbed his heart. His brooding had caused her to feel she’d done something wrong.
“She told us that her mommy went to heaven,” Isabella said, her voice barely above a whisper, as though she knew how sensitive this topic was for Titus.
He appreciated her even more for that. “Is that all she said?” he asked, wanting to know everything going on in his little girl’s mind after learning her mommy had died.
Isabella’s hands were folded, resting on the wooden table, and she looked at them instead of Titus. “She also said that you’re sad.”
He closed his eyes and considered praying but canned that idea. Chances were, he’d end up telling God how he really felt about all of this, and there wouldn’t be anything good to come from that. “Six years old and she’s lost her mom, yet she’s worried about me.”
Isabella looked at him again, her mouth lifting a little. “That’s what girls do.”
Another reminder that he’d become clueless when it came to females. For his daughter’s sake, he’d do his best to remember. “About the swimming...”
“I still want to teach her,” she said, and she sounded almost excited about the idea, which touched an even deeper spot in Titus’s heart. She really wanted to help Savannah. “When do you want to start?”
He wouldn’t wait any longer. “How about today?”
Chapter Four
I’ve met someone...
“Can I just go see Abi and her horse again?” Savannah’s eyes, as wide with fear as a spooked stallion, locked onto Isabella’s, probably to keep from looking at the water. It was the same look she’d given her the past three days each time Isabella entered the pool...and Savannah remained firmly on the concrete.
Though Isabella had worked with children who were afraid of the water in Atlanta, she’d never encountered a child as terrified as Savannah. And she’d never seen a parent so tormented by his daughter’s fear. Titus looked to Isabella and nodded, letting her know he agreed that they didn’t need to push his little girl. “Sure,” Isabella said. “But I’ll stay here by the pool, in case you change your mind.”
Savannah shot a wary glance toward the blue water and then turned toward Titus. “I’ll swim tomorrow,” she said quietly, identical to the way she’d made the statement the past three days.
He forced a smile. “Are you sure you want to try again tomorrow? We don’t have to come back if you don’t want to.”
And, like the other times, she nodded. “Yes, please.”
“All right then.” He handed her the pink T-shirt and shorts she’d worn over her swimsuit. She put them on and slipped her feet into her shoes before heading toward the pen near the barn where Abi Cutter currently rode her pony, Brownie.
Isabella knew there was no need to remain in the water. Savannah wouldn’t try again today. She fought the impulse to feel as discouraged as Titus looked, watching his daughter literally run away from her fear. “Maybe tomorrow will be better,” she said, as she started out of the pool.
He’d been sitting beneath a purple umbrella at a circular wrought iron table near the shallow end, where Isabella had attempted to coax Savannah in. He stood, picked up Isabella’s colorful striped beach towel from the table and held it toward her as she reached the edge. For the past two days, he’d sat nearby, smiling when appropriate, offering his frightened little girl encouraging words but obviously torn apart over her fear.
“Should I keep this up, Isabella? She says she wants to swim, but should I keep bringing her here? Putting her through this? And putting you through this, too?”
She accepted the towel and wrapped it around her as she prayed for God to give her the right words. She had so much admiration for Titus Jameson, and something else, too. A longing to comfort him, to see him happy again. Even now, standing so near to him, close enough that his woodsy scent tickled her senses, she wanted to offer him more than words. She wanted to hold him, tell him that she was sorry for what Nan had done and let him know that he didn’t have to go through this alone.
“You aren’t putting me through anything,” she said. “I’m here because I want to be here, and I do think Savannah will work her way through this eventually.”
Titus cleared his throat. “I read online last night that children aren’t inherently afraid of the water. It’s their life experiences and the attitudes of those around them that generate that fear. Savannah used to play in the kiddie pool at home all the time until she was three, so I’m afraid that Nan’s leaving has something to do with this fear. But she wants to conquer it, and I want to help.”
“I want to help her, too,” Isabella said. H
e had no idea how much. In fact, she wanted to be the kind of person to Savannah that she’d always wanted for herself growing up. Someone she could depend on. Someone she could trust.
“I can tell that you do, and I appreciate that more than you could know.” His shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and then he pointed toward the round table. “Do you have time to stay for a few minutes and talk while she’s visiting with Abi?” He paused. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about everything Savannah’s going through, and I’m thinking I’d benefit from a female perspective.”
“I’d hoped to be in the pool for at least an hour,” Isabella said, “so I have plenty of time.”
“Trust me, I’d hoped you would be, too.” He moved to the table and pulled out a chair for Isabella.
She couldn’t recall Richard ever pulling out her chair; however, she did remember a time he reprimanded a waiter for neglecting to do so. “Thank you,” she said, impressed with the gentlemanly gesture that came naturally to Titus.
The umbrella covering the table shaded his face, so she couldn’t be certain, but it appeared his cheeks tinged a fraction as he said rather stiltedly, “You’re welcome.”
Isabella situated herself on the metal chair, taking a moment to tuck the top end of her towel securely at her chest and making sure as much of her skin as possible was covered. Water still dripped from her hair, but the warm afternoon air, combined with the thick terry towel, kept her from being too chilled as she waited to see what he wanted to talk about.
They sat for a moment, and Isabella tried to be patient as she eagerly anticipated Titus asking her advice. But his attention seemed to bounce between the barn, where Savannah stood near the fence rail petting Brownie, and the mountains, where the orange sun blazed vibrantly, with an occasional—and very quick—glance at Isabella in between.
Finally, unwilling to wait any longer, she cleared her throat. “You wanted to ask me something?”
This time, she was certain his cheeks turned a shade darker before he spoke.
“I’m sorry, Isabella. But it’s been three years since I’ve even had a conversation with a woman.” He shook his head, ran his hand through his hair.
Isabella watched as the dark strands fell messily around his chiseled face. He had such a strong presence, something that he didn’t appear to realize, which made him even more appealing.
“I mean, I’ve spoken to women, but nothing much beyond a hello, or about the details of whatever I was building for them.” One corner of his mouth kicked up in a half smile.
Isabella’s heart melted a little more toward this compelling man, and as she waited for his attention to land on her again, she gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I understand.” Then, to help him out, she said, “If it’s any consolation, I’m not used to a man wanting to hear my opinion about anything, so I may not be any more comfortable sitting here and answering your questions than you are sitting here and asking them.”
* * *
Titus was so thrown by her statement that he forgot about being uncomfortable talking privately to a woman for the first time in three years. Isabella wasn’t used to a man wanting to hear her opinion? Why not? What man had made her feel her views weren’t worthy, and why hadn’t Titus considered what might be going on in her world? He hadn’t even thought about what had happened in her past to bring her here, to Claremont. She was such an intriguing, striking woman. Why would she have moved to a place this tiny? Was she trying to get away from the guy who didn’t appreciate her?
“Who made you think your opinions didn’t matter?”
She pushed a wet auburn lock of hair behind her ear and shifted in her seat. “I thought you wanted to ask me a question.”
“I just did.” Titus wasn’t backing down now. The thought of someone treating Isabella with anything less than the respect she deserved bothered him—a lot.
She pulled her towel tighter around her petite frame in an act that, whether she realized it or not, showed that she wanted protection. Titus could identify that now. He wondered how many clues that Isabella had been hurt he’d missed over the past two weeks.
“Did he hit you?” Titus asked.
Her grip on the towel tightened, eyes widened. “Oh, no. Never.”
He believed her, and he was glad she hadn’t been physically harmed, but he also knew that some guy hadn’t treated her all that great, either. “So who was it?” Titus had been nervous about talking with Isabella, but now that the conversation was focused on her and on how someone could have done anything to hurt her, he wasn’t nervous. On the contrary, he was engaged. And ready to make some man pay.
“My husband.”
For the second time in two weeks, Titus felt sucker punched. Isabella was married? Well, of course she was. A woman as beautiful as Isabella, as kind and caring, would naturally have a husband. His attention moved to the bare ring finger on her left hand.
She followed where he stared and said, “My ex-husband, I should say. Our divorce was final six months ago. He tried for ten years to make me into what he wanted, and I let him—” she lifted slender shoulders “—but then he decided that wasn’t enough.” Her green eyes studied him as she added, “But it’s okay. I’m happy now, getting a chance to start over. He started over, too.”
“He’s a fool.”
Her soft laugh broke the tension. She straightened in her chair, gathered her hair and draped it over her right shoulder. “Thank you for that, but you’d probably like him if you met him. Most people do. He’s a fairly popular guy, especially in his social circles.”
Titus hardly heard her statement. His focus had fallen on her hands, maneuvering the long auburn waves that now curled past her shoulder. He wondered if her hair was as soft, as silky, as it appeared. Even now, still damp from her time in the pool, the red-brown ringlets caused him to wonder how they would feel in his hands, against his cheek or brushing against his lips.
And he again reminded himself that he had no business thinking about her that way, and that he didn’t want to think of any woman that way—for a long, long time.
Her cheeks, he now noticed, had started to redden, and Titus realized with sudden clarity that he’d been caught staring and that he had no idea what she’d said. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t listening.”
She laughed again, and once more, he was drawn to the lyrical sound. “It doesn’t matter. But you wanted to ask me something? About Savannah?”
Titus instinctively glanced toward the barn and saw his daughter leaning over the fence rail to timidly touch Brownie’s nose. He got a grip on his infatuation with Isabella and refocused on the reason he’d asked her to talk. “I’m having a difficult time deciding what I can do to help her. I can’t tell you how many articles and blogs I’ve read about telling her that her mom was dead, but none of them seemed right. So I kept putting it off until she finally asked me why I was so sad.” He frowned. “I botched that one.”
She leaned forward, reached a hand across the table and placed it on top of his. “Titus, I thought it was perfect that you waited. And her question gave you the opportunity not only to answer her, but to also see how Nan’s death affected you.”
For some reason, it felt odd hearing Isabella say Nan’s name, but the touch of her hand comforted him to his very soul. He looked at her petite fingers and at the contrast of her creamy skin to his tan. Pale pink polish covered each nail and reminded him of another thing he’d forgotten.
“Savannah asked me to buy her fingernail polish,” he said. “Probably three weeks ago.”
“I have plenty of polish. I’ll bring some tomorrow, and I’ll paint her nails in the morning when I fix her hair.”
“That’d be great,” he said, still captured by the feel of her skin against his. Her thoughtfulness was never ending, as was her compassion for Savannah. And he believ
ed she truly understood what Savannah was going through now, maybe even more than Titus. So he decided to ask her about what was bothering him most.
“The guy from the hospital who called last week to tell me about Nan...” he started. “He said that he found my name and number in some things she’d left behind, and that he would be boxing those up and mailing them to me soon. Of course, he thought I was her brother because apparently she’d given the hospital the impression that she was single.” He didn’t want to spend any time analyzing that with Isabella. “But maybe there are some keepsakes in there that she’d want her daughter—our daughter—to have.”
“Are you wondering whether you should give them to Savannah now or wait until she’s older?”
Titus shook his head. “No. I’m wondering if I want to even see what she left behind. I started to tell him not to bother mailing it.”
“Because...” she prompted.
“She left us, Isabella. Walked out, leaving nothing but a note. I hate it that she got sick, that she died without us even knowing that she was in the hospital. But for some reason, she didn’t want us to know. She didn’t want to see me again, even when she knew that she was dying.” He blew out a steady stream of air, closed his eyes and then opened them. “Don’t you think that going through those things will only pour salt in the wound? And I can’t imagine it doing anything but hurting Savannah.”
Isabella gently squeezed his hand. “Maybe there were things she wanted to tell you,” she offered. “Or things she wanted to tell Savannah.”
“She had three years to tell us anything she wanted.” He shook his head. “I’ll be honest. I don’t want to go through her possessions. I’m done with the pain, done with the hurt. And I’m tired of seeing Savannah hurting because of Nan.” He glanced at her hand, still resting on top of his. “So I wanted to ask someone who could look at this objectively, in particular a female, since I’m guessing you’d know more of what I should do for Savannah. Should I open that box when it comes?”
Family Wanted (Willow's Haven Book 1) Page 4
