A Weaver Vow

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  The kid was sitting on the front step, waiting for him, and he probably never even noticed Izzy peeking through the window behind him. She lifted her hand in a silent wave, her gaze seeming to hang on to Erik’s through the glass.

  Then Murph yanked open the door to the truck and climbed up. He leaned over and eagerly snatched up the box of cinnamon rolls from Ruby’s, sniffing at them while he fastened his seat belt. “Tabby’s rolls, huh? She’s hot.”

  Amused, Erik wondered what Tabby would think if she knew. “Don’t you know any girls your own age who are hot?”

  Murph shrugged. “None of ’em have—” he held up his hands meaningfully, flushed a little and shrugged again “—you know.”

  Since Erik’s palms still felt imprinted from the wonders of Isabella’s “you know,” he guessed he did. “You’re gonna be twelve how soon?”

  Murphy picked a fat pecan off one of the rolls and sucked it from his thumb. “August first.”

  Erik rescued one of the rolls before the kid could devour all six of them. He took a famished bite and looked once more at Isabella—who was still standing in her window—before he drove away. He licked a sticky smear from his own thumb. “Your dad did tell you about the birds and the bees, didn’t he?”

  Murphy gave him a disgusted look. “Gross, dude.”

  “Did he?”

  “Duh.” The kid shook his head. “Like about two years ago.”

  “Well, if you’re noticing how hot the ladies are around Weaver, you’re probably not going to keep thinking it’s all that gross for long.”

  The kid just shook his head and shoved another bite of Tabby’s roll into his mouth. “Why’re you in such a good mood anyway?” he asked around the mouthful.

  “Who says I’m in a good mood?”

  Murphy looked at him. Rolled his eyes.

  Erik realized he was smiling, and right then there didn’t seem any reason to stop. “Fishing always puts me in a good mood,” he managed mildly.

  It was the truth.

  But not even a fraction of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Well.” Monica Solis tucked her silver-shot brown hair behind her ear and sat down next to Isabella in the waiting area outside of the counselor’s conference room.

  Murphy was already inside with Hayley. “I have to say that Weaver provides more amenities than I expected.” She was a stylish woman in her mid-fifties who’d intimidated the life out of Isabella the first time they’d met. Still did, when it came to that. “Food’s been good. Hotel bed is comfortable.” She smiled. “Air is clear. Definitely not a bad place to visit on occasion.”

  Isabella knew Monica wasn’t her adversary. But neither was she her best friend. “I’m glad you’ve been comfortable. You arrived last night?”

  “Oh, I’ve been here awhile longer.” Monica ran her hand down her narrow black skirt, wiping away an imaginary speck of dust. “Since last week, in fact. I arrived last Thursday.”

  Isabella’s stomach rippled nervously. “Really. Why didn’t you let us know? We could have had you over for dinner at the very least.” And why, oh why, did Weaver’s grapevine have to fail now to broadcast the arrival of a stranger in town?

  “I had plenty keeping me busy,” Monica assured.

  Comforting, Isabella thought sourly.

  She studied the closed conference-room door and tried not to fidget. Why were they taking so long in there? She just wanted this whole thing over and done with.

  “I met for a while with Murphy’s teacher, Mr. Rasmussen, on Friday. And then with his principal,” Monica went on. “We discussed Murphy for quite some time, actually. His schoolwork. His socialization. Et cetera.”

  It was hard not to sink lower in her chair. What did et cetera involve? She’d been dealing with social workers—good and bad—all her life. Admittedly, Monica had been supportive of Isabella’s request to bring Murphy to Weaver, but wariness still kept her from bringing up the knife, school suspension or anything else outright. “What’d Principal Gage have to say?”

  “That Murphy was doing very well.” Monica’s expressions were often difficult to read, but she was obviously pleased. “He has a circle of friends, shows appropriate work habits in class. His grades could be better, but all things in due course.”

  Isabella found it difficult to believe that the principal would have kept the suspension out of his discussions with Monica, but why else wouldn’t the caseworker mention it? “Meet with anyone else?”

  “Officially? Dr. Templeton, of course.” Monica’s gaze drifted toward the door. “We went over her reports that I’ll be submitting along with my recommendation to the judge.”

  And heaven only knew what those reports said. Beyond generalities, Hayley never divulged to Isabella exactly what she and Murphy talked about. Which was why she’d trusted Hayley not to reveal to Murphy what Isabella talked about during her conversations with the counselor.

  She finally pushed out of her chair, too restless to stay put. “What about Kim? Are you still trying to find her?”

  Monica crossed her legs. “Judge Saunders believes enough expense has been wasted on that quarter.” She looked at her impeccable manicure for a moment.

  Isabella had the strong desire to shake the woman. She paced across the room, putting some distance between them. She wished that Erik were there.

  “I also had a conversation with Mr. Clay,” Monica continued, as if she’d heard Isabella’s thoughts. “Erik Clay, the owner of Ruby’s Café. Just a little while ago, in fact.”

  Isabella went still.

  “Your supervisor at the diner, Ms. Taggart, gave me his number. Both of them speak very highly of you.”

  A bubble of hysteria floated around inside her chest. If it weren’t for Tabby, she wouldn’t have even known that he and his brother owned Ruby’s. “Erik’s been a good friend to us,” Isabella said carefully. More than a good friend. He was the most decent man she’d ever met. No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to regret the impulsive way she’d pulled off Jimmy’s ring and chased after him. Not in light of the incredible night they’d spent together. For all she knew, it might well be the only one they had.

  After he’d gone, she’d retrieved the ring from the table by the front door where she’d left it. She’d pressed her lips to the shining diamond. And then she’d tucked it away inside her jewelry case. Someday Murphy might want to give it to the girl he chose for a wife.

  Monica was nodding, oblivious to Isabella’s sudden preoccupation. “Mr. Clay said he’d taken Murphy fishing this weekend. It’s good for him to spend time with positive role models.”

  Isabella smiled weakly. “Monica. Please. Just give me some clue here. Are you going to revoke my guardianship or not?” Monica hadn’t said anything about Murphy running away. Or the black eye. Or even the pole-dancing classes that were causing quite the stir around town. Was she toying with her?

  Monica glanced at the conference-room door again. She uncrossed her legs and sat forward. Her expression wasn’t unsympathetic. “That decision is the judge’s, not mine.”

  “The judge is going to read whatever recommendation you make and go with it,” Isabella countered. “I grew up in the system.” Something the caseworker knew perfectly well because she’d been the one to dissect Isabella’s life in the first place when she’d petitioned for guardianship. “You’re the one wielding the pen, even if you’re not the one who signs the court order.”

  Whatever the caseworker might have said to that was lost when the door opened and Hayley invited them into the conference room.

  Isabella swallowed her nerves and entered the room. It was dominated by a large oval table in the center. She chose the chair next to Murphy and sat down. “You okay?”

  His shoulder twitched. “Guess.” His dark eyes skittered toward Monica and Hayley. “I still don’t see why we gotta do this.”

  Monica heard him. “Because everyone wants to make sure we’re doing what’s best for you, Murphy.”
She sat down directly across from them, and Hayley took her chair at the end.

  The young doctor smiled at them both. She had a fat folder sitting next to her elbow on the table, but she didn’t open it, deferring to Monica, who was the one running the show. Only after a half hour of regurgitating all the facts they already knew did the caseworker ask the counselor if she had anything else to add.

  “Actually, yes.” Hayley opened the folder and took out a stack of envelopes of every size and shape. “I didn’t give these directly to Ms. Solis before because I wanted to share these with you, Isabella.” She stretched forward to push the stack toward her. “I showed them to Murphy already. They’ve been coming into my office for the past week.”

  Frowning, Isabella slowly took the envelopes and leafed through them. Some bore postage marks. Some had obviously been hand-delivered. Some were typed. Some were addressed in pen, some even in pencil. “What are they?”

  “I guess I’d call them character references,” Hayley said, sounding a little bemused. “From a good portion of Weaver, and all testifying to their knowledge of you as a parent or as a member of the community. And some of them are about Murphy.” Her gaze slid to Monica. “If there ever was a town who wanted two people to stay, it’s Weaver when it comes to Isabella and Murphy.”

  Stunned, Isabella could do nothing but stare at Hayley.

  “Go ahead,” the other woman prompted. “Take a look.”

  Isabella pulled out one of the letters. It was just a single page, talking about her patient grace in the face of a challenge. She studied the signature, taking a moment to realize it came from Bethany’s grandmother. The mayor’s wife, of all people. The next letter was signed by Robert Bumble, who turned out to actually be Bubba from Ruby’s.

  There were letters from Jolie and Drew Taggart.

  Lucy and Beck.

  Max, who’d used his official title as sheriff, and his wife, Sarah. Hope and Tristan. The parents of some of the girls from Isabella’s tap class. Even starchy Mrs. Timms from the school had sent a letter, saying that “Master Murphy couldn’t find a more competent caretaker than Ms. Lockhart.”

  The envelopes went on and on. And even though most of the writers knew good and well about Murphy breaking Erik’s window, about the school suspension, about his running away and even Isabella’s black eye, not a single person mentioned any of it.

  Then there were the other letters. The ones that had been hand-delivered. Written in pencil. They turned out to be from Murphy’s classmates. “We don’t want him to leave” was the consensus. Two in particular pleaded, “We need him to be our pitcher,” which made her smile through the tears nearly blinding her. “He makes sure we play fair.” She didn’t have to look at the messy signatures to know they had come from Zach and Connor Forrest.

  “Play fair?” She glanced at Murphy.

  He shrugged. “That’s what Erik says,” he muttered. “You know. Like when we played that game at the barbecue. He said winning don’t count unless the game’s been fair.”

  All too easily, she could remember Erik whispering something to Murphy before he’d loaned her his cap. A guy thing, Erik had called it.

  A fatherly thing was what it felt like.

  Everything inside her squeezed.

  She blinked hard and looked over at Hayley. She wanted to ask who was responsible for the letter campaign but couldn’t get out the words. The other woman seemed to read her mind, though, and just spread her hands slightly atop the table.

  Monica had been looking at her share of the letters, too, taking up each one as soon as Isabella set it aside. “If it’s true it takes a village,” she murmured, “Murphy’s golden.” She gave him a look. “Do you have anything to say about all this?”

  He rolled his eyes and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I just wanna go home. I’m hungry.”

  The caseworker finally smiled. “As a matter of fact, so am I.” She gathered up the letters and tapped them smartly together against the table until they were more or less a neat stack. “I’d like to take these with me, if you don’t mind, Dr. Templeton.”

  “Feel free.” Hayley looked across at her and Murphy. “As long as Isabella and Murphy don’t mind.”

  Isabella shook her head.

  “Very well.” Monica stood. She set the letters inside her briefcase and snapped it shut. “Isabella, I’ll let you know when I’ve made my recommendation to the judge. Murphy, I’m very pleased to see that you’re doing so well.” She turned on her well-shod heel and left the office.

  Isabella wanted to collapse in her chair. She looked over at the counselor. “All of those letters were addressed to you. How’d anyone know to do that?”

  Hayley gave her a rueful look. “Seriously? I’m the only family therapist with a full-time practice in this town.” She began gathering up her belongings. “Murphy, if you go into my office, you can get a cold apple juice or something for yourself out of the little refrigerator I have there.”

  “Cool.” He practically bolted from the chair and disappeared through the door.

  “I appreciate all your time with him,” Isabella told her after he’d gone.

  Hayley smiled. “This is what I do. For what it’s worth, Isabella, I’m hoping he gets to stay with you. He wants to, you know.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Things had been going more smoothly, but that didn’t mean they didn’t still have their share of set-tos.

  “Isabella.” Hayley gave her a clear look. “I do know.”

  Isabella could only take that to mean that Murphy had actually shared this fact with the counselor.

  She pressed her hand against the knot that formed inside her chest. “Kids should come with warning labels or something,” she said huskily.

  Hayley grinned. “Well, most parents have a chance to grow into the role while their babies are growing. You came into this game kind of mid-inning.”

  Isabella laughed weakly. Truer words had never been spoken.

  The three of them left the building and Isabella drove Murphy home. The parking lot between Colbys and the dance studio was half-full when they passed, and impulsively, she turned into it and parked. “Come on,” she told Murphy. “We’re eating out tonight.”

  Aside from the meals they had at Ruby’s, eating out was a rare treat, and he wasn’t one to hesitate. The second she’d turned off the engine, he was out of the car, headed for the door, and she had to hurry to catch up with him.

  She’d been inside the bar and grill only once before, and steered him away from the bar area toward the restaurant proper. A pretty hostess seated them, and when the waitress came by their table a short while later, Isabella even told Murphy he could order a cola if he wanted.

  He chose root beer and, oblivious to the ripples that caused in Isabella’s personal hell, proceeded to order the largest hamburger he could find on the menu.

  He’d finished that, as well as half the sandwich that Isabella had ordered for herself, and was deep into a hot-fudge sundae when the Forrest clan entered, Zach and Connor noisily in the front. They spotted Murphy right off the bat, and soon the three boys were racing across the room toward the pinball machines lined up against the far wall.

  J.D. edged her hip onto one corner of the bench seat that Murphy had vacated. She was having no easy time keeping a squirming Tucker in her arms, and with a laugh, Jake relieved her of the boy and accompanied him as he toddled off after his big brothers. “I wonder if little girls are less exhausting than little boys,” she said and propped her elbows on the table.

  Isabella smiled. “Couldn’t tell you.” She angled her head. There might not have been a letter from J.D. and Jake, but there had been one from their twin sons. “Did you know about the letter-writing campaign?”

  J.D.’s green eyes widened innocently. “What letter-writing campaign?”

  “Whose idea was it? Lucy’s?” She wouldn’t put it past her loyal friend.

  “Actually, I don’t think our resident ballerina had
anything to do with it. The boys came home from school last week talking about it. I don’t think they’ve actually seen Lucy since the barbecue out at the C.”

  Which left Erik.

  And if the letters had started arriving at Dr. Templeton’s office last week, he’d started the effort even before she’d run after him and invited him in for the coffee that she didn’t have.

  J.D. was eyeing her closely, and she realized she was shaking. “Are you all right?”

  “I have to go.” She fumbled with her purse, pulling out enough cash to cover the bill and then some and dropping it on the table. “It was nice to see you,” she added hurriedly before working her way across the busy restaurant to grab Murphy. “Come on.” She pulled him away from where he was standing by the side of the pinball machine Connor was playing. “We have to go.”

  “Wait a minute,” he squawked. “I was watching—”

  “No minute.” She kept her grip on his shoulder as much for her own sanity as to keep propelling him toward the exit. “I want to talk to you about something and it can’t wait.”

  “Jeez,” he complained, but he nevertheless went with her out to the car. She exhaled once they were in the car. She didn’t know what the court was going to decide where her guardianship of Murphy was concerned. But she did know a few things. Finally, she knew a few things.

  The things that mattered.

  “Murphy, I love you. I love you because you’re Jimmy’s son. But mostly, I love you because you’re you. And I don’t want to be your guardian just because your dad asked me to be. I want to be your guardian because of you. Because somewhere along the way, you and I...we’ve become a family. It’s not always pretty, but I guess sometimes families aren’t always pretty. I never really knew that much about families because I never had the opportunity to know my dad. Or my mom. I just know I don’t want to lose you.”

  He looked wary. “Yeah...so?”

  She peered at him. “Have you thought about why all those letters about us were sent to Dr. Templeton? You think that happens out of the clear blue sky?”