by Anna Adams
* * *
LILAH’S TENSION MOUNTED as the day wore on. Slowly. She wanted to be with Ben. She wanted things to be easy with Owen, but she didn’t understand him. Angry and resentful? That, she understood. Thoughtful, protective, welcoming—she didn’t want any part of that. His kindness woke old emotions that she’d put to bed with great effort.
Take his quick response to Christine Laverty in Lilah’s defense. Christine hadn’t deserved that. She had taken his side with the loyalty of a friend. Funny, when he thought he had few friends in this town.
Why would he defend the woman who’d kept him from knowing his own son?
The realization of what she’d done dug ever deeper beneath her skin. Every time she’d felt guilty about Ben’s having no father, she’d blithely assured herself she’d done the right thing. Owen’s own qualms about his alcoholic father had shored up any doubts that managed to wriggle through in the past four years, but since the day he’d broken his arm, she’d begun to understand how hard he was trying not to be the man who’d terrorized his own family.
After they’d sampled all the food they could, they went inside for the games. Lines of moms and dads and children snaked around the building, throwing sandbags through the mouth of a fish painted on a wooden stand, knocking down milk bottles, fishing in a big glass bowl for gift certificates from merchants in town.
“Uncle Chad’s going to fish for me,” Ben said, dragging at her hand. “We need to find him before everybody wins everything.”
“He’s probably still eating somewhere.” Owen adjusted the sling that pulled at his neck. “Buddy, your nose is running.” He pulled a tissue out of his back pocket and passed it to Ben.
“You came prepared,” she said, watching as Ben took the tissue and blew.
“He was a little stuffy this morning.”
She hadn’t even noticed. She knelt beside Ben on the cold cement floor and tipped up his chin. “Do you feel all right?”
“I want a prize. Chad says he always wins.”
He looked fine. Eyes clear, breathing fine now. Just a bit of a runny nose. Maybe it was the construction dust in the building. She stood, peering around for Chad’s head above the others.
“This place is getting more crowded,” she said.
Owen slid his arm around her waist, apparently remembering she didn’t like crowds. But when she looked at him, his gaze startled her.
She turned to see what had caught his attention. A guy in overalls and a flannel shirt, a tractor-emblazoned ball cap on his head, had hauled a vintage silver flask from his pocket. As he took a drink, she glanced back at Owen, whose jaw had tensed.
“Sorry,” he said, his expression guilty. “Some things I can’t help.”
He turned toward one of the office areas, but he didn’t let her go. He was only guiding her, with the affection of a friend. She was frightened, and yet his touch reassured her. He wasn’t the monster she’d feared. The discomfort in his crooked smile told her he didn’t want to long for that man’s drink.
“My mom said she was putting our table beside the office I’ve been using,” Owen said as if nothing had gone wrong with their sweet little pretend-family day. “This way.”
Ben danced at their sides, and Owen moved away, as if he thought that being close to each other suddenly felt wrong. It did to her, as well. And he was probably thinking she’d bundle Ben into her rented car and flee to Vermont.
She tried to balance instinct and good sense. The man was an alcoholic. He wouldn’t ever stop wanting to drink. He just had to tame the need.
All too aware of the glances thrown their way, she wondered if he noticed, as well.
“Don’t get lost, Ben,” he said, as their son paused for a long, hard look at some older children knocking down bowling pins with a ball.
“I can do that,” Ben said.
“I’ll bet he could.” Owen went to the back of the line, reaching for Ben’s hand.
Lilah fell in beside them, willing to pretend that everything was okay. As long as Owen didn’t give in to his demons, everything would be okay for their son.
“He’s so full of funnel cake, we should probably let him work off the energy.” She noticed Owen’s sudden, quick scan of their interested neighbors. “They really keep a close eye on you.”
He shrugged with a wince at the sling. “I guess it hasn’t been long enough since I last made a spectacle of myself.”
“You may not be the problem. They seem to have circled the wagons to keep you safe from the wicked big-city woman.”
“They’re making any number of assumptions,” he said. “It happens in a place with a population of less than five thousand during off-season months.”
“They’ll get used to the idea that you have a son.” The simple reassurance, which she meant sincerely, rocked Lilah. She’d also grown used to the truth she’d hidden for so long. Owen was Ben’s father. He was critical to Ben’s happiness, and she’d managed to stop resenting him for having a say in her child’s future.
Mostly.
“I don’t care what they think or say about me,” Owen said, “but I don’t like the idea of anyone talking around Ben.”
“Talking ’bout what, Own?”
Owen shut his mouth in a thin, tight line, but Ben’s smiling anticipation soon had him grinning. “About what a great kid you are.” He leaned down to scrunch up Ben’s knit cap. “’Cause you really are.”
Ben wrapped his arm around Owen’s leg for a second and then shuffled ahead of them in the slow-moving line.
“I’ll probably never understand why you did what you did,” Owen said, “but that is the best little boy in the whole world. I feel lucky I get to love him.”
Hardly breathing, Lilah allowed herself to look at the man who’d meant everything to her, who now meant so much to her son. Somehow, she’d have to make room for Owen in her life.
“I’m lucky, too,” she said.
He looked down at her, his gaze steady, until it fell to her mouth, and suddenly she was aware of—everything. The light in the building, the voices of men and women and children walking past, her breathing, each slow beat of her heart.
She hadn’t sent Owen away because she’d stopped loving him. She just hadn’t wanted Ben to be in danger from a man who hadn’t even trusted himself. He’d been sober now for such a short time. But how much time would have to pass before she could trust he wouldn’t drink again?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AT THE END of the night, the clinic committee had planned a fireworks display. Fireworks over snow couldn’t be more beautiful, and Owen knew the perfect spot to watch from. He found Lilah and Ben in the kitchen area of the barn—the new clinic, he reminded himself. He sidled up to her. “Come with me,” he said, taking her hand.
“Where are we going?” She reached for Ben, who sneezed as she pulled him off the counter. “I wonder if he is getting a cold,” she said, slightly worried, wiping his nose with the tissue she pulled out of his pocket.
Owen glanced at his son, who looked fine. “When Chad was a little guy, his face would get red, and his eyes looked tired when he was sick.”
“It’s usually the same with Ben.” She pressed her cheek to his forehead. “I don’t think he has a fever. How do you feel, buddy?”
Ben grinned. “I think I need another funnel cake,” he said, burrowing his hands between them.
Laughing, she kissed his head, and Owen’s smile faded. What if they belonged to him, these two? The woman and the boy. What if they were his family?
It wasn’t only Ben who mattered to him. He had loved Lilah, and he hadn’t wanted to leave her. He’d never understood the way they’d parted, and tonight he dared let himself wonder what a new life would be like if they could start over again.
He turned them wi
th his hand at the small of Lilah’s back. “Let’s go before someone else grabs our spot.”
If he told her how he felt she wouldn’t believe him. He’d been too harsh. She was too willing to believe the worst about him, and maybe he had given her good reason.
He steered her and Ben toward the clinic’s front door. “Wait,” he said, as they crossed the parking lot. “I’m stopping by the cabin to pick up a quilt. We might get chilly up there.”
He went in and got the quilt off the couch. Without thinking, he glanced toward the kitchen cabinet where the wine still waited. Dutch courage. Maybe he’d know what to say to Lilah if he eased the lock on his emotions.
His mouth went dry. He wasn’t that weak. He couldn’t afford to be that weak ever again.
With one last glance at that closed, cherry cabinet door, he balanced the quilt, which was unwieldy to carry with one hand. Lilah took it as he went back outside. What would she think if she knew the temptation that still shouted in his head, even when he was happy and ever so slightly hopeful?
He tried to push traitorous thoughts of the wine out of his mind as they walked straight toward the ridge that formed the western border of Suzannah’s farm. Before they reached the trail, Ben started running.
“I know where we are. Uncle Chad took me up this big hill.” He put some space between himself and his parents.
“Not too far,” Owen said, only to hear the same words, almost in an echo from Lilah.
They both smiled, and he had to wonder if he looked as self-conscious as she did.
“Let’s go a little faster,” Lilah said.
“Good idea.”
Ben slowed as he reached the top. Lilah handed the quilt to Owen and picked Ben up.
“Here we are,” he said as they reached a small flat section of snow and pine needle–covered ground that seemed to jut out over the valley below.
“Don’t run away, Ben. You have to stay close to us up here.”
“It’s like daylight, Mommy.”
The moon hung over them, full in the clear sky after the drizzly day.
“But there are shadows, and you might not see the edge.” Lilah set him down and then took the quilt and spread it. “I hope we can see to get down again. We should have brought a flashlight.”
“We can use our phones,” Owen said.
“I see a bird’s nest.” Ben headed over to the low-hanging branch to investigate.
“Don’t touch,” Lilah said.
“I know. Chad told me they’re full of germs and you’d get mad if I touched them.”
“I’ll have to thank Chad for his helpful advice.” But Lilah’s smile was soft and sweet and indulgent.
“Come, sit down.” Owen nodded at Ben. “He’ll be all right.”
“Every time someone by the name of Gage says Ben will be all right, something horrible happens.”
“One goat stampede,” Owen said.
“And a toppling ladder.”
“That happened to me.”
“Because Ben was going for the power tools.”
He sat and patted the quilt. “He’ll be fine. He’ll come sit with us when the fireworks start.”
He’d barely spoken the words when a whoosh sounded and the first explosion of color blossomed above them. He looked at Lilah, whose eyes widened.
“Wow,” she said.
“Oooooooh.” Ben strolled to the quilt and leaned against Owen’s bent knee. “Wow, Own. Pretty.”
“It is pretty.”
“Sit down,” Lilah said and tugged their little boy between them.
“I’m cold, Mommy.”
Owen picked up one corner of the quilt, and she grabbed the other. Together they wrapped the quilt around themselves and Ben. Ben climbed into Owen’s lap and slumped back against his good shoulder.
Lilah scooted closer, as well, and for that moment, they really did form a small family, clinging together beneath the glittering streamers of light showering down from the sky. Owen glanced at Lilah and caught her looking up at him. Her smile was like fireworks.
He locked his emotions inside. Longing for her, for the family he’d dreamed one day would be his own. It could only ever be a dream. They’d achieved a much-needed peace in the past few days, even though he knew it was a fragile one, as well. Ben was happy sharing his time with both of them. And even happier when they were all together.
If he rocked the boat now, he could capsize it.
* * *
“OWN? OWN, WAKE UP.”
Ben sounded congested. Owen turned over, flinching at the pain in his arm, and found his son leaning on the side of the bed, prodding him.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
“My throat hurts, and I can’t stop coughing.” As if on cue, he started hacking.
Owen sat up immediately. He pressed the back of his hand against Ben’s forehead, but he couldn’t tell if his temperature was up. Maybe that was a skill learned over time.
“I think I’ll call Uncle Noah,” Owen said. He wasn’t about to call Lilah and have her think he didn’t know how to take care of a common cold. “Let’s get you back in bed, and I’ll go downstairs and bring you a drink.”
“I want to go with you. Don’t leave me alone.”
After a trip to the kitchen for water, Owen tucked Ben back into his bed and called his brother.
Noah answered his phone right away. “What’s up?”
“I think Ben’s sick. He has a sore throat, and he’s coughing.” He stopped. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“No problem. Does he have a fever?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t tell.” Noah’s question made him feel even more inept.
“Then he probably doesn’t. You should get a thermometer.”
“I know. Wish I’d thought of it before tonight.”
“Do you have any children’s acetaminophen?”
“That, I have. Mom told me I should pick some up when I told her Ben was coming.”
“Give him the dose that’s right for his age and weight. Is his breathing normal?”
Owen turned on the lamp on Ben’s nightstand and watched his son breathe. In and out. In and out.
“I think it’s normal.”
“Do you want me to come over?”
“Sort of,” Owen said. “But not really. I think he’s okay.”
“You should call Lilah. She’ll be upset if you don’t, and she knows Ben better than you do. Sorry if that hurts, but she’ll have been through this before. Plus, I’ll bet she can tell about his temp.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You’re not admitting defeat if you ask her for help.”
He was, but maybe it didn’t matter if it was for Ben. A cold shouldn’t create all this drama. He’d scare the little guy. “All right. Do you mind if we bring him in tomorrow?”
“If you need to, that’s fine. Just phone the office for an appointment. I’ll tell Lynsay to book you right away.”
“Thanks, Noah.”
“Call me back if anything worries you.”
“Okay.” He disconnected the call. “Hold on, Ben. I’ll be right back.”
“I feel better, Own.”
“Do you?” He looked back from the doorway. “I talked to Uncle Noah, and he said I should give you some medicine.”
“Yuck.” Ben wrinkled his nose and slid farther down beneath his bedding.
After a grin at his son, Owen went downstairs and got the acetaminophen from the kitchen. Without thinking, he’d tucked it into the cabinet with the wine. He glanced at the bottle, still sealed shut. Then he closed the cabinet door and hurried back upstairs to his son.
He measured out the dosage and gave it to Ben with a chaser of water.
“I’m going to call your mom.”
“Yay,” Ben said with less than his normal exuberance.
* * *
LILAH THREW ON a sweatshirt over her flannel pajamas and ran down the stairs. Then she ran back up and grabbed the thermometer from her makeup bag. Suzannah came into the hall as she was heading back out.
“Something wrong? Did Owen hurt his arm again?”
“He thinks Ben’s sick.” She started impatiently for the stairs. “I can’t talk now, Suzannah.”
“Call me if I can help. I’d be glad to go with you.”
Her uncertain tone got through to Lilah. Suzannah didn’t know if she’d be welcome. “I appreciate the offer. Really, I do, but I’m sure it’s just a cold. He had the sniffles earlier.”
“You look panicked.”
“I know. It’s crazy.” Lilah yanked her sweatshirt down as if she were reaching for her composure. “I’m a little crazy where he’s concerned, but he’s so important to me, Suzannah.”
“He’s lucky he has you.” She patted Lilah’s arm awkwardly. “Please call if I can bring anything or do anything.”
“Thanks.”
She bolted down the stairs and out to her car, but she didn’t start it right away. She needed a second to wrestle her emotions into submission. She didn’t want to scare Ben, and Owen had sounded shaken up.
He’d told her to come straight up when she reached the cabin. She found them sharing a book in Ben’s room. Ben coughed, and Owen smiled at her, but with relief that made her feel like the calm one.
“Hey, buddy,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“My throat, Mommy.” He pointed a finger at his open mouth. Owen got up to make room for her on the bed. She went over and peered at Ben’s throat. Behind her, Owen held up a lamp.
“I didn’t think to look,” he said. “I gave him the acetaminophen, like Noah said.”
“It just looks a little inflamed.” Relieved, she smiled at her boy and then pressed a kiss on to the tip of his nose. “A little red. And I don’t think you have a fever, but we’ll just take your temperature anyway.” She ran the thermometer across his forehead.
