Читать книгу A Father for Zach - Irene Hannon - Страница 9

Nathan Clay gazed out over the sparkling blue waters off Nantucket, scanned the pristine white beach and took a long, slow breath.

What a change from the tiny, windowless cell he’d left behind four days ago—his home for the past ten long years.

The juxtaposition was surreal.

Settling back in the white folding chair, he tugged at his unaccustomed tie, surveyed the seventy-five wedding guests assembled on the lush, garden-rimmed lawn that abutted the beach, and tried not to feel out of place. But it was a losing battle. He doubted anyone else in this high-class group had served time in prison. Especially the Supreme Court justice on the other side of the aisle, who was a longtime friend of the Morgan family.

The family his sister, Marci, would be marrying into in just a few minutes.

Talk about moving up in the world.

She deserved it, though. Marci had worked hard to build a better life. To rise above their tough upbringing.

He wished he could have done as well.

Then again, his childhood had been even rougher than Marci’s or his big brother’s had been. Thanks to the secret that had darkened his life for more years than he cared to recall.

Bile rose in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow past it, to suppress the ugly memories. Those days were history. They couldn’t hurt him unless he let them. And he’d resolved never again to give his past that kind of power.

A string quartet positioned to his right began to play, and he focused on the baroque music, letting its measured cadence calm him. Attired in black dresses, the four musicians blended together perfectly, each handling her instrument with a confidence that spoke of long hours of practice.

But it was the violinist who caught his attention. Eyes closed, she swayed slightly as she drew the bow back and forth over the strings, producing pure, clear notes that quivered with emotion.

Nathan didn’t know a lot about music. He hadn’t had much opportunity to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. But he understood the creative process. Knew all about losing oneself in one’s art. That had been his salvation during his decade behind bars. And he sensed this woman felt the same way.

He studied her, appreciating the sweep of her long lashes as they feathered into a graceful arc beneath her eyes. Although her light brown hair was secured at her nape with a barrette, the no-nonsense style was softened by wispy bangs that brushed her smooth brow. The early afternoon sun highlighted her classic bone structure and warmed her flawless complexion, while the whisper of a smile touched her soft, beguiling lips.

Nathan’s gaze lingered on their supple fullness…and all at once he found it difficult to breathe.

Reaching up, he ran a finger around his suddenly too-tight collar and forced himself to turn away. Only to discover his new landlady, Edith Shaw, observing him with a smile of her own from two rows back. He had no idea how to interpret the gleam in her eye…nor the wink she directed his way.

And he didn’t have a chance to figure it out, because all at once the music changed and an expectant hush fell over the guests.

The minister, groom and best man took their places beside the wooden gazebo where the vows would be exchanged. Nathan watched his sister-in-law, Heather, start down the aisle. The matron of honor was as radiant as a bride herself—due to the slight bulge in her tummy that heralded the arrival of a new generation of Clays, Nathan suspected.

As the music changed again and Marci appeared on J.C.’s arm, Nathan’s breath once more caught in his throat. With her blond tresses and pinup figure, Marci had always been beautiful. But today she was luminous as she slowly made her way toward the gazebo—and the man she would soon promise to love and cherish all the days of her life.

She smiled at him as she approached, her wispy veil drifting behind her in the soft May breeze, her hand tucked in J.C.’s. It was fitting their older brother should walk her down the aisle, Nathan thought. He’d stood by both of them through the tough times, believing in them when neither had believed in themselves.

Much to his surprise, Marci paused beside his chair and reached out to take his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Nathan.”

At her soft words, he blinked away the moisture that pooled in his eyes. “So am I.”

With a gentle squeeze, she moved on to take her place beside the tall physician who had claimed her heart. As they joined hands beneath swags of white tulle held in place by sprays of pale pink roses and feathery fern, Nathan was glad she’d found her happily-ever-after.

He hoped someday he could do the same.

His escort duties finished, J.C. joined him in the first row. As Nathan shifted over to give his older brother a bit more room, he checked out the violinist again. She was looking over her shoulder now, giving him an excellent view of her appealing profile. Leaning back slightly, Nathan caught a glimpse of a little blond-haired boy sitting behind her on a white folding chair. Her son?

Checking out her left hand, he noted the glint of gold in the early afternoon sun. It figured. She appeared to be in her thirties, and most women that age were married.

Not that it mattered.

The odds of connecting with the first woman to catch his eye were miniscule at best.

But maybe…just maybe…there was a woman out there somewhere who would be able to overlook his past. Who would delve into his heart and see that it had been transformed.

“I, Marci, take you, Christopher…”

As his sister’s words echoed strong and sure in the still air, Nathan shifted his attention to the weathered gazebo. Marci stood framed in the lattice archway, her head tipped back, her gaze on the man she loved as she repeated the words after the minister.

Today she would begin a new life.

And so would he, Nathan vowed.

So would he.

An hour later, a piece of cake in one hand and a glass of punch in the other, Nathan stepped into the garden of The Devon Rose. He wasn’t surprised Marci and Christopher had decided to have their reception at Heather’s tearoom, Lighthouse Lane’s most prestigious address. It was where fate—or perhaps the Lord—had brought them together for the second time, setting things in motion for their courtship.

Once more, the genteel music of a string quartet drew his attention. Weaving through the crowd, he followed one of the brick paths that crisscrossed the formal garden with geometric precision.

When the ensemble came into view, he stepped off to one side. It was the same group that had played at the wedding, he noted, homing in on the slender violinist. The musicians must have packed up their instruments and headed straight for the reception the instant the ceremony ended.

The little blond boy was here, too, tucked into a nook a few feet away from his mom, who was shooting him frequent, protective glances. He was sitting on a folding chair, swinging his dangling feet, not in the least interested in the book lying in his lap. Instead, he was hungrily eyeing the plates of cake being juggled by the guests who were milling about.

On impulse, Nathan worked his way through the crowd and headed for the child. Holding out his untouched plate, he smiled. “Would you like some cake?”

The little boy’s eyes lit up, but he hesitated and cast a silent plea toward his mother.

As Nathan glanced her way, his stomach knotted at the mistrust in her eyes. He was used to suspicious looks. They’d been part of his life for as long as he could remember. But he’d hoped he’d left them behind.

Summoning up a stiff smile, he waited for her decision.

Finally, without missing a beat of music, she gave a slight nod.

“Oh, boy!”

At the youngster’s enthusiastic reaction, Nathan’s taut smile softened and he handed over the plate. “How come I knew you liked cake?”

The boy dived in, spearing a hunk of frosting with the fork. “I like the icing best.” He proved it by putting the whole glob in his mouth at once. “Than koo.”

Chuckling at the garbled expression of gratitude, Nathan lifted his cup of punch in salute. “Well, enjoy it.”

He started to walk away, but the boy’s voice brought him to a halt. “My name’s Zach. What’s yours?”

A quick look confirmed that the violinist’s jade-green irises were fixed on him. Watchful. Warning him off. Her tense posture was in direct contrast to the soothing classical music emanating from her violin.

Instead of moving back toward the boy, Nathan responded from where he stood. “Nathan.”

“You want to see my book?” Zach held up a Dr. Seuss classic, his expression hopeful.

“I don’t think your mommy would like that.”

Zach’s face fell and he lowered the book to his lap. “Yeah. I guess not.” He poked at his cake. “The only good thing about weddings is the cake.”

“Do you go to a lot of weddings?”

“Uh-huh. They’re all the same. Boring.”

In his peripheral vision, Nathan could sense the boy’s mother still watching him. He wanted to ask Zach some more questions. Find out why he wasn’t home with his father. Or a babysitter. Sitting still for such an extended period had to be torture for a youngster.

But he didn’t think the woman would appreciate his interest. Not in light of the strong back-off vibes she was sending.

It couldn’t be personal, though, he consoled himself. He’d noticed her protective behavior at the wedding, too. And here, as well, even before he’d spoken to Zach. She was just wary, period.

And that raised more questions.

None of which were likely to be answered, Nathan conceded.

Writing off the encounter, he smiled once more at Zach. “Hang in there, champ. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“That’s what Mom always says.” The youngster heaved a resigned sigh and continued to shovel the cake into his mouth.

“She’s right. It will still be daytime when this party is over. Maybe you can play with your friends later.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

Before Nathan could follow up on that unexpected response, the song ended and the little boy’s mother spoke in a soft but insistent voice.

“Zach, come over here and let me wipe that sticky icing off your fingers or it will get all over your jacket.”

The youngster speared the last bite of cake and shoved it into his mouth. Scooting off his chair, he trotted over to Nathan and handed him the empty plate. “Thanks a lot. That was good.”

“You’re welcome.”

He took the plate and watched the boy join his mother, she gave him another suspicious scan as she fished a tissue out of her purse and pulled her son close.

Taking the hint, he turned away and strolled back into the crowd of guests. Still wondering why the precocious little blond-haired boy had no friends.

And why the green-eyed beauty was so wary.

“Mom! You’re gonna rub all the skin off my face!”

At Zach’s protest, Catherine Walker eased off on the vigorous scrubbing she was giving her son’s cheeks and double-checked to confirm that the tall, brown-haired man with the slightly gaunt face had disappeared into the throng of wedding guests.

“Sorry, honey.” She took one more swipe at a stubborn speck of icing that had somehow found its way to his eyebrow, then pocketed the sticky tissue.

“How much longer is this thing gonna last?”

“A while.”

He huffed out a sigh. “That means a really long time.”

“I brought a lot of books for you. And there are paper and crayons in the tote bag, too. Why don’t you draw some pictures?”

“I’d rather go to the beach.”

“I know. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. I guess.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and surveyed the wedding guests. “Maybe that man will come back and talk to me again.”

“You know the rule about talking to strangers, Zach.”

“He gave me cake. And he was really nice. Besides, he’s not a stranger. He told me his name.”

“Just because you know his name doesn’t mean he’s not a stranger.”

“You were right here, Mom. You could see me the whole time.” Zach gave her a disgruntled look and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the brick walkway. “I wish you weren’t so scared all the time.”

Jolted, Catherine frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious.”

“What’s the difference?”

He wandered back to his seat and began to poke through the tote bag, his apathy for her time-killing suggestions obvious.

As her son withdrew a book and settled into his chair, Catherine pondered his question. What was the difference between caution and fear? Not much, she conceded. But she had good reason for both. Thanks to David.

Her stomach clenched, and she forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. Someday…maybe…she’d be able to think about him with joy instead of sorrow. But she wasn’t there yet. And after two years, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would be.

As for Zach…she was sorry he was unhappy. And she sympathized with his plight. Being confined to a chair for an extended period was about the worst possible punishment you could inflict on a boy his age. In the past, David had watched him during her musical engagements, saving her son this agony. But David was gone. And she didn’t trust Zach with anyone else.

Nor had passing up this job been an option. In her short time on Nantucket, the high cost of living had been an unwelcome surprise. She needed the money this gig would bring in.

At a signal from the group’s leader, the string quartet struck up “Ode to Joy.” Scanning the crowd again, Catherine saw no sign of the man who’d spoken to Zach. That was good. Her trust level with strangers was zilch. Even ones who were guests at a lovely wedding like this. Because you never knew where danger lurked. Sometimes it was found in the most innocent of places. Places you’d assumed were safe.

Yet…as an image of the cake-bearing stranger who’d befriended Zach flashed across her mind, she found it hard to believe he was a man to be feared. Particularly in light of that moment when their gazes had connected. She knew hers had been filled with suspicion, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d reciprocated with coolness or antipathy. In fact, that kind of reaction would have been okay.

Instead, she’d been jarred by the hurt in his deep-brown eyes.

All she’d meant to do was warn him off. She hadn’t intended to cause him pain. Yet she had. And that disturbed her. A lot. Causing pain was as unacceptable to her as letting Zach out of her sight.

But it was too late to fix things now. She doubted he’d come anywhere close to them again today, considering the unfriendly reception she’d given his kind gesture. And there was little chance their paths would ever cross again.

She needed to let it go.

Catherine tried hard to follow her own advice, doing her best to immerse herself in the lilting, joy-filled strains of one of Beethoven’s most uplifting works. To focus on the happy faces of the guests enjoying a perfect celebration in a beautiful garden on this sunny, warm day.

But somehow she couldn’t erase the image of a weary face that she sensed belonged to a man who had endured more than his share of hostile looks.

Talk about dumb.

In the split second it took for the gallon can of paint to slip from her fingers and smash into her toes, Catherine Walker knew her decision to pad around the house barefoot as she organized her remodeling supplies had been a huge mistake.

And the sharp pain that shot through her foot and set off bright pinpricks of light behind her eyes confirmed it.

Choking back a cry, she stared down at her crushed toes as the can rolled away. And came to the obvious conclusion.

Her do-it-yourself remodeling plans for the B and B she was scheduled to open in eight short weeks were hosed.

“What was that noise, Mom?”

Exiting the main house, Zach skidded to a stop in front of her in the breezeway that connected the two parts of their new home near Surfside. Soon to be known as Sheltering Shores Inn.

Maybe.

She cast another dubious eye at her foot, blinking back tears.

Without waiting for a reply, Zach squatted in front of her and examined her swelling toes.

“Wow! They’re turning purple, Mom. Do they hurt?”

“Yeah.” A lot.

“Should we call 911?”

He gave her a hopeful look. She knew he was desperate for some excitement, some activity to break the monotony of his days on this quiet byway they’d called home for the past three weeks. Their occasional trips to the grocery and hardware stores didn’t provide enough variety for her inquisitive six-year-old. And he’d hated sitting through weddings, like the one she’d played at two weeks ago. But since their move from Atlanta, she’d been too busy settling in to do much exploring with him.

That was about to change, she conceded as she tried to put her weight on her foot and cringed. She didn’t intend to summon an ambulance, but a trip to the ER seemed unavoidable.

“No, honey. I don’t need 911. But I think I better have a doctor take a look at my foot.”

“In town?”

“Yes.”

“Can we stop at Downyflake before we come home?”

Already the local hangout, known for its sugar doughnuts—which had edged out Hershey’s Kisses as her son’s favorite treat—was high on his list of must-visit places whenever they ventured out.

“We’ll see what time it is when we’re through.”

“Okay. Want me to get your purse?”

“That would be good. And grab my sandals, too, okay?”

While he headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the items, Catherine tested her foot again. If she put her weight on her heel, she could hobble as far as the car, she decided. But beyond that…

A sudden surge of panic swept over her, and she did her best to stifle it. She’d find a way to cope. She always did. Things would be okay.

They had to be.

“Here they are, Mom.” Zach burst through the door, purse and shoes in hand. “You want to lean on me?”

Despite the pain that was intensifying with every passing minute, she dredged up a smile as she gazed down into his earnest, trusting face. What would she do without this little guy? If it hadn’t been for him—and her music—she’d never have made it through the past two years. Yet she’d come so close to losing him, too. Fear clutched at her, twisting her stomach and renewing her resolve to make his safety her top priority.

“That would be nice, Zach. Thank you.”

After she slipped her feet into her sandals, he moved beside her. She’d intended only to lay her hand on his shoulder, but she found herself leaning on him more than she expected as she locked the door and they headed for her Honda Civic, parked in front.

“I guess it hurts, huh, Mom?”

“A little. But the doctor will fix it up and I’ll be good as new. Can you get your seat belt on by yourself?”

“Sure.”

He hopped into the backseat while she took her place behind the wheel and carefully lifted her injured foot inside. As she put the key in the ignition, she checked on Zach. He was already strapped into the car they’d driven up from Atlanta, eager for an outing—no matter the destination.

She grimaced as she eased the car back, every little bump on the gravel drive reverberating through her foot. Zach was watching her face in the rearview mirror, his expression somber.

“I guess maybe you should have worn shoes when you were carrying those paint cans,” he offered.

No kidding.

A tall, white-coated man with light brown hair entered the examining room at Cottage Hospital and smiled first at Zach. “Hey, big guy. How are you doing?”

The youngster shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“Getting tired of sitting around?”

“Yeah.”

“I hear you. Let’s get your mom taken care of so you can go home.”

He turned to Catherine and held out his hand. Midthirties, she estimated as he approached the examining table, with an appealing compassion in his blue eyes. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Christopher Morgan, Mrs. Walker. Sorry it took me a while to get to you. We were dealing with some victims of a car accident who needed immediate attention.”

She took his hand. “No problem. So what’s the bad news?”

“Two broken toes.”

Her shoulders drooped. The verdict wasn’t a surprise, but she’d been hoping they might only be bruised. She’d even toyed with the idea of praying for that outcome, though she’d quickly dismissed that notion. Why bother? God hadn’t come through for her the last time she’d sought His help.

“What does that mean in practical terms, Doctor?” She tried not to panic again, but it was difficult to remain calm when she had no idea how she was going to whip the inn into shape in time for her first customers.

“No strenuous activity involving your feet for the next six weeks.”

“I suppose climbing up and down ladders falls into that category?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Definitely.”

She stared down at her elevated foot, which was surrounded by ice packs.

“Are you gonna put on a cast?” Zach interjected. “You know, the kind people draw on?”

“Nope. That’s the good news.” The doctor smiled at him, then redirected his attention to Catherine. “A hard-soled, sturdy shoe should do the trick. You need to protect your toes from further injury while they heal.”

“I have some hiking boots.”

“Those will work.”

Good thing she’d thrown them into a box at the last minute instead of giving them to charity, as she’d been tempted to do, Catherine reflected. Although looking at them had evoked a bittersweet pang and reminded her of happy times never to return, the thought of cutting that link to David had been more painful than dealing with resurrected memories. So she’d kept them.

“Now let’s talk treatment.”

The doctor’s voice drew her back to the present, and she shoved her melancholy thoughts into a dark corner of her mind.

“Expect quite a bit of bruising and swelling. Prop your foot on a pillow when you’re sleeping, and stay off it as much as possible for the next few days at least—no prolonged standing or walking. Keep your foot elevated above your head, if possible. That will help reduce the swelling. For the first couple of days, put ice on it for fifteen to twenty minutes every hour or two. You can use a plastic bag filled with ice, but be sure to put a towel between it and your skin. Take an over-the-counter pain reliever if you need it. Any questions?”

“No.”

He tipped his head. “I have one. Why did you ask about ladders a few minutes ago?”

She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m renovating a house I just bought that I plan to turn into a B and B. We’ve only been here three weeks, so I haven’t gotten very far. And my first guests are arriving August 1.”

“Are you doing the work yourself?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Yes. Or I’d planned to, anyway. It’s mostly cosmetic. Nothing too heavy, but it does require a lot of climbing up and down ladders.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find someone to help if I want to be ready for opening day.”

“I can help you, Mom,” Zach volunteered.

She smiled and reached out to take his small hand. “I know, Zach. And you’re a good worker. But I’ll need someone a little bigger, too, to carry heavy things and climb the ladder.”

“If you’re in the market for an extra pair of hands, I’d be happy to give you the name of my brother-in-law,” the doctor offered. “He’s new on the island, too. I know he has some training in carpentry and painting, and he’s already done some work at our church.”

Catherine sent him a grateful look. “That would be great. Thanks.”

The doctor pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket and jotted a couple of lines. Stifling a yawn, he gave her a sheepish grin and handed it over. “Sorry about that. I just got back from my honeymoon yesterday, and I’m fighting a little jet lag.”

Honeymoon.

The word conjured up a poignant image of white beaches, palm trees and a tall, sandy-haired man with love and laughter in his eyes.

It also reminded Catherine where she’d seen the doctor before. She’d played at his wedding two weeks ago. He’d looked quite different that day, in a tux instead of a white coat. Besides, her attention had been on her son, not the bride and groom, whose happiness had brought back bittersweet memories.

Somehow Catherine dredged up a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Let me help you off the table.”

He freed her foot from the ice bags, waited while she gingerly swung her legs over the edge and supported her as she fitted her feet into her sandals.

“Is someone waiting to drive you home?”

“We drove ourselves,” Zach piped up.

The doctor frowned. “Driving in your condition isn’t the best idea.”

It was all Catherine could do to hold her tears at bay now that her foot was flat on the floor again—and throbbing with pain. How could two little toes possibly hurt this much?

Summoning up a shaky smile, she brushed his concern aside. “I don’t have far to go. Besides, my car’s an automatic, and my right foot is fine.”

“I’d feel better if you were a passenger instead of a driver. Isn’t there anyone you could call?”

She didn’t miss the subtle glance he cast toward her wedding ring.

“No.”

At the finality in her tone, he capitulated. “Okay. I’ll have one of the aides take you to your car in a wheelchair. But no more driving for a few days. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Five minutes later, as Catherine maneuvered herself into her car with the help of the aide, she thought back to the doctor’s question about whether there was someone who could assist her.

She wished she’d been able to answer in the affirmative. That she could pick up a phone and call the man who’d been the center of her world for eight glorious years.

But she was alone now, except for Zach.

And she always would be.

Because a broken heart was a whole lot harder to heal than two broken toes.