Читать книгу A Will and a Wedding - Lois Richer - Страница 8

Jefferson William Haddon III wanted a son.

Badly.

The problem, as Jefferson defined it, was that at age thirty-five, he had yet to find the type of woman with whom he would consider raising a child. And the very last thing he had expected was that someone would find such a woman for him.

“Would you say that again, please?”

Jefferson turned to stare at the woman across from him once more, unable to believe that his Aunt Judith had considered her suitable for marriage.

Not to him.

She wasn’t the type to be his wife.

If he had wanted one.

Which he did not! Not like this.

“Miss McNaughton will continue her sponsorship of you in your endeavor, Miss Newton, provided that you and her nephew, Jefferson Haddon, marry within the next two months. Until that time, you may both reside in her home, Oak Bluff, all expenses paid.” Judith’s old family lawyer cleared his throat.

“Mr. Haddon, when you marry you will receive Miss McNaughton’s fortune less Miss Newton’s yearly allowance of one hundred thousand dollars. You will both receive the deeds to the house and its entailments, free and clear. Miss Newton will, as your wife, continue to live in the house as long as she wishes.” The snowy haired gentleman paused to glance up at the couple seated before him. His light blue eyes darkened as he continued.

“If you should choose to ignore her wishes, Miss McNaughton has directed that neither of you shall benefit. Miss Newton will be forced to make other arrangements for her work and Mr. Haddon will have no further claim on her estate. The property will be sold and the money will go to an animal shelter she has so named.”

Even as he wondered what the woman’s ‘work’ was, Jefferson’s mouth fell open.

“But surely we can contest the terms of this will, Mr. Jones. You were her friend for years, surely you realize what a terrible position this places us in.” He stopped, conscious of the glowering countenance of the old lawyer.

“Your aunt was of perfectly sound mind when she made out this document.” The wrinkled old hand shook Judith’s will in front of them both. “Should the opportunity arise, and you decide to contest, young man, I will be happy to testify to her sanity. In court. Under oath.” The old man’s tone was frosty with contempt.

Jefferson was furious. He raked a hand through his perfectly groomed dark head in agitation. Yes, he wanted a child, but he had no desire to get married for money. And he certainly would not be forced into it by a busybody old aunt with nothing better to do than play matchmaker.

Blast, what a mess.

That woman, what was her name? Cassie, he remembered suddenly, Cassie.something. Anyway, she sat staring at him in horror. As if she could do worse than marry into one of the oldest families in Toronto!

“I’ll move out immediately.” He heard her words through a fog and turned to stare.

“What?”

“Are you hard of hearing, Mr. Haddon? I said, I will move out of the house immediately.” Her voice was sharp with scorn. “I have no intention of marrying you or anyone else to provide a roof over my head.”

She surged to her feet with all the pomp and ceremony of a miniature warship, sailing off to battle. She stood in front of him, hands on her shapely hips. Grim determination turned down the edges of her mouth. Jefferson laughed at the absurdity of it, and then watched fascinated as her body went rigid with fury.

“Your aunt was a gracious woman who treated everyone with dignity and respect. It’s too bad you didn’t turn out the same.”

He studied the wide green eyes, huge and full of turmoil in a face white with strain. Her black hair curved around her oval face in a riot of curls that bounced merrily with each move she made.

She was not like any woman he had seen before, Jefferson decided. This Cassie person’s appearance fell somewhere between comfortable unconcern and brilliant chic. She wore a bulky red sweater that hung well below her hips. A flaring skirt in a wild pattern of reds and oranges dropped to her ankles. She had on some type of granny boot that should have looked ridiculous and instead suited her crazy outfit. The gypsy look was further embellished by gold hoops that hung from her small earlobes.

Jefferson found those turbulent eyes fixed on himself.

Coldly.

“Look, Mr. Haddon. I’m not a charity case. I lived with your aunt because she asked me to. She was lonely, I think, and gradually she developed a fondness for some of my charges. I think they provided some amusement for her when she couldn’t get out anymore.” Her glittering eyes reminded him of a cat’s when it was hissing with fury, ready to strike. “But I am not, I repeat not, going to live with you in that house, let alone marry you, just so I can get my hands on a hundred grand.”

She stared down her pert little nose at him, which would have been effective if she hadn’t had to tip her head back so far to meet his eyes. He wondered where she had learned the slang terms for money even as he appreciated the fact that she also had no intention of going along with Judith’s machinations.

Grinning, he held up one hand.

“No offense, Miss, er, uh-” Jefferson looked toward the lawyer to fill in the gap.

“Newton, Cassandra Newton,” she repeated, her voice seething with unspoken emotions.

Jefferson watched as she rolled her eyes upward and then closed them. She was whispering. Some kind of a prayer. He recognized the same habit his aunt had employed during his own rebellious youth. He listened unashamedly to her softly spoken words, a half smile on his mouth.

“God, I need some help here. I know you’re leading me and I’m trying to remember that this is Judith’s nephew, so for her sake I’ll try to be polite.” She sighed deeply, her shoulders rising. “But, Lord. You know I don’t tolerate egotistical, arrogant, spoiled brats very well.”

That said, she wheeled away toward the door, ignoring Jefferson as she spoke directly to Mr. Jones.

“Thank you for inviting me to hear the will, Mr. Jones. I appreciated Miss McNaughton’s help when she was alive, but I just can’t marry someone because she wanted me to.” She cast a disparaging look over Jefferson.

Especially not him, her turbulent sea green gaze seemed to say.

Mr. Jones thoughtfully stroked the snowy white beard that made him look like a jovial Santa Claus. He held on to the tiny hand she had offered, while silently contemplating her determined stance. Finally he spoke.

“You have two more months to live in the house before the will dictates that you must move out, Miss Newton. May I suggest that you stay there and use that time to sort out your plans for the future? In the meantime, Miss McNaughton has provided some funds for your living expenses.”

Jefferson watched as the woman accepted an envelope, which he assumed contained a cheque, from Jones. They spoke quietly together for a few moments before she left. Jefferson smiled as she deliberately ignored his presence.

Good! He had no desire to deal with some money grubbing female just now.

The next few hours were fraught with tension as he and the older man went over the legal documents several times. Finally Jefferson was forced to give up in defeat. There was little hope of breaking this will. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to, not really.

Aunt Judith had been the one person to whom he’d been able to run when life got rough during those difficult childhood years. She had always been ready to offer a shoulder, a handkerchief and a cookie when he desperately needed all three. She had been the calm mothering influence he had never found at home. She had also been tough and uncompromising when her mind settled on something. If Judith McNaughton wanted it, she invariably got it. Apparently she wanted to see him married.

“Mr. Jones, I have to tell you that this doesn’t fit in with my plans at all. Not at all.”

He fingered his mustache and considered the older man. There was nothing but courtesy and consideration in that lined face and Jefferson decided to explain his blueprint for the future.

“I have invested a substantial amount of money and a large of amount of time researching the possibilities of obtaining a surrogate mother and defining exactly what her rights in such an arrangement would be.”

“You want a child badly, Mr. Haddon.”

Jefferson nodded.

“I want a son. I’ve interviewed couples who have gone through the process and inspected the children produced from such a union. I’m satisfied that they seem normal healthy children with a parent who truly wants them.”

Mr. Jones coughed discreetly behind his hand, hiding his thoughts behind a large white handkerchief.

“And after this research you feel you have an idea of what you want?”

“I know exactly what I want in the mother of my son, Mr. Jones.” He enumerated the qualities for the lawyer. “Calm, rational, levelheaded, to name a few traits. Unemotional. A woman who won’t expect to be involved in my life other than in matters to do with my child in the first few months of his life.”

There was a gleam in the older man’s eyes that was extremely disconcerting.

“This hypothetical woman, then. You believe she will just calmly hand over her child and disappear? That the two of you would live happily ever after?”

Jefferson nodded.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want from the contract. A calm, rational agreement between two adults.” He barely heard the mumbled aside.

“Seems to me a woman would have to be very calm to agree to such a thing. Dead, in fact.” Mr. Jones shook his head slowly.

“I would make it worth her while,” Jefferson rushed in and then stopped, appalled at how the words sounded when you said them out loud.

His face flushed a deep red at the intensity of Jones’s scrutiny. Jefferson had always known he came from a family of wealth and prestige; tact and diplomacy were the rule. Never once had he been tempted to misuse his assets. But suddenly he wished he could spend a portion of his father’s overblown bank account to buy back those words, unsay them.

Lawyer Jones evidently felt the same way for he frowned, his wise blue eyes accusing in their scrutiny.

“But what about this woman? How long will you need her? What happens to her once the first few months of the baby’s life have passed and you no longer need her? Do you expect she will have no feelings for the child.that she’ll just disappear with cash in hand?”

When stated in those terms, Jefferson’s plan sounded arrogant; even slightly odious.

The older man snorted in disbelief.

“And.what if the child is a girl?”

Jefferson hadn’t thought about that.

“And what do you tell the child about his mother in ten or fifteen years?” the old man asked in a no-nonsense voice.

It was too much information overload, especially on a day when everything seemed out of sync.

“I don’t know. But I’m confident that I can handle whatever needs to be done.” Even now, Jefferson’s mind whirled with plans.

He had chosen a name for the boy. Breaking with eons of family tradition, Jefferson had decided his son would be named Robert, Bobby for short. It was all planned out, everything was in place. His lawyers had the financial details organized into a formal agreement.

“Mr. Jones, I merely require the right woman for my purpose. It will mean that my business plans for expansion will have to be shelved for the moment, but I feel it’s worth it.” Jefferson hoped the man understood that he would not be swayed by these trivial problems.

Willard T. Jones sat polishing his round spectacles, staring at them for a long solemn moment. When he finally glanced up, Jefferson caught a sparkle of amusement in the old man’s eyes.

“Well, Mr. Haddon. I’m sure you’ve thought about this long and hard. If I may, I’d like to offer a suggestion.”

Jefferson nodded.

“My advice is this. Put everything on hold. The issue of Miss McNaughton’s estate has yet to be settled and if you recall-” he smiled dryly “-your marital status may well change.”

“Oh, I don’t.”

“In six months’ time, the entire picture will look very different. I suggest you take the time necessary to think everything through. You might start with the estate.” Jones tipped back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling while speaking. “Judith Evelyn McNaughton was a cagey, stubborn old woman who went to the grave with a last-ditch effort to manipulate you into marriage. She specially chose Cassie Newton.”

Privately, Jefferson thought Judith’s latest bid for control of his future made all her other matchmaking attempts picayune by comparison.

“She knew how hard you’ve worked to make a success of your company. Just last month she was telling me of your need to expand your business. And of your need for more cash.”

Jefferson was startled by the words.

“I didn’t realize she had kept such close track of me while I’ve been out of the country,” he murmured, staring at his hands.

“She wanted you to have the means to expand.”

Jefferson grinned. “But only if I got it on her terms. Good old Judith.”

“The way I see it,” the older man continued, “she gave you two months’ grace. Think long and hard before you decide, my boy. Make very sure you won’t regret giving up the very things Judith wanted you to have.”

As he walked down the street, Jefferson Haddon shook his head at the ridiculous situation he found himself in. Memories, sharp and clear, tumbled around in his mind. He could still visualize Judith’s thin, severe face with that prim mouth pressed into a firm line as she bawled him out.

“One must always consider the other person, Jefferson. For in one way or another, whatever you do will affect him.”

That had been the time Freddie Hancock has socked Jefferson in the nose for saying Freddie’s mother was fat. Well, Jefferson grinned fondly, it was true. All the Hancocks had been fat. But Mrs. Hancock was enormous and when her arms wrapped around him in a hug, his eightyear-old body had been suffocated against her overflowing abundance.

He’d also been embarrassed. Aunt Judith had remonstrated with him on the social niceties before patting his hand gently.

“That’s the way many people show their affection for you, dear,” she had said. Her golden eyes had been sad. “I wish you would open up more. Most people just want to be friends. If you give them a chance, you will enjoy them.”

Needless to say, that had not been Jefferson’s experience. There were few opportunities for boyhood friends in the austere home his father maintained and very little free time to pursue such interests. There were even fewer people in Jefferson’s young life who had ever hugged him.

Aunt Judith had understood that. She had also been one of the few to whom he had granted that particular privilege. And as she gathered his gangly body against her thin, frail frame, he’d felt warm and cared for inside.

His mouth curved in remembrance.

Of course, Melisande Gustendorf had tried to hug him a number of times in those days. Usually when he was with the guys. Mel would sneak up behind them and wrap her arms around him. She was weird that way. And at twelve, what boy wants to be hugged in public by a girl?

Jefferson smiled fondly as he remembered the lesson about birds and bees that Aunt Judith had related when she heard about Melisande. Aunt Judith had never married; never had children. Explaining the details must have been embarrassing, but she had persevered until Jefferson’s every question had been answered. And then he had made darned good and sure Melisande never got within six feet of him!

His memories of Aunt Judith made him chuckle as he drove back to his penthouse apartment on the waterfront. Most of the time he was satisfied with the place. But today he felt hemmed in, constricted by his aloof tower.

“Dinky little rooms stuck way up in the sky,” Judith had scolded him constantly about his chosen lifestyle. “You live out of reach of people. Why, you can’t even touch God’s wonderful creation, the earth, without driving for twenty minutes.”

In a way, Judith was right. From his panoramic living room windows, he could see the city clothed in her glorious fall colors. By late October the leaves had all turned to vibrant oranges, brilliant reds and sunny yellows. Many had fallen, but there were still enough to create a picturesque view.

But it would take a while to drive to one of the reserves, park his car, and walk among the beauty.

“You should be out in the fresh air, chop a few logs when the weather gets crisp. A fire feels good in that stone fireplace when winter sets in.”

“But Aunt Judith, I have to be near my work.”

She had glared at him then and his eyes had dropped first.

“You know blessed well that your work could be conducted from anywhere. Why, these days some folks use a computer for everything. Don’t have to leave home to talk to people, shop or even go to the library.”

She had tapped her walking stick against the bricks of the patio, almost knocking over one of the pots of rusty orange chrysanthemums she always set out in the fall.

“Don’t hold with it myself. People need people. A body should have a time to work and a time to play. Too many folks taking their work wherever they go. And those danged cell phones.”

Jefferson grinned in remembrance.

“The blamed things always ring at the wrong time.” She had glared at him angrily as his own pealed out. “A body can’t have a decent conversation nowadays.”

At Judith’s estate, Jefferson knew there would be crunchy crisp leaves underfoot when you first stepped out the door. They would float down on the fall breeze, covering the vast expanse of lawns. A few pumpkins and some of the hardier vegetables would sit outside in the garden, and he could almost taste the ripe red crab apples weighing down slender trees in the orchard.

The decision was made without thinking and moments later, Jefferson found himself ensconced in his luxury sedan, hurrying toward Judith’s huge estate, aptly named Oak Bluff. Suddenly, he had a longing to see the old, sturdy brick house with its huge oak and maple trees standing guard around the circular driveway; to walk in the naturally wild terrain at the back of the grounds and feel the fresh air wash over him.

It was exactly as he remembered. Stately majestic and yet welcoming. The house stood firm against the elements, its pottery red brick and spotless white trim gleaming in the bright fall sunshine. Bennet had cleaned the debris off the walkway and the front lawns, but Jefferson knew there would be a thick carpet of crackling, wrinkled red and gold leaves just outside the back door.

He let himself into the house with the key Lawyer Jones had given him and dropped his overcoat on a hall table before glancing around. Richly polished oak paneling led the way into the library, his favorite room in the entire house.

Aunt Judith had a vast number of books, both old and new, crowded onto the shelves, carefully catalogued and indexed by subject, then author. Nestled into a nook on the far side, Jefferson knew there was a computer, printer and fax machine that Judith had frequently used. In one corner, under a window, stood the old desk her father had given as a birthday gift many years before. Its rolltop cover was closed now that the owner was gone. He brushed his hand over it fondly.

“Hello? Anyone home? Bennet?”

There was no answer. He wandered through to the patio.

The deck was littered here and there with golden yellow poplar leaves that whirled and wafted down on the delicate breeze. The redwood patio furniture was still out and since the afternoon was warm, Jefferson decided to sit outside until Mrs. Bennet returned. In his mind he could hear Judith’s voice as she fondly reminisced.

“No one can ever deny the power a home has on a family. It’s like an old friend. It wraps its arms around you and shields you from life’s problems while it draws people closer together.”

This was exactly like coming home, he thought, staring at the beauty around him. And it was nothing like the house he’d grown up in. This house was made for laughing children, a family, love. Suddenly, Jefferson wished he might raise his son here. When he had one, he reminded himself.

Obviously, Aunt Judith had wanted him to have that experience. But at what a price-married to someone he didn’t even know!

Voices from the garden area penetrated his musings and he got up to investigate. Down past the patio, a shortcut through the maze and Jefferson was almost across the lawns when he identified the happy laughing shouts of children.

“Chicken! I let you roll me.”

“No, you didn’t. I made you.”

“Ow! David! He pulled my braid.”

What were they doing here, he wondered? The estate was fenced but there were no nearby neighbours with children. At least none that he could recall. From the sounds quite a few people were present now. And they were having a riot on his aunt’s property.

“Can’t catch me.”

When he finally rounded what Judith had called the summerhouse, Jefferson Haddon III stopped dead in his tracks. There were at least ten of them, he decided. The oldest was no more than fifteen or sixteen. They were carrying the cornstalks from the side of the garden to the center, forming a huge cornstalk teepee while one person stood at the edge, arms outstretched to the sky.

“Autumn leeeves begin to faaall.”

At least the shrill voice had good volume, he decided, wincing at the wobbling pitch.

They all had jeans on, from the toddler holding another child’s hand, to the eldest who seemed intent on adding a few more stalks to the already monstrous heap. All except for one boy, the tallest of the group. He wore tight black pants that looked painted on, and a red checked shirt that hung way down his lean body.

Startled, Jefferson watched as the skinny one lit the teepee. In seconds there was a huge crackling bonfire in the center of his great aunt’s garden, and a pack of kids were dancing round and round, laughing happily.

“Ring around the rosy!”

Disgust and anger coursed through his veins as Jefferson watched the scene unfold They had no right to intrude, he fumed. No right at all. This was private property. For some reason the Bennets were not here, so these children were trespassing. They certainly didn’t have permission to light a fire.

Breaking into a run, Jefferson jogged across the lawn and through the black tilled soil of the garden to grab what he thought was the ringleader by his jacket.

“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded through clenched teeth and then sucked in a lungful of air as shimmering green eyes glittered out from a tousled mop of black hair.

“Having a wiener roast, Mr. Haddon. Want to join us?”

Cassie Newton stood grinning up at him as the children ran circles around them happily. She looked like a child herself in the bulky old coat and decrepit jeans. Her face was smudged with dirt and her blunt fingernails were filthy.

“Who are all these children?” he asked, ignoring the grin. “And what are they doing here?”

“They’re mine,” Cassie told him proudly. “And I already told you. We are going to roast wieners.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she hissed a warning up at him, green eyes flashing. “For the short time they have left here, this is their home and their party. And you will not spoil it, do you hear me?”

Sensing the tension surrounding them, most of the children had stopped their wild play and stood staring at the two adults facing each other.

Jefferson watched as the tall, skinny boy sporting the tight pants moved forward to stand protectively next to Cas sie. He topped her by a good ten inches and it was clear from his stance that he would take on anyone who challenged her.

Jefferson was flabbergasted.

“All of these children are yours?” His voice squeaked with surprise and he heard one of the kids snicker. He strove for control. His eyes moved over her assessingly. “How old are you, anyway?”

But she ignored him.

“David,” she addressed the young soldier at her side. “Would you please tell Mrs. Bennet that we’re ready. Then you could help her carry out the hot dogs and the hot chocolate.”

A sweet smile accompanied her words and Jefferson was surprised to see the sour-faced lad grin back good-naturedly before loping off to do her bidding.

She directed the rest of the children to arranging a picnic table that stood off under the trees, and finding wiener sticks. Satisfied that everyone was occupied, Cassie turned back to face him.

“I’m a foster mother,” she told him matter-of-factly. “The kids stay with me until the agency is able to find them families.” Her green eyes glimmered with mirth as she spied his Gucci shoes filling rapidly with rich black garden soil.

“You’re not really dressed for this,” she observed, eyeing his pure wool slacks, black vest and once pristine white shirt. “Perhaps you should wait inside until I am finished if you wish to speak to me.”

Jefferson seethed at the dismissing tone of this-this interloper. So she thought she could reject him so easily? He grabbed her arm as she turned away. His eyes opened wide as she turned on him like a fiery virago, ramrod stiff in the filthy garments.

“Mr. Haddon, you will let go of me. You will not create a scene to spoil our day. You will return to the house and wait there.”

Her voice was as crisp as a fresh fall apple and he found himself turning to obey her militarylike orders before he realized what he was doing and turned back.

“Just a minute here,” he protested, angry that she had him dancing to her tune. He pointed to the fire.

“You cannot let that thing rage away. What if it got out of control? The city has bylaws, you know.”

The urchin before him drew herself to her full height, which Jefferson figured was maybe a hair over five feet, before deigning to speak. When she did, her resentment was clear.

“I am in charge here, Mr. Haddon. If I need help I can call on Bennet. But I won’t.” Her hands clasped her hips and he couldn’t help but notice the way her hair tossed itself into silky disarray around her face. “And for your information, I have a permit to burn.”

Jefferson shook his head. He refused to be deterred. Someone had to protect Judith’s wonderful old estate.

“Bennet’s nowhere to be seen. Fat lot of help he’d be.”

She refused to answer him, her full lips pursed tightly. Instead, one grubby fist pointed toward the shed in the corner of the garden. Jefferson saw a man leaning against the side, watching them.

“We’ll manage, Mr. Haddon. You’d better go before you ruin those designer duds completely.”

Jefferson almost choked. The stately old butler Aunt Judith had insisted wear a black pinstripe suit coat and spotless white shirt stood clad in a red flannel shirt and tattered overalls with a filthy felt hat on his silver hair.

Jefferson whirled around to speak to Cassie but she ignored him as she dealt with one of the children’s requests. When the little girl had toddled away, he tried a more conciliatory approach.

“My name is Jefferson,” he told her softly, intrigued by a woman who would don such unsightly clothes to stand in the center of a dirty garden with a pack of homeless kids for a wiener roast in late autumn.

She whirled to face him, having obviously forgotten his presence.

“What?” Her voice was far away, lost in some never land.

“My name is Jefferson.” He told her again, more clearly this time.

That sent her big green eyes searching his for something. He didn’t know exactly what, but evidently she was satisfied. Moments later she moved forward to help Mrs. Bennet set out the food. He thought he heard her clear tones whisper softly through the crisp air.

“Goodbye, Jeff.”

As he watched her walk away with that energetic bounce to her step he was coming to recognize, Jefferson tossed the sound through his mind several times.

Jeff. Jeff, he said to himself. He’d never had a nickname before, not with his father’s strict adherence to family traditions. At boarding school he’d always been Jefferson or Jefferson William.

Jeff.

He liked it. A smile flickered across his sober face. He had never been to a wiener roast, either. Perhaps it was time he broadened his horizons. So that he could teach Bobby, he told himself.

He strode back to Judith’s house with anticipation as his companion. The boy, David, was just coming out and looked suspiciously at him before moving aside at the door. He avoided Jeffs eyes, striding quickly past, obviously eager to join the group in the garden.

“David,” Jefferson called after him. The boy stopped, unsure. Finally he turned around, angling a questioning black eyebrow up at the older man.

“What?” His voice was sullen.

“I need to change clothes. Do you know where there are some old things I can borrow?” Jeff ignored his petulant expression.

They stood facing each other for long moments, searching brown eyes scrutinizing him steadily, before David nodded. Moving into the house, he stopped to let Jeff remove his dirty shoes.

“Mrs. Bennet will skin you ‘live if you track that dirt through the house,” he ordered, his tone smugly superior.

As they marched the length of the upstairs hallway, Jeff noticed that every room seemed to be occupied. It was odd. He’d been here hundreds of times before and no one had ever occupied the second floor.

Other than Judith.

They finally stopped at the linen closet at the far end of the hall. The boy tugged out a cardboard box and began pulling things out.

“Here, you can wear these,” the kid offered, measuring Jefferson’s body mentally before choosing his attire.

Jefferson winced at the ragged denim shirt and much patched jeans that were proffered from a box that had undoubtedly come from the Goodwill center. There was very little to commend the shabby articles except that they would save his own clothes from stains the black garden soil would inflict.

“You can change in my room if you want,” David suggested hesitantly.

“Thank you very much.” Jefferson kept his tone properly appreciative, considering this was half his house. David stood staring out the window while he slipped out of his pants and into the rags.

“Why do you have your own room?” Jefferson asked curiously, having already noticed two beds in each of the other bedrooms.

The boy’s head swung round, his grin wide.

“Cassie says a guy who’s sixteen should have some privacy. So I get to have my own room. I never had that before.” His serious brown eyes stared at Jefferson. “In most of the foster places we don’t have half the fun we have here.” His solemn face brightened.

“Cassie says this is a fun stop on the highway of life. While we’re here we get to do lots of neat things. Like the bonfire.” His eager eyes inspected Jefferson from head to stockinged feet. “There’s some old boots in the back porch,” he said softly. His dark head tipped to one side, anxiously waiting.

“Are you just about ready? They’re gonna be cooking the hot dogs soon an’ I’m starved.”

Jefferson nodded and they went down the stairs together. Well, sort of together. The boy bounded down happily in front, eager to rejoin the fray.

Jefferson slipped on the boots slowly, mulling over the child’s explanation. If he understood correctly, this boy was in limbo. Waiting. And while he was here, that woman, Cassie Newton, made the time seem like a holiday. It was a curious occupation; one he didn’t understand. What did she get out of it?

They walked toward the others, David half running until he stopped suddenly. Wheeling around, he asked, “Are you going to live here, too?”

Jefferson paused, head tilted, wondering how to answer.

“I’m not sure yet,” he hedged finally. “Why?”

“Just wondering what we’re s’posed to call you,” David mumbled, turning away.

Jefferson reached out impulsively, pulling at the boy’s sleeve.

“My name is Jeff.” The rest died away as the teenager bounded toward the others, yelling as he went.

“This is my friend Jeff,” he bellowed to the assembled throng. That settled, he got to the matters at hand. “I’m having four hot dogs.”

They crowded around Cassie eagerly as she handed out wieners and sticks to the younger ones first, then the older children. To his credit, David waited until the last for his portion, Jeff noticed. He took his own place behind the patient boy and only belatedly wondered if there would be enough of everything for the adults to share in the feast.

He would have backed away then, but Cassie thrust a stick and a wiener at him.

“Slumming, Jeff?” she asked, one eyebrow quirked upward expressively. There it was again, he mused, that shortened form of his name. To his amazement, he found that he enjoyed hearing it on her lips. He was even starting to think of himself as Jeff, he decided.

He ignored the hint of sarcasm and threaded the wiener on the stick crossways. It didn’t look very secure and he wondered how long it would stay on.

Evidently, Cassie Newton was mentally posing the same question for she reluctantly took the items from his clumsy hands and patiently demonstrated the fine art of roasting hot dogs.

“You have to do it like this,” she instructed, pushing the meat on lengthwise. “Otherwise it will fall off when it begins to cook.”

Her eyes took in his curious outfit then, widening in surprise as she focused on the sizable tear above his left knee. She forwent the obvious comment and, with a grin, turned to skewer a hotdog for herself before moving toward the fire.

Jeff followed her, wishing he’d had this experience before. Feeling totally inept and out of place, he watched carefully, noticing the way she turned and twisted the stick to get each part of the meat cooked. He tried to follow suit but after several minutes, Cassie’s wiener looked golden brown and plumply delicious while his was shriveled and covered with black spots. Even the youngest child in the group had done better than he.

“Good for you, Missy. That looks great!” She praised the littlest imp with a glowing smile.

Jeff decided he liked the way her face lit up when one of the children teased her. A softening washed over her clear skin as she spoke to each. She didn’t talk down to them, he noted, and she didn’t boss. Cassie Newton treated each child as an adult person, entitled to her full attention. And as she listened to their little stories and jokes, Jefferson sensed her pleasure in them.

“We’re very happy to have you here, sir.” It was Bennet, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he bit into his own food. “Miss Judith used to say that sweet dill relish was what made the difference between a really good hot dog and a great one.”

Jeff smiled while his brain screeched to a halt. Aunt Judith had done this? Joined in a wiener roast in the garden? Stiff and stern Aunt Judith who wouldn’t tolerate a speck of dirt under seven-year-old fingernails?

He could hardly imagine such a thing. His curious eyes moved over the assembled throng.

It was like watching a huge family, he mused. Something like Norman Rockwell would have painted and totally unreal. He munched on the liberally ketchuped, but still charred, hot dog and thought about the curiously vibrant woman laughing down at seven wildly active children.

That Cassie managed all this with children who weren’t her own was wonder enough. But when you considered that they were children who were here for a short duration only, the bond she managed to create was amazing.

He wondered how she had achieved such a rapport with them even as a tinge of jealousy wove through his mind. He wanted, no, he dreamed, of having such a relationship with his own children.

Just then the real-life Norman Rockwell portrait happened right before his eyes. A little boy, no more than five, tucked his hand into Cassie’s and proceeded to tug her behind him to the lush green grass beyond the garden. On one end, it was covered with a pile of red and gold leaves in various stages of drying. As Jeff watched, they took turns tossing handfuls of the vibrantly colored foliage over each other, giggling merrily as the leaves stuck to their hair and their clothes. The picture stayed in his mind, clear and bright long after the game ended.

A whole new plan began to form in his mind.

One that involved the son he had longed for.

One that involved the petite dark-haired woman, industriously swiping at the mustard stain on the mouth of one of her charges.

One that involved Judith’s extensive estate and the money she’d wanted him to have.

Jefferson William Haddon III sipped his hot chocolate and thought about that idea.

A lot.

Yes, he decided at last. It might just be workable. As long as he kept his mind focused on the long term plan: A business that stretched around the globe and a son to leave it to.