Apprentice Father (10 page)

“It was a bad dream, honey. It's over now.” A shudder rippled through her, and he tightened his grasp. “Everything's okay now.”

“It—it wasn't her fault.” She continued as if he hadn't spoken.

“I know. Your mommy didn't do anything wrong.”

“No.” She gave her head an emphatic shake. “M-my dream wasn't about Mommy. It was about Cate.”

Shock rippled through Clay, and he backed off a fraction to scrutinize Emily's face. “Are you sure you were dreaming about Cate?”

“Yes. It was about the mean man who yelled at her in the parking lot today. He looked really mad. I—I was afraid he was going t-to hit her.”

Clueless, Clay tried to make sense of Emily's story. Cate hadn't mentioned anything unusual about the day. She'd told him she'd spent most of it packing for the move to the small house he'd rented. But then again, she hadn't talked a whole lot to him since the day he'd taken her hand while she sat on this very couch. She'd been skittish in his presence, and she no longer lingered in the evening to exchange news of the day, as she once had.

“Are you sure this really happened, Emily?” Clay probed.

“Yes. At the grocery store. The cart started to roll away and it almost hit that man's car. Cate stopped it, but he got mad anyway. It wasn't her fault.”

The story was credible enough to merit checking out, Clay decided. But first he needed to calm Emily's fears.

“I'm sure it wasn't, honey. And everything's fine now. Didn't you come home after that and bake cookies?” He managed a smile as he touched the tip of her nose.

“Uh huh. Oatmeal.” She sniffled and gripped his hand. “That man made me think about D-Daddy. He's not coming back, is he?”

“No, Emily, he's not. He won't ever bother you again.” Clay had been in regular touch with the Omaha police department. They'd found the man's abandoned car a few days after he'd disappeared, the children's car seats still in place, but they'd had no luck yet tracking him down. Once they did find him, however, he'd be thrown into a hole for the rest of his life. And he could rot there, as far as Clay was concerned.

Reassured, Emily relaxed against him. “I like you as a daddy much better.”

Warmth flooded Clay's heart as he stood to carry her back to the bedroom. And when she wrapped her thin arms around his neck, the same protective instinct he'd once felt for Anne came bubbling to the surface. A lump rose in his throat as he recalled his sweet, gentle sister. From the time she was a little girl, he'd wanted to shield her from harm's way, to keep her safe.

In the end, he'd failed her.

But he didn't intend to fail her children.

 

The ringing of the phone pulled Cate out of a deep sleep, and she squinted at the clock, trying to focus. Eleven-fifteen. Not good. Late calls meant emergencies.

She checked her caller ID, and her pulse went into a staccato beat as she snatched the phone from her nightstand. “Clay? What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry to bother you at this hour. Were you asleep?”

“It doesn't matter. What's wrong?”

“Emily had another meltdown. A nightmare this time.”

Struggling to a sitting position, Cate pushed her hair back from her face. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah. I got her settled and put back to bed.”

“Okay. Good.” Cate took a deep breath and leaned back against the headboard. “Don't be too concerned, Clay. Considering all they've been through, I'm surprised they haven't both had more problems with nightmares. The memories of their volatile situation at home are imbedded in their subconscious. They're bound to come through in dreams now and then.”

“This nightmare wasn't about their former life. It was about you. That's why I called. She said there was some kind of incident today at the grocery store?”

Surprise arched Cate's eyebrows. “I knew she was upset, but I thought we'd gotten past that.”

“What happened?”

“It was no big deal. I lost control of the cart for a moment. A passing motorist was more than a little peeved when it came within inches of his very expensive car, and he let me know that in no uncertain terms. Emily witnessed it, but Josh was already in the car.”

“The guy didn't threaten you, did he?”

The quiet menace in his question took her by surprise. He sounded as if he'd punch the guy out, given the chance. “No. I'm fine, Clay. There was never any danger.”

“Okay.” He expelled a breath. “Sorry I bothered you.”

“It was no bother. I appreciate your concern.”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Outside Cate's open window, a distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the air, signaling the approach of unsettled weather.

Clay cleared his throat. “Look, Cate, about the other day—the hand thing. I've been trying to find an opportunity to bring it up, but you're always with the kids. Anyway, I know it made you uncomfortable, and I wanted to apologize for that. I'd like
to get things between us back to where they were before. If that means hands off for now, so be it. I've got plenty of distractions anyway, with a custody battle looming. But the truth is, I like you—a lot. And once the situation with Josh and Emily is resolved, we need to talk.”

She should have known he'd bring up their relationship eventually, Cate reflected in dismay. Clay was a forthright man who went after what he wanted with single-minded determination, no matter the obstacles. His custody fight was a good example of that.

But he'd been honest from the beginning about his aversion to committed relationships, and he'd already taken on more of those than he'd ever planned. He didn't need another one. Besides, she wasn't in the market for romance. Those were formidable hurdles even a tenacious man like Clay would have a hard time overcoming.

“There isn't anything to talk about, Clay.”

“Sorry. I don't buy that. I'm not the playboy my father paints me to be, but I've dated my share of women. And unless my instincts are way off base, I think you're as interested in me as I am in you.”

“Interest and inclination are two different things.”

She could hear the frown in his voice when he responded. “You want to explain that?”

“Look, you have enough on your plate right now with the custody fight, okay? Don't look for more problems.”

“I don't consider you a problem.”

“That's a mistake. Trust me.” The thunder rumbled again, closer now, and she forged ahead without giving him the opportunity to refute her statement. “Besides, we're very different people who want different things out of life.”

“I'm not sure that's as true as it once was.”

“I'm not willing to take that risk, Clay.”

The silence on the line confirmed her suspicion that he was still not comfortable with the notion of commitment. While his willingness to assume responsibility for the children was a good sign, it didn't mean he was ready to pledge his life to a woman. Even if there were no other impediments to exploring a relationship, Clay's unsettled existence and uncertain future were major red flags.

But her experience with her ex-boyfriend was also a reason for her to step back. She'd come to believe he cared for her despite her disability, too. And she didn't intend to make that mistake again.

“I get your message, Cate.” Clay interrupted her thoughts, his tone troubled. “And I don't blame you for your caution, given the situation. I'll tell you what. Why don't we table a discussion of personal matters until the custody issue is settled? That will give us both a chance to think things through and give me time to get my act together.”

A flash of lightning illuminated the dark sky outside her window, turning night into day as it bathed the world in brilliance. But the burst of brightness didn't last.

Just like her experience of love, Cate thought with a bittersweet pang.

“All I'm asking for is some time, Cate.”

At Clay's husky plea, she closed her eyes, squeezing back the sudden tears that clouded her vision—and her judgment. She shouldn't give him false hope. Her mind was clear on that particular point. But her heart refused to listen.

“Okay. Let's let it rest for a while.”

“I'm good with that.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Now get some sleep.”

But as the line went dead, Cate knew that was a lost cause.

“W
hat the…” Clay turned into the driveway of the two-bedroom house he'd rented after his consultation with Mark two weeks ago and surveyed the scene.

Cate had offered to meet him here this morning to help unpack and get the children settled, so he'd expected to find her waiting for him on this balmy late-May Saturday. But he hadn't expected to find her father cutting the grass. Or Mark, up in the big oak tree out back, hanging a swing as Michelle directed his efforts from below. Or her mother setting out a picnic lunch on a portable table. Or Pop filling a neglected planter with flowers. Or Rob repairing the broken gate that led to the back yard.

The entire Shepard clan had shown up to help him move in.

He was dumfounded.

“There's Pop!” Josh exclaimed. “Hi, Pop!” he called through the open truck window, his vigorous wave communicating his excitement.

The older man smiled and waved back as Cate stepped out the front door. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the simple style revealing the classic planes of her face and remind
ing Clay of the
Swan Lake
picture. She was dressed in blue-jean shorts and an oversized T-shirt and was carrying a mop.

As Clay set the brake, Rob swung open the back door of the extended cab and reached up to help the children out.

“Morning, Clay.” He grinned and gave a thumbs up. “Nice house. The kids will love it.”

“Thanks.”

As he opened his own door and stepped down, Cate joined him, her green eyes sparking with excitement. “Surprise!”

“I'll say. What's going on?”

“Everyone wanted to help.”

“Why?”

She tilted her head. “Moving isn't easy. And many hands make light work, as they say.”

“But they hardly know me.”

“The good Samaritan didn't know the injured stranger, either. Helping those in need is the Christian thing to do. My family has always been like this. When I was sick, they were constantly around.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “But didn't you sometimes feel like you were being…smothered…by all that attention?”

“No. I felt loved.” She regarded him in silence for a moment, and when she continued her tone was more subdued. “I can ask everyone to finish up and head out if this is too much of a crowd for you.”

Planting his fists on his hips, Clay tried to assess his reaction. Why was he unsettled by Cate's family turning out to lend a hand? After all, he needed all the help he could get. He should be grateful. Yet for some reason the scene created an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach.

“No. It's okay. I must sound like an ingrate.”

“My family
can
be a little overwhelming.” Cate shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts and took a step back. “Come on inside. Mom and I have the place pretty spic and span already.”

Leaving him by the truck, she headed for the front door.

As he trailed behind her, trying to decipher his uneasy reaction to the Shepards' generosity, a conversation he overhead as he passed Pop filling the planter with seedlings gave him his answer.

“Why are they wilted?” Josh asked.

“Because they've been moved too much.” Pop carefully tucked a small plant into the soil. “Flowers need to stay in one place and be tended by someone who loves them. Then the roots spread out and grow strong, and they can withstand any storm that comes along.”

All his life, Clay had thought of roots as chains. Pop saw them as an anchor, as a positive force that protected and nurtured and strengthened. Without roots, flowers wilted and shriveled and died.

It was a whole different concept of roots.

And he had to admit it held a certain appeal.

But it was also scary.

Yet whether he wanted them or not, Clay had roots now, thanks to the children. As Mark had pointed out, if he hoped to convince the court he was a fit guardian he was going to have to settle in one place. And once you did that, you began to form relationships. With neighbors. With coworkers. With church members.

Perhaps even with a special woman.

And those relationships brought responsibilities. Obligations. Risk.

Pain.

That's why he was uncomfortable with today's scenario, he concluded. It implied belonging. Connections. Closeness. All the things that reeked of commitment.

He'd done a good job avoiding that for his entire adult life. But things had changed when two little children had been thrust into his hands and stolen his heart. When a lovely woman had slipped into his life and forced him to rethink his long-held notions about commitments. When he'd started attending church and been exposed to a loving God who, he was told, wanted a relationship with him. And when a simple meal with Cate's family had drawn him into their fold.

That's why he was anxious.

All of those relationships were beginning to undermine his resolve to keep his distance.

And there didn't seem to be a thing he could do to shore it up.

 

Clay had finished collecting the dirty clothes and was weaving his way toward the washing machine through the boxes of new dishes and still-to-be-unpacked personal items when a startled cry of pain filtered in through the open window.

Josh.

Dropping the clothes in the middle of the living room, Clay took off at a sprint. It wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning, and they'd only been in the house a week. Already the toilet had overflowed; a backed-up gutter had sent a sheet of water cascading down the front window—which leaked; and the microwave had died. Now what?

As Clay closed the distance between him and the children, his pulse skyrocketed. Josh was sitting on the ground, crying. Emily was hovering beside him. And there was blood on Josh's face.

Lots of blood.

Clay dropped to the ground beside the children, and Emily looked at him tearfully. “Josh f-falled off the swing.”

Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, Clay lifted the
little boy's chin with a gentle finger, struggling to control his panic. “Let me see, Josh.”

It didn't take him long to discover the source of the blood—a nasty gash an inch-and-a-half long on the youngster's chin that would need stitches.

After pressing his handkerchief to the cut, Clay gave the boy a quick but thorough scrutiny, gently probing his scalp. “Does anything else hurt, Josh?”

“N-no.”

“Okay.” Clay gathered him in his arms and ushered the children toward his truck. “We're going to have to let the doctor fix you up.”

Josh's chin quivered. “Can Cate come?”

Both children gave him a hopeful look.

He wished she could. If she was with them, the kids would be calmer during the ordeal to come. And so would he. But he was doing his best not to call her on weekends. “This is her day off, Josh.”

“Off from what?”

Good question. As far as the kids were concerned, she was part of their family, not a paid day care provider. And he was beginning to think of her that way, too.

“She has to have some time to do things for herself,” Clay replied, avoiding the question. “I'll tell you what. After we're done, why don't we go out for hamburgers and French fries?” The fast-food treat was becoming his fallback after difficult situations, Clay realized. But, hey, whatever worked.

“Okay, I guess. But it would be better if Cate came.”

Clay could only agree.

 

Four hours later—after an interminable wait in the emergency room; after ten gut-clenching minutes while Josh clung to his
hand, whimpering in fear and pain as the doctor numbed his chin and put in a neat row of six stitches; and after enduring half an hour in a fast-foot outlet populated by noisy, hyperactive children—Clay pulled into their driveway, feeling more weary and overwhelmed than he had since the long, dark, solitary ride to Omaha for Anne's funeral.

He set the brake and checked on the children. Josh's head was drooping, and Emily was struggling to keep her eyes open. They all needed a nap after their trying morning. The laundry and grass-cutting could wait.

As Clay fitted the key in the lock and stepped inside, the aroma of burnt—or worse, burning—food greeted him. The lasagna, he concluded. Cate had made it last week, and with the microwave out of commission, she'd left instructions to heat three portions at a low temperature in the oven. He'd put it in shortly before Josh's accident and forgotten about it in the ensuing rush to the hospital.

After easing Josh onto the couch, he wove through the booby-trapped living room and headed toward the kitchen. At least there wasn't any smoke, he noted in relief. But the smell was more pronounced in here.

Grabbing a towel, he opened the oven door.

Now he had smoke. Plenty of it. A billow surged out, and he waved the towel at it as the smoke alarm went off. Clay ignored the piercing whistle and pulled the lasagna from the oven, coughing as he deposited it on the counter and lifted a corner of the foil to peek in.

From the charred mess inside, it was obvious something had gone very wrong.

Leaving the smoldering pan on the counter, he retrieved Cate's instructions. Her neat script said to heat the lasagna at two
hundred and fifty degrees for several hours. That was what he'd done. Wasn't it?

A quick check of the dial on the oven told him otherwise. With a sinking feeling, he saw that he'd misread the worn knob and set it at four hundred and fifty.

He was still flapping a towel at the raucous smoke alarm when Emily tugged urgently at his sleeve.

“There's somebody at the door,” she shouted at him.

“Okay.” As the smoke alarm fell silent, he wiped his forehead with his bloody handkerchief and picked his way through the living room. Josh was sprawled on the couch, sound asleep, his complexion pale beneath the large, unwieldy gauze pad the nurse had taped to his jaw. Clay shook his head. Amazing.

Emily hung back as he opened the door to reveal a middle-aged woman dressed in a tailored, navy blue suit. Her gaze dropped to the bloody handkerchief in his hand, and he stuffed it back into his pocket as his neck grew warm.

“Mr. Adams?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Martha Douglas from the Division of Family Services. I've here for a home visit.”

Several beats of silence ticked by as he stared at her. This had to be an episode from
The Twilight Zone.

But no. The woman on the other side of the door was all too real.

His first instinct was to shut the door in her face—a reaction he quashed at once. That would do nothing to help his case.

Yet neither would the scene on the other side of the door.

He was wedged between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Faced with two bad options, there was only one possible choice. He forced himself to swing the door open.

“Come in, Ms. Douglas. We've had a rather trying morning.
Josh fell off the swing and cut his chin. We spent four hours in the emergency room, and the kids are pretty worn out.”

Instead of responding, or offering the reassurance he was hoping for, the woman simply stepped inside. She smiled at the little girl hovering behind Clay.

“You must be Emily.”

Emily gave Clay an uncertain look, and he somehow managed to force his lips into the semblance of a smile. “This is Ms. Douglas. She came to visit for a little while. Say hello.”

“Hello,” Emily parroted in a soft voice.

“That's a very pretty shirt,” the woman told her. “Pink is one of my favorite colors.”

“I brought this from Omaha.”

“Omaha is a nice place.”

“I like it better here.”

Clay let out the breath he was holding.
Thank you, God!

“Washington is nice, too. Is that your brother over there?” She gestured toward the couch, which had been delivered yesterday and was still covered in plastic. Josh continued to sleep.

“Yes. He falled off the swing and cut his chin.”

“I see that. Have you had lunch yet?”

“Uh huh. We got hamburgers and French fries. And I had a milkshake.” She named the fast-food outlet.

Clay cringed. Not good.

“I figured they deserved a treat after the morning we had,” he offered. “We don't eat fast food, as a rule.”

“Do you cook, Mr. Adams?” The woman's expression was placid and unreadable.

“A little. The woman who cares for the children shops for me and often makes casseroles for us. I'm afraid I burnt her lasagna this morning. I put it in the oven to heat and set the dial too high.
When we got home it was pretty charred. This is our first week in the house and I'm not familiar with the appliances.”