Sweet Sanctuary (2 page)

“Good boy.”

Lydia had done a fine job with Nicky. He was articulate, obviously bright, polite, and kindhearted—a wonderful little boy. For the second time Micah warned himself:
Be careful.

Nicky reached out and grabbed Micah's hand, tugging. “Come on, Micah. I'll take you to Grammy and Poppy.”

Micah rose slowly, his knees popping.

Nicky smirked. “Poppy's legs do that, too. But you're not old like Poppy.”

Micah certainly felt old some days. But somehow this child had lightened his heart, taking years away. He smiled, sending Nicky a wink. “Let me give you a word of advice there, partner,” he said as the boy led him toward the stairs. “Don't tell your poppy he's old. Most folks don't like to be reminded of that.”

Nicky's shoulders lifted in a carefree shrug. “Okay.” He released Micah's hand to scamper up the steps. Micah followed more slowly, using the hand rail. Nicky waited beside the door, clutching the door handle and bouncing on his toes while he
waited for Micah to catch up. But before Nicky could turn the knob, the door was pulled open from the inside, and framed in the doorway stood Nicky's mother.

Micah stopped, one foot on the last riser and one on the porch floor, as Lydia's gaze met his. She scowled momentarily, as if trying to place something, and then her jaw dropped in shock. Her hand flew to her chest and color climbed her cheeks.

Micah took the final step onto the porch, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Hello, Lydia.”

2

M
M-Micah?” Lydia stared, unable to believe she wasn't imagining his presence. On the island of Oahu four years ago, this man had flooded her dreams, but when she'd left the army base she'd assumed she would never see him again. What brought him to Boston? How had he found her?

“That's right,” Nicky chirped, swinging his arms and smiling up at his mother. “He's Micah. And he's my friend. Micah-my-friend. And he talks lahke thee-us.”

Though aware of Nicky's words, Lydia felt strangely distanced from them. She placed a trembling hand on her son's head, her gaze never wavering from Micah's. “That's nice, Nicky.”

Micah took another step forward. “May I come in?”

“What? Oh! Yes, certainly.” Lydia stepped back, heat searing her face. She gestured jerkily for him to enter. “Please . . . come in.”

Nicky darted through the long corridor, calling, “Grammy! Poppy! We have comp'ny!” The child disappeared around a bend, and Micah looked after him, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Lydia used two hands to close the door and stood with her
palms pressed against the solid wood, hoping to gain strength from the sturdy oak. If she were to make a list of the people least likely to show up on her doorstep, Dr. Micah Hatcher would top the list. Having him so near, after the years that had passed since they'd worked together at Schofield Station Hospital, completely disoriented her. Her knees quaked. Her body tingled with awareness. And her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Which was just as well, because she had no idea what to say.

She turned to find Micah waiting patiently behind her, hands still in his pockets, his face expressionless. “I suppose you knew I'd come.”

Lydia frowned. What did he mean? Before she could phrase a response, her father appeared at the end of the corridor and strode quickly toward them, his hand extended to Micah.

“Dr. Hatcher?”

Father's bearing—chin raised, shoulders square, eyes slightly narrowed and gleaming with arrogance—cowed most people. But Micah didn't shrink. He grasped Father's hand. “That's correct.”

“I am Allan Eldredge, Lydia's father. It was good of you to come.” He kept his chin raised, peering at Micah in the superior manner Lydia knew well.

Micah raised one sardonic eyebrow. “You didn't give me much choice.”

Lydia looked from one man to the other, questions racing through her mind. Choice? What was Micah intimating?

“Let's step into my den.” Her father glanced at her. “Lydia, have your mother prepare some tea.” He turned back to Micah. “Or do you prefer something stronger?”

Micah shook his head. “Don't bother on my account. I don't need anything, thank you.”

“Very well.” Father lifted a hand, indicating a wide doorway to the left of the corridor. “Then let's get better acquainted.”

Lydia tried to follow, but her father abruptly closed the pocket doors in her face. She considered opening them, demanding to be included, but she decided she wasn't up to an argument. Sighing, she turned and headed to the kitchen, where she found Nicky at the table, swinging his feet and chomping an oatmeal cookie. Her mother hovered uncertainly behind him, a glass of milk in her hand. When Lydia entered, Lavinia Eldredge placed the milk on the table in front of Nicky and busied herself with some cut flowers on the dry sink. Lydia knew she'd get no information from her mother, assuming she knew anything.

“Hi, Mama!” Nicky's cupid's mouth was ringed with crumbs. “Do you lahke Micah, too?”

Oh yes, at one time she'd liked Micah. To the point of infatuation. But she wouldn't admit it. She seated herself next to Nicky and reached for his foot, bringing it up to rest on her knee and tying the loose shoelace. “So you made a friend, huh?”

Nicky nodded, a grin lighting his sweet face. “Micah-my-friend. He's nice, Mama. He said I'm just right 'cause my feet reach the ground. And Buggy is prob'ly with his mama being glad I didn't put him in a shoebox.”

Nicky and his whims of imagination. Lydia couldn't follow the little boy's line of talk, but she nodded anyway. She rested her chin in her hand, watching fondly as Nicky finished his snack. Her mind carried her backward to the last time she'd seen Dr. Micah Hatcher.

Under the sun on idyllic Oahu, standing beside the Pineapple Express . . . He hadn't spoken to her as she'd waited to board the train. She hadn't spoken either, caught up in worry about Eleanor. As much as she'd admired Micah and wanted his attention, she hadn't sought it that day. And she wasn't
certain she should seek it now, even though he was only a few yards away.

Voices exploded from the den. Mother turned from the sink, her fingers covering her mouth. Nicky sat up straight. His head turned toward the sound. Then he gave Lydia a worried look. “Mama, Poppy is yelling at Micah-my-friend.”

How odd Nicky would express loyalty to a man he'd only just met rather than the grandfather who had helped raise him, but then Lydia listened again and understood. It wasn't angry
voices
they were hearing, but only
one
angry voice—Allan Eldredge's.

Nicky jumped up as if to run to the hall, but Lydia caught him and eased him back into the chair. “Stay here, Nicky.”

Mother crossed to the table and placed her hands on the boy's shoulders. “Yes, Nicky, stay here with Grammy. Finish your milk. Micah and Poppy will be fine—men are just noisy sometimes.”

Nicky looked up at his grandmother, his expression innocent. “Like boys are noisy, Grammy?”

“Yes, my little noisemaker, like boys are noisy.” Mother smiled and bestowed a kiss on the crown of Nicky's head. “Your mama will make sure they quiet down,” she added, giving Lydia a meaningful look.

Lydia rose and hurried to the pocket doors, but she jumped back as they burst open and Father charged into the corridor. His neck and cheeks were mottled, his jaw clenched. The question on Lydia's lips remained unasked in light of the rage on her father's face. She swung her gaze to Micah, who looked equally grim. Father kept his back to Micah, his arms crossed, the anger palpable.

Micah spoke to Father's stiff back. “Mr. Eldredge, I appreciate your concern. But you must understand this situation is between Lydia and me. She and I will need to be allowed to find the solution.”

Lydia looked from one man to the other, hoping for a clue. What kind of situation existed between Micah and herself? She hadn't seen the man for over three years.

Father whirled, his finger pointing at Micah, but before he could speak, Nicky came racing down the corridor with Mother on his heels. He slid to a stop and wrapped his arms around his grandfather's knees. Nicky's bangs flopped across his forehead as he peered upward. “Poppy, I heard you yelling. Why were you being so noisy?”

Father looked down at the boy, and his expression softened. He cupped the back of Nicky's head with a tender hand. “Did I frighten you?”

Nicky nodded, his little forehead puckered. “You yelled at Micah.”

A brief look passed between the men. They seemed to reach a silent agreement to do whatever necessary to prevent upsetting the little boy. Father stroked Nicky's tousled hair. “I'm sorry, Nicky. Poppy is a big man, and sometimes big men make big sounds. But I won't yell anymore.”

Micah crouched to Nicky's level, a warm smile lighting his eyes. He was obviously touched by Nicky's concern, and Lydia's heart lifted as she watched him interact with her son. Placing a hand on Nicky's small back, Micah said, “I won't yell either, partner. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nicky grinned and then released Father's knees to turn and lean backward against his poppy's sturdy frame.

Micah rose, his gaze on Lydia. The warmth in his expression drained away. “We need to talk.” The quiet tone seemed ominous.

A prickle of trepidation made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She swung her confused gaze on her father.

Father, his hands now on Nicky's shoulders, jerked his head in the direction of the door. “I suggest you take a walk.”

Nicky angled his head nearly upside down as he tried to see his grandfather's face. “Can I go, too?”

“No, you stay with me,” Father said.

“But I want to take a walk with Micah-my-friend.”

Micah reached out and lightly tapped the end of Nicky's nose with one finger. “Tell you what, partner. I'll take a walk with your mama first, and then when I get back, I'll take a walk with you. Sound good?”

“You and me take a walk alone?” Nicky's wide brown eyes begged.

Micah glanced at Lydia, and she nodded her approval, her heart turning strangely in her chest at Micah's kindness to Nicky.

“Yep, just you an' me, partner.”

“Hurray!” Nicky suspended himself happily from Father's hands. “Poppy, Micah and me are gonna take a walk!”

“Good.” Father looked at Lydia, his expression carrying a warning. “Go on now.”

Winging a quick, wordless prayer for strength heavenward, Lydia pressed her trembling palms against the hips of her trousers and raised her shoulders. “Well, let's go then.”

Micah followed her out the door.

Micah's anger had been stirred in his brief encounter with Nicholas Allan Eldredge the Second. Had he ever been part of such a one-sided, accusatory conversation? The man's angry—and inaccurate—allegations still rang through Micah's head. He needed to gain full control of his temper before he asked Lydia why she had named Micah as her son's father. She walked slowly, purposefully, each step measured and stilted. Her gaze stayed straight ahead, not even acknowledging his presence. He
sensed her tension, but why should she be tense? She'd started this mess with her untruths.

Micah looked up and down the street. Square patches of grass formed emerald carpets leading from the sidewalk to the bricked faces of four-story-high houses. An abundance of flowering bushes and patches of flowers reminiscent of those his mama planted in her garden—geraniums, poppies, daisies, and bachelor buttons—created eye-catching splashes of color that helped soothe the frayed edges of his nerves.

Lydia's neighborhood was certainly different from the one where he lived in Queens. Her corner of the world seemed much more tranquil than his, few people and fewer vehicles around. A bird sang cheerfully from a snowball bush growing next to the railed stairway of one house. The lilting melody further quieted Micah's irritation.

They were well away from Lydia's home, and Micah had calmed enough to address the issue.
Help me keep my anger in check, God.
He cleared his throat to speak, and Lydia jumped at the sudden noise. She turned in his direction, her brown eyes wide and apprehensive. The expression in her eyes brought to mind little Nicky's pensive gaze, and he had to fight against a smile that threatened. He didn't want to smile at Lydia. Not yet.

“Is Nicky the reason you left Schofield?”

She looked forward again with a defensive thrust to her jaw. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell anyone?”

Lydia reached out and picked a daisy from a cluster growing near the sidewalk. She twirled the bloom as they continued ambling side by side. “I didn't believe it concerned anyone else.”

Micah sent her a sidelong look, irked by her indifferent response. “Your father obviously doesn't agree with your opinion.” He paused, his hands clasped behind his back, lest he give in
to the temptation to throttle someone. “Why did you tell him I'm Nicky's father?”

Lydia came to a dead halt and spun to face him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. “Why did I—?” She threw down the daisy with force. “I did no such thing!” The denial was adamant and—unless Micah was a poor judge of character—truthful. He remembered her expression when she'd found him on her doorstep earlier. Her shock had seemed genuine. Could she be innocent of creating this muddle?

“Do you have any idea why your father would make that assumption?”