A Father For Zach (3 page)

“M
y goodness! That’s amazing.”

At Edith’s comment, Nathan swiveled in his seat, paintbrush in hand. His landlady was staring at the canvas on the easel he’d set up in her garden, just outside his rental cottage. Her lips were slightly parted in astonishment, the chocolate-chip cookies and glass of milk she was holding apparently forgotten.

Feeling self-conscious, Nathan picked up a rag and wiped a smear of paint off his hand.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t have any training.”

“Who cares? You have talent. That’s even better.” She moved closer to examine the painting of a little boy on a beach, his head tipped back to the sun, arms lifted, his face the embodiment of joy and innocence and optimism.

“I saw the pen-and-ink drawing you did of The Devon Rose as a wedding present for J.C. and Heather, but I had no idea you were such a talented painter.”

Although the praise pleased him, Nathan felt uncom
fortable. He’d had so little affirmation in his life, he had no idea how to respond. “I’m not that good.”

“Baloney. I’m no artist, but I know a…”

The half-moon gate to Edith’s backyard opened, and her neighbor, Kate MacDonald Cole, walked through.

“Kate…come over here!” Edith called.

Much to Nathan’s dismay, the red-haired charter-boat captain joined the group. He wasn’t used to an audience.

“Look at this.” Edith gestured to his painting. “Is that amazing or what?”

The younger woman moved closer to peruse the work in progress. When at last she transferred her attention to him, Nathan could tell by her expression that she was impressed.

“I agree with Edith. Did you paint this here in the yard?”

“No. I did most of it at Dionis Beach over the past couple of weeks. But it only needs a few more touches, so I decided to finish it up here.”

“How long have you been painting?”

“Not long. I didn’t have access to any good painting supplies in…until I came here. I did pencil sketches and pen-and-ink drawings.”

Kate gave him a steady look. “You’re good enough to do this professionally.”

Heat suffused Nathan’s neck. “I don’t think so.”

“You listen to Kate, young man,” Edith chimed in. “Her late husband was a very successful artist. She knows talent when she sees it.”

“I’ll tell you what…” Kate propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the painting. “Why don’t I mention you to the owner of the gallery where Mac sold his work? She’s always on the prowl for up-and-coming artists. That way,
if you decide you want to market your work, she’ll already know your name.”

“I don’t know…I’d planned to focus on carpentry and house-painting jobs for a while.” Those were the skills he’d learned in the prison program. The ones he was comfortable with. Painting had always been just a hobby, a way to pass the time. And to express the emotions locked in his heart.

“Why in the world would you want to paint a house when you can do this?” Edith gestured toward the canvas.

“To put food on the table?” Nathan flashed her a quick grin.

Kate chuckled. “Good point. It’s not easy to make a living as an artist. But you’ll never know if you don’t try, as Mac used to say. How about I mention your name, and you take it from there? Or not. It’s the Blue Water Gallery on India Street. The owner is Monica Stevens.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Are the girls ready, Edith?” Kate asked.

“Yes. They’re in the kitchen, taking the chocolate-chip cookies off the pans.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Why do I think they’re going to pick at their dinner tonight?”

“I told them to eat only two each.”

“And you’ve been out here how long?”

“Five minutes.”

“I rest my case. See you later, Nathan.”

With a wave, she jogged toward Edith’s back door.

“I better go in and referee.” Edith set the milk and a plate of cookies on the table beside Nathan. “These are for you.”

Ever since he’d arrived, his Lighthouse Lane landlady had been dropping treats off at the cottage his siblings had
rented for him in the corner of her yard, starting with the pumpkin bread that had been waiting for him when he’d arrived. He was beginning to feel guilty.

“I appreciate the cookies, but you don’t have to keep feeding me, you know.”

She waved his comment aside. “Someone needs to. You could stand to put on a few pounds. Get Heather to give you some of her scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserves. That’ll do the trick. And I have the hips to prove it.” She patted the ample anatomy in question and chuckled. “But they’re worth every pound. See you later, young man.”

With a flutter of fingers, she retreated to her house.

As silence descended in the quiet, private yard shielded from the world by a tall privet hedge, Nathan picked up a warm-from-the-oven cookie and took a bite. Nirvana, he thought, savoring the burst of flavor from the gooey chocolate. It was funny how simple treats—or acts of kindness, like the painting supplies from his siblings that he’d found waiting for him in the cottage when he’d arrived—could bring a sudden lump to his throat. As could the heady scent of freedom, the trill of a bird and an endless expanse of sea or sky.

In hindsight, he wondered how he’d survived all those years of confinement—and the demeaning, soul-shattering experience of being treated like an object rather than a person.

Yet the latter hadn’t been confined to his decade behind bars, he acknowledged as the cookie caught in his throat. That legacy went back far longer.

Taking a swig of milk to dislodge the lump of dough stuck in his windpipe, he forced his thoughts in more pleasant directions.

Unbidden, an image of Catherine Walker and her son flashed through his mind. He still couldn’t get over the fact that their paths had crossed again. And based on her expression when she’d opened her door yesterday, she’d felt the same way. Except she hadn’t seemed especially pleased about the odd twist of fate.

Yet she’d offered him the job.

Meaning he could look forward to a lot more interaction with the wary violinist and her charming son. And if he was very lucky, maybe one day down the road her wariness would subside and he’d find the answers to some of his questions about the intriguing—and appealing—duo.

“Zach! It’s lunchtime!”

As she called her son, Catherine carefully lifted her injured foot off the wicker ottoman in the breezeway, where she’d had it propped all morning. She hadn’t planned to hover over Nathan during his first morning on the job, but Zach had balked at her plan to keep him inside for a few days while she observed the newcomer from a distance. In the end she’d capitulated, setting herself up in the breezeway with a stack of decorating books and a pad of paper so she could play with layouts for the two B and B rooms—and keep an eye on her new carpenter.

She’d soon realized, however, that her concern had been unnecessary. If anything, Zach had disrupted Nathan’s life rather than vice versa. Not that you’d know it by watching the man, though. He had the patience of Job. And he was good with kids.

Rising from the lounge chair, Catherine took a moment to steady herself before trekking to the kitchen to fix lunch. The two male voices continued to converse in the psyche
delic room, one calm and mellow, the other high-pitched and animated. The exchange had been going almost non-stop all morning.

At one point, assuming Zach was getting in Nathan’s way, Catherine had stepped to the door and cautioned him not to bother the older man. But Nathan had won a friend for life when he’d responded that Zach was helping him—and doing a good job. At the compliment, her son’s chest had puffed out and he’d displayed the bucket of wallpaper scraps he’d peeled off the bottom of the wall.

It was the kind of considerate thing David would have done, Catherine reflected as she limped toward the kitchen door, a pain pill high on her priority list. Yet no pain pill could relieve the ache in her heart as she thought about the man she’d loved—and the father Zach would never know.

Pausing at the door to call her son again, she fought down a wave of despondency. Two years ago, everyone had told her the grief would dissipate over time. But why had no one warned her that the loneliness and sense of loss would intensify?

“Zach!”

Her second summons came out shaky—but it produced results. The little boy appeared moments later, followed by Nathan.

“Sorry he didn’t come on the first call. I was cleaning up his hands. They were a little sticky from the wallpaper paste.” Nathan gave her a probing look. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” She pasted on a smile, trying to squelch the uncomfortable feeling that this stranger had just tapped into her deepest well of sadness. “But I don’t want to be late putting Zach down for his nap.”

“Oh, Mom.” Zach thrust out his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m too old for naps.”

A pulsating pain—a twin to the one in her foot—began to pound in her head, and Catherine rubbed her temple as a wave of nausea swept over her. “We’re not going to argue about this, Zach. Go into the kitchen. Now!” The words came out sharper than she intended, and when tears welled in Zach’s eyes, her nausea ratcheted up a notch.

“You don’t have to get mad about it.”

“I’m not mad. I’m…” All at once, Catherine’s stomach revolted. Covering her mouth with her hand, she turned and clumped toward the bathroom as fast as her broken toes would allow.

She made it just in time to lose whatever breakfast remained in her stomach.

When she finally stopped retching, a soft knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Mrs. Walker? Are you all right?”

She closed her eyes. Nathan had followed her in. Meaning he’d not only witnessed her bad temper with Zach, he’s also heard her empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Not an auspicious beginning for their employer/employee relationship.

“Mrs. Walker?” The concern in his voice edged up a notch.

“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. One part of her wasn’t happy he’d trespassed into their private quarters. Another part was touched that he’d cared enough to take that chance. She wasn’t sure which reaction was stronger. And she wasn’t in any shape to figure it out. “Where’s Zach?”

“He’s waiting in the kitchen. It took a couple of Hershey’s
Kisses from the bowl on the counter to convince him to stay put, though.”

So much for his lunch, Catherine thought with a sigh. But at least the bribe had bought her a few minutes to get herself together.

Gripping the vanity for support, she examined her reflection. Not good. All the color had vanished from her face, and small beads of sweat rimmed her upper lip. She could try and buy herself a few more minutes, but she doubted her appearance was going to improve anytime soon. Resigned, she snagged a tissue, wiped off the moisture, straightened her shoulders and swung the door open.

Nathan sized her up in one swift but thorough scan. “You don’t look too good. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Too many pain pills is my guess.” She propped a weary shoulder against the doorframe. “I don’t take any medicine as a rule, and I’ve been doubling up on the dosage. I felt a little queasy last night, too.”

“That could be it. Why don’t you lie down for a while?”

She tried to smile. Failed. “Not an option. I have a six-year-old to feed.”

Several beats of silence passed as he regarded her. “I could do that for you. If it’s something simple.” The smile he gave her seemed a bit stiff. Like a little-used window that had to be coaxed open. “I’m afraid I never learned many cooking skills.”

Under normal circumstances, Catherine would have refused his offer. She didn’t relegate Zach’s care to anyone. Nor did she allow strangers in her home. But with a throbbing head, a throbbing foot and legs so shaky she wasn’t certain they’d keep her upright much longer, these weren’t normal circumstances. Not by a long shot.

Rather than labor over the decision, she told herself she ought to be grateful that providence or fate or simple luck had provided a set of helping hands today.

“Can you handle a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

His smile hitched up a notch. “If you direct the process, I’m sure I can manage.”

He seemed to understand that much as she might want to take his advice and lie down, there was no way she intended to leave him in her home—nor with her son—unsupervised. She was glad he’d discerned that—and hadn’t taken offense. It made things easier. Less awkward. And there was no hurt in his eyes this time, as there had been when she’d rebuffed his gesture of friendship toward her son at the wedding.

Relieved, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “That works.”

He stepped aside to let her pass as she started down the hall, but she hadn’t gone more than three steps when her good leg buckled. He was behind her in an instant, his hands firm on her upper arms, supporting her.

Fingers splayed against the wall, she drew an unsteady breath. “Sorry. I guess that little episode took more out of me than I thought.”

Without releasing his grip, he stepped beside her. “You’ve had a rough few days. Why don’t you lean on me and we’ll get you situated in the kitchen?”

The notion of leaning on anyone didn’t sit well with her, but she didn’t have much choice. Not if she wanted to make it to the kitchen on her feet instead of her knees. “Okay.”

He slipped his right arm around her shoulders, and she moved closer to him, clinging to his left hand.

As they slowly traversed the short passageway, Catherine discovered a couple of things. Despite his thinness,
Nathan was strong. She could feel power in the sinewy muscles that bunched in his forearm, in the solid chest that brushed her shoulder, in the lean fingers that gripped her forearm. And he was also tall, towering at least six or seven inches above her five-foot-five frame.

Usually big, strong men scared her.

For some reason, this one didn’t.

When they entered the kitchen, Zach looked up from a small pile of incriminating silver paper, his guilty expression morphing to concern. “How come you’re so white?”