Apprentice Father (11 page)

He knew he sounded defensive. But he couldn't help it. Not considering the power this woman wielded. Her report could be a major factor in the court's decision about the future of the children.

“Moving can be very traumatic.” Her tone was noncommittal. She refocused on Emily. “Do you like your new house?”

A vigorous nod preceded the little girl's response. “It's the bestest place Josh and I have ever lived.”

“Maybe your uncle will give me a tour.”

“Sure.” Clay scanned the cluttered living room, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “We haven't finished unpacking yet. The extra boxes are all in here. The couch arrived yesterday, and I have a couple of chairs coming, too.”

“You have no furniture of your own?” The woman was surveying the pile of dirty clothes in the middle of the floor.

“I was on my way to the washer when I heard Josh crying, and I dropped the clothes and ran.” Clay answered her unspoken question first. “And no, I have very few possessions. I spent twelve years in the Army, and my job takes me all over the country. I didn't want to lug furniture with me from one place to another.”

“Sounds like you're on the move a lot.”

“In my current job I am. I'll be in Washington for another year, overseeing the construction of a large manufacturing plant. But I'm already looking for a position that will allow me to stay in one place.”

He hadn't gotten very far with his search, however. For one simple reason. He couldn't decide where he wanted to live. The only place that had ever felt like home was Washington—for a lot of reasons he wasn't ready to consider. Yet this small town
would never even have been on his radar screen, let alone his top-ten list, until a few weeks ago. He wasn't prepared to settle on it too fast.

The silence lengthened, and he realized the social worker was waiting for the rest of her tour. “Let me show you the kitchen,” he offered, leading the way. The charred lasagna sat on the countertop, and a faint haze hung over the room. A card table and four chairs occupied the dinette area, and a stack of paper plates and plastic utensils sat in the middle.

“I have dishes and cutlery, but I haven't unpacked them yet,” he told her.

The bathroom was in reasonable condition, as was his bedroom. Years of military training had taught him to keep his personal living quarters in tip-top shape. Most days, that philosophy carried over to the rest of the house. But his housekeeping had suffered during the past week, between the move and a few emergencies at work that had kept him laboring on paperwork long after Josh and Emily had gone to bed.

They moved on to the children's room, and Clay doubted she could find much fault there. He'd bought twin beds for them, and two matching dressers. Cate's mother had contributed a colorful mobile for the ceiling, and during the past week Cate had found bright, cheerful bedspreads and curtains. Anne had already taught Emily to make her bed in the morning, and she, in turn helped Josh. The room was in good shape.

“The children share a room?”

The woman's question deflated Clay's brief surge of optimism. He guessed that was a no-no.

“Yes.” At this point, one-word answers were all he could manage.

By the time they completed their tour of the house and the
yard, and she spent a few minutes talking with the children, Clay wasn't merely discouraged—he was scared. And as he tried to quell his growing panic, he did something he hadn't done in years.

He prayed.

It wasn't an elaborate prayer. Just a few simple words. But his plea was heartfelt—and desperate.

Please, God. Give me one more chance.

“C
ate? Clay. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Though she tried to stifle the rush of pleasure at the sound of his mellow baritone on the other end of the phone, Cate didn't quite succeed. While she'd always considered her weekend break from child care duties essential to recharging her batteries, this job was different. Now the weekends dragged by. Thoughts of her young charges and their uncle—not always in that order—dominated her days, and her nights were filled with restless dreams that left her on edge when she awakened.

None of those were good signs, she knew. Not if she wanted to keep her distance from the apprentice father. But while she couldn't change her feelings, she didn't have to act on them. Polite, pleasant, helpful. That was the manner to strive for, she decided.

“No. I have a few minutes. What's up?”

“The social worker stopped by today. It was a disaster.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach. “What happened?”

Sliding onto a stool in her kitchen, she propped her elbow on the counter and listened with growing dismay as he gave her a recap. When he finished, she could only manage one word. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

At his disheartened response, Cate's heart contracted in sympathy.
Lord, it isn't fair!
she protested in silence.
He's tried so hard. Please don't let him lose the kids because of this!

“How are things now?”

“Quieter. I put the kids to bed early, and I'm not far behind. Pretty pathetic for a bachelor on a Saturday night, isn't it?”

“You've all had a trying day.”

“We've had a trying three months. This was just the icing on the cake.” He let out an exhausted breath. “Look, I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to my litany of woes. I promised myself I wouldn't bother you in your free time anymore, but I needed to hear a friendly voice. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

She looked down at her left hand and tried to flex her fingers. Their sluggish response reminded her of one of the reasons she'd resolve to keep her distance from this man. Yet the words came out anyway.

“To be honest, I was thinking about you.”

“Yeah?” There was a faint echo of hope in the word.

“Yeah.” Then she forced herself to temper her response. “I was wondering if you remembered to replace the broken picket on the back fence. With Emily's fear of dogs, I'd hate for a stray to get into the yard while they were playing.” That thought
had
crossed her mind a few minutes ago, so it wasn't a complete fabrication, Cate told herself.

“Oh.” Disappointment edged out hope in his voice. “Yeah, I did it Friday night. Josh helped me. Meaning it took twice as long. But you know what?” Affection softened his tone. “I might have worked faster alone, but it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. And I'm starting to think that might be true about a lot of things.”

His subtle message wasn't lost on Cate. But she wasn't ready to have another discussion about them. Not yet. And maybe never.

“With the kids around, you won't have to worry about being alone for a very long time,” she teased. “Now get some rest and I'll see you at church tomorrow.”

She was grateful he didn't push. “Okay. Sorry again about disturbing you tonight.”

As the line went dead, she slowly set the phone back in its cradle.

Disturbed was an apt way to describe her state of mind, Cate decided.

And it had nothing to do with an interrupted Saturday night.

 

“Clay! Could I speak with you for a minute?”

At Reverend Richards's call the next morning, Clay cast a longing glance at his truck. So much for his usual fast escape after Sunday services.

The minister hurried up to him and extended his hand. “I'm glad I caught up with you. However, you may not feel the same way after I tell you why,” he added with a grin.

It was hard not to like the pastor. He was easygoing and down-to-earth, and he radiated empathy and caring. He also gave great sermons. The man's simple speaking style was compelling, his points always pertinent, and Clay was finding his message harder and harder to resist.

The God Reverend Richards spoke of bore little resemblance to the fierce, wrath-filled, vindictive figure he'd been taught to fear as a youth. As the pastor spoke in his unassuming style about the goodness of the Lord, His forgiving nature, His great love for the human race and His promise to be with us always, Clay began to experience a yearning to know Him better. To develop the kind of relationship with Him that seemed to provide
comfort and guidance to the members of this small, close-knit congregation.

But the trust thing was hard to deal with. The letting go, the willingness to put yourself in God's hands, scared him. After his first seventeen years of living under his father's harsh rule, then another twelve dictated by the strict rules of military life, Clay had vowed to take control of his life. To make his own rules and live on his own terms. Turning his life over to God felt like a betrayal of the promise he'd made to himself. And he wasn't ready to do that.

The good news was that no one had pressured him to take that step. Including Cate. She knew he came to church only for the sake of the children. But while her faith was deep, and her devotion to the Lord solid and strong, she'd never tried to force her beliefs on him. She'd just gone about living her life according to the principles Reverend Richards spoke of each week. And in all honesty, that had done more to change his attitude toward religion than any words she could have said.

He was also grateful to Reverend Richards for respecting his decision to maintain a distance from the church. While the pastor had invited him and the children on numerous occasions to stay for the social hour after services, he always smiled and said, “Maybe another time,” when Clay refused. There was no pressure, no handing out of guilt trips. That, too, appealed to Clay.

“What can I do for you, Reverend?” Clay returned the man's firm clasp.

“You may be sorry you asked that.” The pastor gave a wry laugh. “But here's the gist of it. We're getting ready to build a picnic pavilion out back, where we can have socials and hold outdoor services in the nice weather. One of our members dabbles in architecture, and he put together a great design. But I'd feel
better if someone with your background reviewed the plans, perhaps supervised the construction. We're going to have an old-fashioned one-day barn-raising to put it up. It will be a family event, with a picnic and activities for the children. I know how busy you are, but I'd be grateful if you could squeeze this in.”

Clay frowned. Getting involved in a project like this wasn't going to help him keep his distance from the church community. On the other hand, he'd been coming to the services for more than two months, and other than putting some money in the collection basket, he'd done little to repay the warm welcome he'd received. It wouldn't kill him to review the plans and lend a hand for one day. And the kids would have fun. They needed to socialize more with children their own age, and this would be a good opportunity for that.

“Will Cate be there?”

Clay wasn't sure where that question had come from, but if Reverend Richards considered the query odd, he gave no indication.

“I'm sure she will. The whole Shepard clan will show up, I expect.”

Weekend time with Cate. That clinched his decision. “Okay. I'll be happy to help.”

“Great! If you can wait a few minutes, I'll dash over to the office and get the plans for you. Help yourself to some coffee and doughnuts downstairs if you like.”

Clay wasn't ready to take that step yet. But he knew the kids would like him to accept the invitation. They'd asked him every Sunday if they could stay, and he'd always bribed them away with a promise of pancakes at a nearby diner. He steeled himself before looking down into the two sets of big eyes fixed on him.

“I like doughnuts.” Josh's expression was hopeful.

“You can get a doughnut at the diner.”

“Cate says they have the best doughnuts here,” Emily added.

“Not today.”

The kids let it drop, but their disappointment was obvious. And he felt like a heel. But he couldn't bring himself to make any more connections, to start any more relationships, to send down any more roots.

Suddenly he recalled what Pop had told the children about roots on moving day. How they helped stabilize you, protecting and strengthening you against storms. How they served as an anchor.

Clay could use some stability in his storm-tossed life about now, he reflected. And there were plenty of times he felt adrift.

Even so, he wasn't sure he was ready to drop anchor.

 

“Hi, Clay. It's Mark. I just checked my messages at the office and got yours from yesterday. Michelle and I are out of town for the holiday weekend. What's up?”

Shifting the phone on his ear, Clay stirred the spaghetti sauce he was heating for the kids' Sunday lunch. “The social worker showed up yesterday.”

“I told you she'd be stopping by.”

“Yeah, well, she couldn't have picked a worse time.” Clay described her visit, sparing none of the gory details. When he finished, he braced himself for the worst. “What do you think?”

Mark's momentary silence was telling. “To be honest, I'd hoped she would walk away from her first visit with a better impression.”

“What does this do to my chances?” Clay's tone reflected his mood. Flat and disheartened.

“Her report won't be based on one visit. She'll be back at least once more. Assuming things are more under control in the future, your chances should still be good. After all, everyone has an oc
casional bad day. I expect she'll take that into consideration. Try not to sweat this, Clay. It's over. Focus on doing everything you can to ensure she finds a less chaotic situation on her next visit.”

“Yeah.” Clay turned the stove off. “Listen, thanks for returning my call on a Sunday.”

“No problem. I'll be in touch later this week.”

As Mark hung up, Clay gave the spaghetti sauce one final stir, then crossed to the back door and pulled it open to scan the fenced yard. A few minutes ago the children had been playing on the swing. Now they were nowhere in sight.

A tingle of alarm raced down his spine, and Clay strode to the front of the house and opened the door. To his relief, the children were tossing a ball back and forth on the front lawn. But fear once more got the upper hand when Josh dashed toward the street to chase a wild throw by Emily—just as a car began to pass.

“Josh!” The urgency in his tone caught the boy's attention, and he stopped to turn toward his uncle. “Come up here!” Clay ordered, his voice raw. “You, too, Emily.”

Mark's comment about the social worker replayed in Clay's mind as the children exchanged uncertain glances, then came slowly toward him.

Assuming things are more under control in the future, your chances should still be good.

Clay's blood ran cold as he imagined Ms. Douglas's reaction if she'd found the two children unsupervised and playing close to the street.

They stopped at the bottom of the two steps that led to the porch, anxiety etching their features. Clay planted his fists on his hips and glared at them, panic eating at his gut.

“I told you two to always stay in the backyard.”

“It—it was muddy back there,” Emily responded, subdued.

“That's no excuse. Josh almost ran in front of that car. He could have been killed if he'd gotten hit.”

“I s-saw the car.” Josh's lower lip started to quiver.

“You didn't act like you did,” Clay snapped. “Emily, why didn't you try to stop him?”

“It happened too fast.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

Josh edged closer to his sister, and she put a protective arm around his shoulders. “Please don't yell at E-Emily.” A sob punctuated his plea. “Please don't be mad.”

As Clay gazed down at them, huddled together several feet below him, he suddenly saw the situation from their perspective. They were at the mercy of an intimidating, angry man, just as they'd been at the mercy of the father they'd feared, who'd made them feel guilty for things that weren't their fault.

And today wasn't their fault, either.

They were only kids, Clay reminded himself. Trying to escape the mud, not being defiant. And Emily was only five. Though mature and conscientious beyond her years, she wasn't old enough to bear the burden of responsibility for her brother. Implying she was put inappropriate pressure on her.

If there had been any mistakes in the past few minutes, they'd been his, Clay realized. In his fear of losing the children, he'd overreacted to a situation that, while it needed to be addressed, didn't call for such severe treatment.