Apprentice Father (13 page)

“Yes.”

“Then I think he should adopt us. But…you know how you said your friend was adopted by a lady and man who were married?”

“Yes.”

“Uncle Clay's not married.”

“That's okay. He's your uncle. That makes a difference.”

“But it would be okay if he
was
married, wouldn't it?”

“Yes.”

“You're not married, are you, Cate?”

Suddenly Cate sensed where this was leading. “No, honey. I'm not.”

“That means you could marry Uncle Clay, right?”

Cate stole a quick look at the man in question, who remained engrossed in conversation with Pop, and her heart did a little somersault.

Oh, yes! I could marry him—if I listened to my feelings instead of reason. And if my disabilities weren't a stumbling block.

“Cate?”

With an effort, Cate focused on Emily's question, trying to frame a noncommittal reply. “People only get married if they love each other, honey.”

“Do you love Uncle Clay?”

She should have seen that coming, Cate berated herself.

“Look what I found!”

Josh thrust a frog in her face, and Cate recoiled with a squeal, leaving Emily's question unanswered.

But it continued to echo in her mind, reminding her that
even if she never gave Emily an answer, she needed to consider the question.

As well as the consequences.

“S
orry to interrupt, Clay, but I have a Lieutenant Butler from the Omaha police department on line one for you. Shall I put him through?”

At Becky's question, Clay's grip tightened on the phone. “Give me a minute.” He punched the hold button and turned to the electrical contractor. “Can we finish going over these revisions in a few minutes, Les? I need to take this call.”

“Sure. I'll go keep Becky company. Let me know when you're ready.” He shut the door to the construction trailer's small conference room as he exited.

“Okay, Becky.” Clay waited as the connection went through. “This is Clay Adams.”

“Mr. Adams, Lieutenant Butler in Omaha. I wanted to let you know we located Martin Montgomery.”

Clay shut his eyes and expelled a long, relieved breath. But quick on the heels of relief came anger. And bitterness. “I hope you lock him up and throw away the key.”

“Mr. Montgomery won't be using any taxpayer money. He
was killed in a barroom brawl in Oklahoma two days ago. We got a positive ID on the body a couple of hours ago.”

As Clay absorbed the news, shock gave way to resentment. He'd wanted retribution. Wanted to see the man caught and punished. Wanted to see him suffer as he'd made Anne suffer.

On the other hand, Martin's violent end gave Clay a sense of vindication. Someone had bullied the abuser, hurt him, as he'd hurt Anne. It seemed fitting, somehow.

From everything he'd learned since attending the church in Washington, Clay knew he shouldn't feel this way. That he should somehow dredge up compassion for the man, even forgive him. But he couldn't. Not after what he'd done to Anne. And to his children. The man was scum. He'd deserved the end he'd met.

Though his emotions were churning, his response was calm. “Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant.”

“I know this doesn't bring your sister back, Mr. Adams. But I hope it will give you some sense of closure.”

As Clay hung up, he realized the news did provide an end to one part of the story. Anne's husband could never hurt anyone again. His death was no great loss, and Clay doubted anyone would miss the man. Least of all his children.

But they still had to be told. And he didn't relish the job. While he could see definite signs of healing, they remained as fragile as a butterfly's wing. They were too attuned to nuances, and a brusque tone, aggravated glance or irritated gesture could devastate them. Insecurity remained a problem, too. They craved approval and were hyper-sensitive to criticism.

Clay had no idea how they would react to this news. But he did know it needed to be handled with the proverbial kid gloves. Not the kind he'd ever had much occasion to wear until Josh and
Emily entered his life. And if he blew this, in one fell swoop he could wipe out all the progress the kids had made.

He needed help.

He needed Cate.

As he reached for the phone to call her, it occurred to him that a request for help from the Lord might not be out of order, either.

His hand stilled as he thought back to some of the bible stories Reverend Richards had talked about over the past few weeks. The loaves and the fishes. The wedding at Cana. The storm on the lake. The death of Lazarus. All tales of people turning to the Lord for help. And He hadn't failed any of them.

Yet the concept of prayer remained foreign to Clay. Even in church, he felt awkward about it. But no one would know about this prayer, except the Lord. If He was listening. And if He was, if He was as loving and benevolent and caring as the people in Reverend Richards's congregation believed, surely He would overlook an error in form, or a few stumbles.

Closing his eyes, he spoke in the silence of his heart.

Lord, You know I haven't been Your most faithful servant. For years I turned my back on You because I thought You were vindictive and revengeful. But I'm beginning to think I may have been wrong. That the information I was given as a child was ill-informed and misinterpreted. If You're the compassionate God Reverend Richards talks of, please help me handle this well with the children.

As Clay finished, an odd sense of peace enveloped him. It wasn't as if all his problems had been solved. Far from it. But for the first time, he felt that perhaps some greater power was on his side.

And since he needed all the reinforcements he could get, he dialed the number that would connect him with the woman who had been on his side from the start.

 

Two hours later, Cate heard the slam of the truck door as she cleaned up the last of the craft supplies from the kitchen table. She and Clay had talked strategy on the phone, and they'd decided he should finish out his workday. Any change in routine made the children anxious, and an early homecoming would raise their suspicions. Cate and Clay had agreed it was important for the children to feel relaxed and secure when they heard the news.

Cate had promised to read them a story before she left, but she'd managed to distract them with the special craft project they were stashing now in their room. Retrieving the book from the top of the refrigerator, she laid it on the table as Clay opened the back door. The kids had memories like elephants, and she was counting on them holding her to her word about the story.

As Clay stepped across the threshold, that all-too-familiar flutter quivered in Cate's stomach. She'd never met a man with such intense magnetism. And nothing detracted from it. Not the smudge of exhaustion under his eyes. Not the mud-splattered jeans or grimy cotton shirt rolled to the elbows that revealed tanned forearms. Not the tense line of his jaw.

If anything, she had to fight the temptation to reach up and tenderly smooth away the deep grooves of worry and weariness carved beside his mouth and between his eyes.

That not being an option, she needed to find some other way to loosen him up. His tension was almost palpable, and the children would pick up on it in a heartbeat, foiling their plan.

Locking her hands behind her back to keep them out of trouble, she put the kitchen table between them and tried for a teasing tone. “The kids will be back any second. I'll give you a chocolate chip cookie if you smile.”

For a moment his face went blank. Then, as he got her message, he rolled his head and flexed his shoulders. “Better?”

She tipped her head and studied him. “A little. How about if I raise the ante to two cookies?”

“That's a good incentive.” He seemed to relax a bit more.

“It always works with Josh and Emily.”

“I can think of a more grown-up treat that would be far more effective.” He smiled, cast a lingering look at her lips, and waggled his eyebrows.

His sassy response did nothing to steady her pulse, but at least he was more relaxed now.

“Hi, Uncle Clay.” Josh zoomed through the door and launched himself into Clay's arms.

Emily was close on his heels, grabbing the storybook on the table as she passed.

After hugs were exchanged, Emily waved the book at Cate. “You promised you'd read this to us before you left.”

“You're right. I did.” Cate gestured toward the living room. “Let's cuddle up on the couch. Maybe Uncle Clay will come, too.”

As two expectant little faces tipped up toward him, Clay called up a smile. “I could use a good story.”

He followed them into the living room, where the two children settled beside Cate on the couch. Wedging himself into one corner, he angled his body to observe the domestic scene playing out beside him.

Clay paid little attention to the fairy tale. He was more focused on the slender, blond-haired woman who was reading the words in a lilting, animated voice that kept the children enthralled. And it was easy to see why. She gave them her absolute attention, reaching out to stroke Emily's hair or give Josh's hand a squeeze as she read, demonstrating her instinctive ability to discern—and
provide—what people needed. And if her kindness and unselfish generosity had endeared her to the children, it had done no less with him. If he wasn't careful, he'd begin to think in terms of the L word.

And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, Clay acknowledged.

He'd dodged commitments for more than twenty years. And it had been an effective strategy for keeping his heart safe. His existence might have been emotionless, but he hadn't inflicted damage on anyone, nor had anyone hurt him.

Yet now that he was surrounded by caring people, he recognized that while his previous life might have been safe, it had also been lonely.

Very lonely.

“…And they lived happily ever after.”

“I like happily-ever-afters,” Emily declared. “Does happily-ever-after really happen, or is it only in stories?”

“What do you think?” Cate asked, closing the book.

“I guess it can happen. Like that friend of yours who was 'dopted when she was a little girl.” Emily's expression grew wistful. “Are we going to have a happily-ever-after?”

Cate looked at Clay. This was the handoff they'd discussed. She'd set the stage. The kids were as happy, relaxed and receptive as they'd ever be. He was on.

“I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you do.” At Clay's comment, both children's heads swiveled toward him. “You know what? My lap feels awfully empty.”

Josh scooted off the couch at once, scrambling past Emily to climb up Clay's knee. He settled the boy against his chest and tugged Emily closer, tucking her beside him. Cate perched on the arm of the couch, her support and encouragement the only thing keeping him afloat as he entered these treacherous waters.

Summoning up his courage, he plunged in. “I had some news
today about your daddy.” The children stiffened, and there was an immediate change in the rhythm of their breathing.

“He's not coming back for us, is he?” Emily looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“No, honey. He's never coming back. A policeman from Omaha called to tell me your daddy was in a fight. He got hurt, and he…he died.”

He watched their faces as they struggled with that concept.

“You mean…like Mommy?” Emily's forehead puckered.

“Yes.”

“He can't hurt Mommy in heaven, can he?” Josh asked in alarm.

Clay doubted the man was anywhere close to heaven. Not if there was any justice. But he framed his reply with care. “He can never hurt your mommy again.”

“That's good.” Relief smoothed the tension from Josh's features. “He wasn't very nice. He made Mommy cry.”

“I'm glad he's gone.” Emily's tone was defiant, her eyes fierce. “He was mean. I like it much better here with you, Uncle Clay.”

“Me, too,” Josh seconded.

His fears had been groundless, Clay realized, as his tense muscles went limp. The children's only concern had been for their mother, and their father's ability to hurt her beyond the grave. There was no sense of loss. Which was fine with Clay. As far as he was concerned, the man didn't deserve one second's worth of mourning.

“I like it better with you here, too. It was much too quiet before.” He tickled Josh's tummy, eliciting a giggle.

“Can we eat dinner now? I'm hungry,” Emily declared.

“Sure. Why don't you guys set the table while I say goodbye to Cate.”

After hugs were dispensed and Cate retrieved her purse, Clay followed her to the front door.

“I can't believe how smoothly that went.” Clay took a deep breath. “The only emotion I picked up was relief.”

“With good reason, from what I've gleaned about their father. He was nothing more to them than a threat. You handled it well, by the way.”

“I wouldn't have, without you.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “You did all the hard work. I just read a story.”

“You were here. That made all the difference.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame and shoved one hand in the pocket of his slacks. He was stepping onto shaky ground, but he didn't care. In addition to being grateful for her support, he found her incredibly appealing in the soft, pink knit top that emphasized her curves and khaki shorts that revealed her long, lovely legs. “I don't suppose I could convince you to stay for dinner, could I?”

Caution flared in her eyes even before she folded her arms across her chest and took a step back. “I told Michelle I'd go shopping with her tonight for baby furniture.”

Drop it, he told himself. She's already skittish. Yet the question came out anyway. “Is that the only reason?”

She gave him a wary look. “I thought we were going to table a discussion of personal matters for a while.”

“I'm starting to regret that agreement.”

“I'm not.” She edged the screen door open. “Let's leave things as they are for now. Be sure to sprinkle some parmesan cheese on the casserole when you take it out of the oven. The kids like that.”

And then she was gone.