Elizabeth August - Paternal Instincts

His paleness and new clothes took on a new meaning. “Your stay must have been a long one.”

“I was in a coma for three years,” he replied absently, continuing to frown at the farmhouse. It was as if all that was good from his youth had been destroyed.

Roxy bit back a gasp. A life in suspension…The Hanged Man! Glad his attention was elsewhere, she quickly regained her composure. “I’m sorry.”

Trained never to miss anything, Eric had noticed her momentary show of shock, but then he was still a bit stunned by the fact that he’d lost three years of his life. “Are you planning to reopen the Home when you get the house back into shape?”

Roxy looked over her shoulder at the massive job ahead of her. “No. Maude willed the property to me, but she was the O’Malley Home for Boys.” Her chin tightened defensively. “The donations to keep the place going came in because of her. Most were from locals and they made it clear to me that once Maude was gone, they wouldn’t support the Home any longer. Besides, the donations weren’t enough to cover the bills and Maude refused to become part of the foster care system. She wanted the boys who came to be able to stay without the worry of being suddenly uprooted at the whim of some bureaucrat. I got a job in town to pay what the donations didn’t cover. But, with Maude gone, I couldn’t keep this place going on my salary alone. Besides, there’d be no one to supervise the boys while I was at work.”

“What happened to the boys who were here?”

Tears burned at the back of Roxy’s eyes. “For the past three or four years, most of the boys Maude took in were from decent, hardworking families who were going through difficult times. The agreement Maude had made with them was that they would take their children back when they could provide for them. For those children, going back to their families presented a hardship but they were welcomed. There was one, Jamie Jordon, however, who’d been left here by his grandmother with a paper giving Maude guardianship.”

Eric had a harsh flashback to his own youth.

Swallowing back the lump that had formed in her throat, Roxy continued stiffly, “I tried to keep him. I figured I could look after one child just fine. But the social services people took him. They said they could better care for him.”

Eric’s gaze had shifted back to her. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not. Jamie was a special case. I’m hoping when I get this place back into shape, they’ll reconsider and let me adopt him.”

Eric had planned to come here, say his goodbyes and be on his way. But he’d always found it difficult to turn his back on a damsel in distress and there was a sorrow in Roxanne Dugan’s eyes that made her look very much like a woman in need of assistance. “I’ve got a couple of months of recuperating before I’m expected back on duty. Looks like you could use some help here.”

Roxy recalled her Tarot cards—the Hanged Man had been replaced by the Knight of Swords. Had the cards been trying to tell her that Eric Bishop would arrive to help her? Events in her life had caused her to develop a strong sense of independence. Accepting aid, even that freely offered, did not come easily. But she wouldn’t be accepting help for herself, she argued. It was Jamie who was important, and anyone who could help her regain custody of the boy should be welcomed. She glanced back at the house. Besides, she was getting desperate. There was so much left to do, and with each passing day her concern for the child grew stronger. “I can’t pay you, but I can offer you room and board.”

“Accepted.” Eric held his hand out to her.

As they shook on this deal, she was again aware of the warmth of his touch, and the image of The Lovers’ card popped into her mind. Silently, she mocked herself. No man would be interested in her once they got a close look. If that card proved to be right, it would be nothing more than a one-night stand and she doubted they’d get past the disrobing stage. I don’t intend to get past the handshake stage! she growled at herself. Angry that her mind had even traveled along this path, she shoved these thoughts out. “You can choose any room on the second floor to bunk in. There are bed linens in the hall closet and, if you’re hungry, there’s sandwich makings in the refrigerator. I need to get back to work.”

Eric noticed her limp as she turned back to the ladder. “Should you be climbing with that injured leg?”

She glanced back at him. “It’s an old injury. I’m used to maneuvering with it.”

The sharp edge in her voice warned that this wasn’t a subject for conversation and he said no more. Returning to the car to retrieve his satchel, he noticed a lingering warmth on his hand. A curious effect from a woman who clearly had no interest in him other than as a day laborer to aid her in her project, he thought. Deciding that the sensation was due merely to an emotional reaction to being back here at the farm, he grabbed his bag and went inside.

Upstairs, he automatically headed for the room he’d once occupied. He’d expected to experience at least a twinge of melancholy. Instead a feeling of being where he belonged swept through him. Dropping his satchel on the floor, he found the bed linens and made up one of the two twin beds in the room. Not taking the time to do any unpacking, he stripped out of his shirt and hung it in the closet. Then he put on a T-shirt. He intended to go directly outside and begin working, but he couldn’t resist making a quick inspection of the rest of the house. He strode through the rooms he’d played and worked in when he was younger. The walls and ceilings had a fresh coat of paint and the woodwork and hardwood floors were polished and dustless. Clearly, Ms. Dugan had been working hard to restore the place.

Reminding himself that he was there to help, he went to the barn and found a ladder.

An hour later Roxy looked to the far end of the house. She’d had Eric start there and work toward her. He hadn’t taken a break and she was beginning to worry about him. She told herself that he was an adult and would know how to pace himself, but she didn’t buy this reasoning. Some men felt they had to push themselves to live up to their macho image. “How about stopping for something to eat and drink?” she called out. “I haven’t had any lunch yet. I started working as soon as I got home from church.”

Eric nodded and started down his ladder. He was in the kitchen washing his hands when she entered.

“You don’t have to keep up with me,” she said sternly. “I haven’t spent the past several years in a hospital.”

Eric grimaced self-consciously. He had been pushing himself, but then that was his nature. “I want to prove I can earn my keep.”

The grimace had produced two long dimples in his cheeks. He was a handsome man, Roxy admitted, experiencing an attraction she’d sworn never to feel again. Jerking her gaze away from him, she busied herself washing up. “You don’t need to prove it in a day.”

Eric caught the softened color in her eyes followed by the tightening of her jaw as she turned away. He recognized the behavior. She didn’t want to like him, at least not too quickly. Something had happened to her to teach her to distrust people, or maybe just men. He couldn’t be certain which. As she finished washing up and began taking sandwich makings out of the refrigerator, he noticed the tired lines in her face. “Looks like I’m not the only one who might be overworking myself.”

Roxy made no response to his observation. Instead she nodded toward the array. “Help yourself. Would you like lemonade or water to drink?”

“Lemonade,” he replied, then began making his sandwich.