Elizabeth August - Paternal Instincts

“I don’t like being used.” Eric stated openly the suspicion that had been nagging at him ever since last night. “If you’ve involved me in some plan or scheme, you’d better tell me about it now.”

She met his gaze levelly. “There is no scheme or plan. I don’t even know why your presence here should matter. In fact, it’s started causing gossip.”

Eric raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I’ve told everyone that you’re merely helping me repair the house, but I’ve noticed a few skewed glances,” she elaborated. “The truth is, I’ve considered asking you to leave. I don’t want my reputation questioned. That could cause trouble. But in the past I’ve ignored the cards and lived to regret it.”

Her frustration obviously was genuine. The depth of her belief in the cards was again also evident. Eric didn’t like encouraging that, but he hated seeing her so upset. “Maybe my helping you get this place in shape is why I’m here. They say timing is everything. It could be that you were running out of time for the repairs.”

Roxy shrugged. “Maybe.” Her chin trembled. “Or maybe I’m looking for things in the cards that aren’t there.”

At least she wasn’t totally impractical where the cards were concerned, he thought with relief. But, although she’d opened the door for him to voice his own skepticism, the anguish in her eyes made him want to comfort her. “I’m not convinced anyone can read the future, but I do believe in instincts,” he said. “With me, it’s a prickling sensation on the back of the neck that warns me when I’m headed for trouble. What do your instincts tell you?”

They tell me that having you here could cause me a great deal of frustration and grief, her inner voice responded, admitting that in spite of the harsh talk she’d had with herself the night before, she continued to be attracted to him. A part of her wanted desperately to believe that she’d misread the cards and it was safe to send him on his way. But she knew that part was allowing itself to be guided by fear. After a moment’s hesitation, she said aloud, “They tell me to believe in the cards.”

He wasn’t certain he’d done her a favor by reestablishing her belief in the Tarot, but the relief he saw in her eyes brought pleasure and he smiled crookedly. “Then that’s what I’d suggest you do,” he heard himself saying.

His smile was infectious and she started to smile back. Careful, her inner voice warned. He’s getting very close to breaking down the wall of protection you’ve built. Her jaw tensed, stopping the smile, and she turned back to the stove.

Eric frowned at her back. He could almost see the icy barrier she was determined to keep between them, and he experienced a rush of frustration. You don’t really want to get involved with a woman who lets a deck of cards guide her life, do you? he chided himself. The frustration lessened and he rose. “I’ve got a lot of work to do,” he said, carrying his cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Have a good day,” he added, and left.

Alone in the kitchen, Roxy looked down at her overly cooked eggs. “How do nuns do it?” she muttered. Maybe she’d stop in at the video store and get a tape on yoga or meditation or maybe one of each. “Or I could just picture the expression of horror on his face that will appear if he ever sees me disrobed.” This thought brought a cold chill and her barrier once again grew strong.

A few minutes later Eric watched from the ladder as Roxy drove away. He didn’t understand why the urge to help her was actually growing stronger. She wouldn’t even allow him to be a friend. He concluded that Maude and the boy Jamie were behind his increasing desire to help. The boy’s story reminded him of his own youth. As for Maude, she’d liked Roxy enough to leave her this place. That meant Maude would have wanted him to help, and he owed Maude.

Returning his attention to the window frame he was caulking, he considered the Tarot cards. Although he was skeptical about them, he couldn’t make himself entirely discount the fact that some people had a sixth sense. The cards could simply be Roxy’s way of communicating with her inner voice.

As he’d told her, with him it was a prickling on the back of his neck. A couple of times the effect had been so intense he’d known that when he turned around he’d be facing the criminal he was after. Sometimes it had taken a while to collect the evidence before he could arrest the man or woman, but at least he’d known who to keep an eye on and who never to turn his back on again.

He grimaced self-mockingly. The problem was knowing how to interpret that prickling. He’d felt it when he’d dated Susan Irving, but he’d believed it was because he thought she wanted a commitment.

“And it could be that Roxy’s instincts aren’t working properly this time and she’s interpreting the cards incorrectly,” he muttered under his breath. Besides, he admitted, as open-minded as he tried to be, he still couldn’t make himself believe that a deck of cards could tell anyone anything. It was too much like looking into a crystal ball or using some other conjurer’s trick.

And maybe he was trying to help the wrong person. He’d always been a sucker for a maiden in distress, but just maybe the attachment between Roxy and the boy was more one-sided than she’d led him to believe and Jamie might be happier without her. Maude had a soft heart and preferred to see the good in everyone. She could have overlooked or missed the faults that had caused the social services people to take Jamie away from Roxy. On the other hand, it had been Eric’s experience that the social services people sometimes made mistakes.

And consulting his instincts didn’t help. Roxy Dugan caused a confusing mix.

“I’ll just bide my time for a few more days and see what develops,” he decided.

Three days later Eric was sitting on the front porch taking an afternoon break when an ancient-looking pickup truck came down the long dirt drive. It stopped in front of the house and an old man and a young boy climbed out. Eric judged the man to be a farmer by his manner, his bib overalls and his leathery-looking skin that gave evidence of him having spent a great deal of time in the weather. The boy was somewhere around nine or ten years old, Eric decided, and slender to the point of looking unhealthy. His long, shaggy black hair needed a cut and a good combing and his clothes, clearly hand-me-downs, were dirty and didn’t fit properly. Slung on his back was a heavily laden knapsack.

“Afternoon,” Eric said, rising and climbing down from the porch.

The old man continued toward him and extended a hand. “Afternoon. You the handyman who’s been helping Roxy get this place in shape?”

“Yes.” Accepting the handshake, Eric noticed that the boy had stopped several feet back and was standing immobile staring at him with an unnerving intensity. He cast a smile toward the youth, but the child’s gaze remained coolly distant. Remind you of someone else you know? he mused dryly. He’d been thinking of Roxy. Suddenly he was thinking of himself and recalling that his manner and expression hadn’t been much different from that of the child’s when he’d been dropped off at Maude’s door.

“Found the boy a few miles down the road. Recognized him as one of Maude and Roxy’s. I told him the place was closed, but appears he’s determined to come back. Don’t talk much. Not at all, actually.”

Eric’s gaze jerked to the boy. Jamie? he wondered, recalling Roxy’s determined belief the boy would return to the farm. But even she, he was certain, wasn’t expecting this kind of arrival.