Redemption

“I dislike shopping for clothing myself,” she confided. “In my case, it’s because I’m not as small as most other women, and I feel uncomfortable choosing things that are the largest size the store has to offer.”

“Being small isn’t so great,” he told her, as if to boost her confidence.

“It is if you’re a woman,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten into this conversation with a child.

“I think you’re a nice lady,” he told her staunchly. “I don’t think you’re too big at all.”

They turned at the open gate and walked to the front steps. “When are we gonna fix this thing?” Jason asked as he stepped carefully on one side of the broken board.

“How about this afternoon?” She waited as he opened the door and then followed him inside the house.

“Pa?” Jason’s voice echoed in the empty hallway, where no carpet muffled the sound. “We’re back, Pa.”

The wheelchair rolled from the back of the house toward them. He eyed their purchases and then waved toward the parlor door. “Let’s go take a look,” he said.

They spread out the clothing over the couch and Jason waited silently as his father inspected each item. “Is it okay, Pa?” he asked hesitantly. “I told Miss Merriweather it was a lot of stuff to get, and I really didn’t need new shoes, but she said you wanted me to have it all.”

Jake looked at Alicia. She sat on a chair, watching as he picked up the shoes they’d chosen. “I think Miss Merriweather did exactly right,” he said finally. “I couldn’t have done better myself.” Then, as if the words he’d spoken registered with him anew, he looked away from her.

“I couldn’t have done as well,” he amended. “It would have been a day-long venture, just getting me to the store and back home. Thank you, ma’am, for helping Jason today.”

She felt the flush of color rise to her cheeks as he expressed his appreciation. It was the next best thing to a compliment, she decided, both his approval of her actions and his appreciation of her efforts. “I enjoyed it,” she said. “Well—” she smiled at Jason as if they shared a secret “—all but the haircut part. That was an experience I’m not willing to repeat.”

Jake frowned. “Did anyone give you a problem?” he asked harshly. “Did someone say something out of line?”

She shook her head. “No, I just felt uncomfortable in the barbershop with a whole row of men looking me over.”

His eyes narrowed and then he made his own once-over of her appearance. “I don’t see anything about you that would warrant undue interest,” he said, his mouth twisting into a seldom seen smile.

“Well, that certainly put me in my place, didn’t it!”

“You mistake my meaning,” he told her. “You look like a decent, well-dressed woman to me.”

She was silent. Decent and well-dressed. The epitome of womanhood. Somehow she would have preferred pretty, or elegant.

“I’ve hurt your feelings.” It was a statement of fact. Jake rolled his chair closer to where she sat. For the second time in their brief acquaintance, he touched her. He reached out his hand and his long fingers grasped hers. Again she felt the warmth he exuded, and this time knew the strength of his grip. Along with that sensation was a tension that seemed to travel from his hand to hers, a fact that surprised her, causing her to remove her palm from his grip. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed, unsmiling, and then glanced down at his own hand, clearing his throat.

She supposed he was strong, wheeling his chair around the house, lifting himself in and out of bed. She looked at him more fully. How did the man manage to tend to himself? It must be a major undertaking to get from his chair to his bed. She’d known him for almost two weeks—or at least been acquainted with him for that length of time, and was only now curious about the life he lived outside of the confines of that chair.

He reached for her hand again and held it firmly. She looked down at their joined fingers. “My feelings are not so easily hurt. I’m not so soft-skinned as all that.”

“Perhaps your feelings are not especially tender,” he told her. “But you are soft-skinned.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, and she felt the contact as if he’d dropped hot butter there and then rubbed it in. Silky smooth, his thumb massaged her flesh, and the gentle pressure sent heat shooting up her arm.

The man was only being polite. And she was behaving like a foolish female given her first bit of attention by a member of the opposite gender. Sadly, she’d had few encounters with men, and none of them had led to more than smiles and murmurs, and one never-to-be-forgotten kiss behind the lilac bush next to her parents’ porch.

This time Jake was the one to break contact, dropping her hand as he backed his chair away and cleared his throat. “I repeat, Miss Merriweather. My thanks for your help.” He looked over at Jason and raised his voice a bit. “How about taking your new things upstairs to your room? I expect you to put them away neatly.”

As Jason gathered up his clothes and shoes and headed for the stairway, Jake turned back to Alicia. “The problem is that I have no idea how bad his room looks. I haven’t been upstairs since we moved into this house. I thought of closing it off, but Jason wanted the bedroom next to the big maple tree and I couldn’t refuse him.”

“Are there bedrooms down here?” she asked, then recognized the foolishness of her query. There must be at least one, if Jake had a bed available to him.

“I sleep in the library,” he told her. “The folks who lived here before called it their study, but I’ve filled it with books. If Jason slept downstairs, he’d have to use the dining room, and that would give him no privacy.”

Alicia rose, smoothing down her skirts. “I think I’d better take my leave, Mr. McPherson.”

“Alicia.” He spoke her name softly and she turned toward him abruptly. “I think we might use our given names, don’t you? I mean no disrespect, but Miss Merriweather is a pretty formal title for a woman who has made herself so important to my son.” He smiled, and the effect was startling. The frown lines on his forehead disappeared and a small dimple appeared in his cheek, matching the one Jason owned.

“I think that would be permitted,” she said. “Shall I call you Jake, or Jacob?”

“Better either one of those choices than the things you’ve been tempted to call me over the past couple of weeks,” he said quietly. He watched her closely. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

She stood stock-still, her gaze caught by the look of embarrassment he wore. “If I can do something to help, I’ll be happy to accommodate,” she replied.

“Do you think you could trim my hair?” he asked. “I know it’s an imposition, and I have no right to expect such a thing from a lady, but I want Jason to—” He halted in the midst of his explanation and spread his hands wide. “I’m not much of an example for the boy. I’ve let myself become a recluse. I look like a hermit, and Jason deserves better than that from his father.”

Alicia wanted to weep. It took all of her willpower to smile at Jake without allowing tears to well up. “I’d be happy to trim your hair…Jake. I watched Mr. Hamlet cut Jason’s and I really think I could do as well.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” He rolled his chair to the parlor door. “I have a pair of scissors in my room if you wouldn’t mind doing it today.”

The kitchen seemed to be the place best suited for the task, and Alicia found herself pinning a large towel around Jake’s neck ten minutes later. She’d pushed the kitchen table against one wall, freeing up a large area in which to work. Jason sat wide-eyed on a chair and held the scissors. Jake’s shaving mug and straight razor sat on the sink, in preparation for trimming his sideburns, and Alicia held a comb at the ready.

“Shall I wash it first?” she asked, for some reason breathless as she considered the deed she was about to embark upon.

“If you like,” Jake said. “I washed it two days ago, though.”

“It should be fine then,” she said. Gathering her courage, she stepped closer to his chair and ran the comb hesitantly through the length of dark hair. Extending over his collar, it was raggedly trimmed. Obviously Jake had done it himself; the back looked as if it had been sawed at with a dull knife.

Beneath her fingers his hair was soft, silken to the touch, and she inhaled, aware that her breathing was a bit uneven. He glanced up at her, his eyes questioning, as if he sensed her apprehension. “All right?” he asked, then his mouth twitched and his eyes darkened as if he knew the extent of her unease, and was amused by her dithering.

Alicia only nodded and went to the sink for a cup of water. Dampening the comb, she drew it through his hair and then made her first cut. Uneven bits of hair fell to the kitchen floor and she blinked. Once she’d made the initial cut, she was committed.

Moving in a half circle, she trimmed and evened out the length of his hair, dampening as she went. And then she was faced with the front, where it hung over his forehead. “How do you want this part cut?” she asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he told her. “However it looks best to you.”

She leaned from the side and gauged the first snip, only to have her wrist caught in his grip. “Step around in front of me,” he told her. “I promise not to bite, Alicia.”

Too close…she was too close to him. Too near the masculine scent of him, that musky blend she’d come to associate with this man, and the aroma of shaving soap that emanated from his skin. He’d shaved today, a fact she’d noted upon arrival. For her benefit? She smiled at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, barely moving his lips as though he might disturb her concentration.

“Nothing. I was thinking of something else,” she said hastily. Then she moved even nearer, her legs touching the front of his chair, the pressure of his right knee against her thigh. It was an intimate touch, his body heat radiating through her dress and petticoat. Beneath her fingertips, his face assumed a solemn look as she lifted the hair from his forehead and cut it in soft layers. The trembling she could not control threatened to botch her task before it was well under way.

He closed his eyes and she blew softly at the small clippings that fell on his cheeks. His nose wrinkled at that and she laughed, a soft sound that stilled his nose from wiggling and appeared to halt his breathing. Then his eyes opened—dark orbs that seemed to see beneath her skin, to the woman she kept concealed. She tensed, a shiver of anticipation traveling the length of her spine.

“You have lovely eyes,” he said quietly. “I thought your hair was brown, but it isn’t, is it? It’s the color of chestnuts, sort of a ruddy hue.”

She paused, holding the scissors upright. “Chestnuts?”