A Father for Zach

“Can you handle a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

His smile hitched up a notch. “If you direct the process, I’m sure I can manage.”

He seemed to understand that much as she might want to take his advice and lie down, there was no way she intended to leave him in her home—nor with her son—unsupervised. She was glad he’d discerned that—and hadn’t taken offense. It made things easier. Less awkward. And there was no hurt in his eyes this time, as there had been when she’d rebuffed his gesture of friendship toward her son at the wedding.

Relieved, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “That works.”

He stepped aside to let her pass as she started down the hall, but she hadn’t gone more than three steps when her good leg buckled. He was behind her in an instant, his hands firm on her upper arms, supporting her.

Fingers splayed against the wall, she drew an unsteady breath. “Sorry. I guess that little episode took more out of me than I thought.”

Without releasing his grip, he stepped beside her. “You’ve had a rough few days. Why don’t you lean on me and we’ll get you situated in the kitchen?”

The notion of leaning on anyone didn’t sit well with her, but she didn’t have much choice. Not if she wanted to make it to the kitchen on her feet instead of her knees. “Okay.”

He slipped his right arm around her shoulders, and she moved closer to him, clinging to his left hand.

As they slowly traversed the short passageway, Catherine discovered a couple of things. Despite his thinness, Nathan was strong. She could feel power in the sinewy muscles that bunched in his forearm, in the solid chest that brushed her shoulder, in the lean fingers that gripped her forearm. And he was also tall, towering at least six or seven inches above her five-foot-five frame.

Usually big, strong men scared her.

For some reason, this one didn’t.

When they entered the kitchen, Zach looked up from a small pile of incriminating silver paper, his guilty expression morphing to concern. “How come you’re so white?”

“Your mom’s toes are hurting a lot, and her stomach isn’t too happy about the medicine she’s taking to help them feel better.” Nathan stepped in before she could respond, and Catherine let him. She also let him guide her to one of the kitchen chairs. And she didn’t protest when he retrieved the cushion from the breezeway and lifted her foot to an adjacent chair, his fingers warm and gentle as he settled the soft pad under it.

A little quiver that had nothing to do with nausea rippled through her stomach, and Catherine frowned. What in the world was that all about?

“How does a peanut butter and jelly sandwich sound?” Nathan directed his question to Zach.

Her son sidled a guilty look in her direction. “I’m not real hungry.”

Nathan swiped up the incriminating silver papers and deposited them in the trash can. “You must be. Hard workers have big appetites. And you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Zach wandered over to the table and sat, chin in palm, watching Nathan.

“I thought so.” He turned toward Catherine. “Peanut butter?”

“In the cabinet on your right. Jelly’s in the fridge. Bread’s on the counter, by the toaster.” She motioned tiredly to her left, the spare response all she could manage.

She watched as he went about his task with an admirable efficiency of motion. It was the same approach he took with his work. She’d noticed it when she’d stopped in a few times this morning to make sure Zach wasn’t getting in his way.

But as she took a closer look at him for the first time, she noticed some other things, as well. Flecks of silver in his neatly trimmed brown hair. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Small scars on his temple and chin. Brown eyes that looked as if they’d seen way too much bad stuff, confirming the impression she’d had at the wedding.

Guessing his age to be midthirties, Catherine couldn’t help wondering what struggles this quiet man had endured to earn those premature signs of age. Were they as traumatic, as life-changing, as her own? Were they the reason he was trying to make a new start on this island, as she was?

“How about some milk to go with that?” Nathan set the finished sandwich in front of Zach and raised an eyebrow at Catherine.

Refocusing on the present, she nodded.

Without waiting for Zach to respond, Nathan pulled a gallon jug out of the refrigerator, poured a glass and placed it beside the youngster’s plate.

“What’re you eating?” Zach inspected his sandwich as he queried Nathan.

“I brought a turkey sandwich from home.”

“Why don’t you go get it? That way, we can eat together.”

Nathan cast a quick glance at Catherine and rested his hands on the back of one of the two empty chairs. “I think I’ll have lunch later. After you’re finished.”

Plunking an elbow on the table, Zach propped his chin in his hand again and pressed a finger into his sandwich, creating dimples in the soft white bread. “It’s no fun to eat by yourself.”

There was a cue here for her, Catherine realized. She could take it—invite this stranger to dine with her son—or remain silent and let him walk out. To eat alone.

Two weeks ago, if someone had told her she’d even consider inviting a man she’d known for only three days to eat in her kitchen, she would have dismissed the comment as absurd. She didn’t trust easily. Not anymore. But Nathan had come to her via a respected E.R. doctor. And he’d done some work at a church, offered to give her the name of his pastor. As far as she was concerned, those were good character references.

In her heart, however, she knew that wasn’t the only reason her attitude toward this man was softening. Even though she knew nothing about Nathan’s background, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, in some way, they might be kindred spirits. And her instincts also told her that this man, who had charmed her son with his patience and kindness, possessed a gentle, caring spirit incapable of inflicting pain.

When the silence lengthened, Nathan started to turn away. But not before she caught a flash of sorrow in his eyes that tugged at her soul. Again. And pricked her conscience. Again.

This was her chance to try and make amends for the hurt her unfriendliness had inflicted at the wedding reception, she realized.

“Wait!”

He cast a glance over his shoulder.

“If you’re hungry now, why don’t you eat with Zach? Unless you’d rather spend some time alone on your lunch break.”

He gave a slight shake of his head, and gratitude softened those velvet-brown irises. “I’ve had plenty of time alone. I’d welcome some company over lunch.”

His response intrigued her, but when he offered nothing else, she gestured to the refrigerator. “Help yourself to some soda. And there are a few homemade brownies left on that foil-covered plate on the counter. You and Zach can divide them up. Then it’s naptime for you, young man.”

Zach scrunched up his face. “I hate naps. I’d rather help Nathan.”

Leaning over, Nathan rested his forearms along the top of the chair back, putting him closer to eye-level with Zach. “I’m going to work on the ceiling this afternoon anyway, champ. You can help me again with the wallpaper tomorrow morning. How does that sound?”

Was this a sudden change of plan? Catherine wondered. Designed to make the nap more palatable by reassuring her son he wouldn’t be missing anything? If so, she hoped Nathan’s psychology worked. She wasn’t up to any more battles today.

“Okay, I guess.” Zach sounded more resigned than enthusiastic.

To sweeten the pot, Catherine touched his hand. “I’m going to lie down this afternoon, too, for an hour or two. How about if we nap together?”

His eyes brightened. “In your bed?”

She’d hoped that would do the trick. Sleeping with Mom was a rare treat, and she didn’t bestow it often. The child psychologist had discouraged her from making it a habit, stressing the importance of returning to a normal routine as soon as possible. Besides, there were too many nights when she still woke up crying. Or shaking. Zach didn’t need to witness that.

“Yes. In my bed.”