by Irene Hannon
Fortunately, Zach was busy paging through the colorful child’s Bible she always brought for him on Sunday. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the words being spoken from the pulpit.
Good. He didn’t need to be reminded of the loss of his father. Not after the traumatic incident ten days ago. At least things were improving, now that Nathan was back. Zach’s nightmares had begun to recede and his clinginess was dissipating.
She glanced toward the man who’d managed to create a niche for himself in their lives. He was seated a few rows ahead on the other side, wearing a navy-blue jacket over an open-necked white shirt with blue pinstripes. In the weeks he’d been on the island, he’d filled out a little, his physique going from gaunt to trim and toned. He looked really good.
A bevy of butterflies took flight in her stomach, and she yanked her gaze away.
Get a grip, Catherine! The man is your employee. Nothing more. You don’t want him to be any more.
Her mind processed the message. Accepted it.
But her heart balked, thanks to that simple, impersonal touch on Friday that had kept her awake for much of the past two nights.
It was ridiculous.
She couldn’t have feelings for Nathan. He was an ex-con. A man who’d engaged in street fights—with knives. And he had the scars to prove it. He’d wielded a gun in a robbery. Aimed it at innocent people. Might have pulled the trigger.
But he also treated her son with kindness—and infinite patience. He didn’t hold grudges when people made mistakes—like firing him. He was a reliable, conscientious employee. He painted pictures of little boys with blond hair.
How did one reconcile such disparate pieces of the same person? It didn’t seem possible for the angry youth Nathan had described to her to turn into a caring, principled man with a steady, strong faith.
Yet the proof of that transformation was sitting a few pews away.
Could Dale Nelson have undergone a similar metamorphosis?
As the name of her husband’s killer echoed in her mind, the glimmer of a headache began to pulse in her temple, and she reached up to massage it.
That was not the kind of question she wanted to contemplate on Father’s Day.
But there it was. And she had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to go away.
The more important question, though, was how was she going to deal with it?
Closing her eyes, Catherine tuned out the Father’s Day sermon and did something she hadn’t done in two years. She prayed.
I think I’m going to need some help here, Lord. I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else to turn to. That’s the truth of it, as You know. But if You’re willing to overlook my motivation for seeking You out, could You send a little guidance and strength my way? Because I think I’m about to embark on an emotional roller-coaster ride. And I’d like to finish it in one piece.
He didn’t want her to get away.
Shouldering through the congregants ambling out of the church after the service, Nathan did his best to be polite as he forged ahead. But talking to Catherine was his priority, and if he happened to elbow a few people a little too firmly, so be it.
He’d taken a quick peek at her during the Father’s Day–themed sermon, wondering if she was having a rough time with it. Based on her closed eyes and the faint furrows on her brow, he’d assumed she was. He didn’t know what he could do to mitigate the melancholy memories it must have dredged up, but he knew he had to try.
Mother and son had gone no more than ten feet across the lawn when he emerged from the church, and in a few long strides, he caught up with them. “Good morning.”
At his greeting, they both turned toward him.
“Hi, Nathan.” Zach grinned up at him. “We’re going to Downyflake. Wanna come?”
“I’m sure he has other plans, Zach.” Catherine shifted a few feet away from the surge of people exiting the church, keeping a firm grip on her son’s hand as they moved out of the line of traffic.
Nathan followed her lead. “Thanks for the offer, Zach. But I’m going to lunch with my family today.” At the youngster’s crestfallen expression, he tousled his head. “I bet you’ll enjoy those sugar doughnuts anyway, though. They’re great.”
“Yeah.” Zach’s face brightened.
Giving Catherine his full attention, Nathan scrutinized her. Up close, she looked a little pale and—stricken was the word that came to mind.
“You okay?”
At his quiet question, she gave a slow blink. “Yes. Of course.”
“I thought the sermon might have been a little difficult for you.”
Instead of responding, she released Zach’s hand and dug through her purse. Retrieving a pair of sunglasses, she slipped them on, hiding her eyes. Then she gripped her purse in front of her. Like a shield.
As silence fell between them, Nathan noted Zach in his peripheral vision. The youngster was sizing up a little boy about his age in an adjacent cluster of people. Zach took a step toward the child. The other little boy did the same. It appeared to be a friendship in the making. Good. Zach needed a friend.
So did Catherine. As desperately as her son.
But she was fighting it every step of the way. With him, anyway.
When it became apparent she didn’t intend to respond to his remark about the sermon, Nathan switched to a less personal topic. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll come by tomorrow morning instead of in the afternoon. The light at the painting job I’m doing in Cisco will be better later in the day.”
Her posture eased a fraction. “That’s fine. I have some errands to run tomorrow, and I’d rather do them after lunch, anyway.”
“Is the flooring still scheduled to arrive tomorrow?”
“Yes. Do you think you’ll be ready for it by next week?”
“If all goes as planned. You mentioned when you hired me that you’d worked with it before?”
“Yes. I’m pretty handy when I don’t have broken toes.” The flicker of a smile flirted with her lips. “I did a lot of the remodeling work in our house in Atlanta.”
“I’ll welcome any advice you can give. I haven’t dealt with that particular kind of flooring before.”
“No problem.” She turned, and a fleeting touch of panic crossed her face when she realized Zach wasn’t beside her.
“He’s over there.” Nathan gestured a few feet away, where the two boys were engaged in an animated conversation.
“Zach!”
At her summons, he spoke to the other boy, then trotted over. “That’s Adam, Mom. He goes to Sunday school here. Can I go next week, too?”
“We’ll see.”
“That means no.” He folded his arms across his chest and stuck out his chin. “I’m never going to make any friends.”
Nathan wasn’t certain it was wise to jump into the mother/son exchange, but Zach did need friends his own age—and he wasn’t certain Catherine recognized that. So he took the plunge. “Sure you will, champ. Your mom will find some ways for you to meet other kids. She knows that’s important.”
A slight frown appeared on Catherine’s brow. He couldn’t tell if it was prompted by disapproval or insight.
“Come on, Zach.” She took her son’s hand. “Let’s head to Downyflake. See you tomorrow, Nathan.”
He watched as they walked away. And hoped he hadn’t just shot himself in the foot.
“We should be taking you out to celebrate at some swanky place, not the other way around,” J.C. grumbled as Nathan led the way through the arbor entrance to The Chanticleer in ’Sconset.
“You guys have been treating me ever since I’ve been here. And I have the money now.” Nathan shot J.C. a grin over his shoulder.
“You didn’t have to pick a pricey place like this. We’d have been happy with Arno’s.”
Heather jabbed her husband in the side with her elbow and smiled at Nathan. “I, for one, am grateful. I love this restaurant and don’t get here often enough.” She sent J.C. a pointed look before
continuing. “And the garden is divine.”
“It can’t compare to the one at The Devon Rose, though.” Marci gave the grounds a discerning sweep.
“Which is in a sad state of neglect this summer. Thanks to Junior.” Heather laid her hand on her rounded tummy and sighed.
“Yeah. I think I did see a renegade weed or two the last time I was there. How dare they?” Marci grinned at her. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll come by and whip it into shape for you next week.”
“You’re busy enough with Caring Connections,” Christopher protested, bringing up the rear as they trooped through the garden. “With the way it’s taken off over the past year, the senior citizens on the island see you more than I do.”
“You had me all to yourself for more than two weeks on our honeymoon.”
“Yeah.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips as he draped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s true.”
“So you won’t miss me too much if I take a couple of hours to weed Heather’s garden. You can thank Henry for my obsession with flowers, you know.”
“Trust me, I know. Have you had a chance to get acquainted with him yet, Nathan?” Christopher asked.
“Yes. He invited me over for a visit when I met him at your wedding. I was treated to his banana-nut bread last week. And quite a few good stories.” The older man was just as Marci had described him in her letters: affable, lively and enthusiastic. Ever since she’d told him how restoring Henry’s garden had led to the romance that blossomed between her and Christopher, he’d looked forward to meeting the octogenarian.
“Henry’s quite the storyteller,” Christopher concurred as they took their seats at the open-air table Nathan had reserved, protected from the sun by a vine-covered overhang attached to the indoor part of the restaurant.
“I heard a few about the two of you, too.” Nathan picked up a menu and began to peruse it.
“Yeah?” Marci narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Fine.” She took a quick glance at the menu, set it aside and refocused on her brother. “If you don’t want to talk about Henry, tell us what’s new with Catherine. I spotted you talking to her again today after the service.”
Nathan hoped the flush creeping up his neck stayed below his collar. “We didn’t talk about anything worth repeating. Unless flooring interests you.”
“Edith had her eye on the two of you again.”
The flush crept higher.
“What’s this about Edith? Have I been missing something?” J.C. looked from Marci to Nathan.
“No.”
“Yes.”
The two siblings spoke simultaneously. Marci smirked. Nathan frowned.
“The Lighthouse Lane matchmaker has her sights set on Nathan.” Marci gave Nathan a smug look.
“Then she’s going to be disappointed,” Nathan countered.
Marci ignored that comment. “So tell us something about Catherine we don’t know.”
“Okay.” Nathan decided to drop her a crumb. “She played the violin at your wedding.”
His sister’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You met her at my wedding?”
“No. We just saw each other.”
“As in ‘Some Enchanted Evening’? Across a crowded room and all that? How romantic!”
“It was daylight and we were outside.”
Marci shrugged. “Same difference. Did she…”
“The flounder sounds good to me,” Christopher interrupted. “What are you going to have, Nathan?”
“The scallops.” He sent his brother-in-law a grateful look.
“I’m going with the Vermont brie and wild mushroom omelet.” Heather closed her menu.
“What are you having, Marci?” Christopher asked.
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to read the menu.”
“That’s because you’ve been too busy grilling your brother. Leave the poor guy alone. He’s paying the bill, after all.” Christopher grinned at Nathan. “Can I order dessert, too, if I get my wife off your back?”
“Cute, Christopher.” Marci made a face at him before pinning Nathan with a warning look. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you eat in peace. But I’m only deferring this discussion to another day.”
Heather chuckled. “These Clay kids are tough.”
Grinning, J.C. put his arm around her. “You want me to change?”
She snuggled closer to him. “No way.”
Christopher followed J.C.’s example and tugged Marci close. “Heather’s right. You guys are tough. But I wouldn’t want you any other way, either.” He brushed his lips across her temple.
As Nathan watched the exchanges, it was clear his brother and sister had made good matches. There was contentedness about them, a rightness in the pairings, that left him with a warm feeling—and more than a little envy.
He’d like to find that kind of love someday. With someone like Catherine—or perhaps Catherine herself.
But while there had been obstacles to his siblings’ matches, they were minor compared to the one between him and the woman who played the violin with such heartrending emotion.
And hard as he tried to remain optimistic, to cling to the hope that had buoyed him up the day he’d sold his painting, he was fast losing confidence he would find a way to overcome it.
Chapter Nine
She felt like a spy.
Torn, Catherine shifted her purse on her shoulder and regarded the door to the Blue Water Gallery. Ever since Nathan had told her three days ago that he was a painter—in the artistic sense—she’d been intrigued. As long as she was in town, why not satisfy her curiosity? The gallery was a public place, after all. Anyone could walk in off the street and look at the offerings.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was somehow invading his privacy.
“Why are we stopping here, Mom?” Yawning, Zach dug into the cup of mint chocolate-chip ice cream she’d treated him to at The Juice Bar. After traipsing around after Nathan all morning, he was ready for a nap.
“I have to check on something real quick. Then we’ll head home, okay?”
“Okay.”
Hoping the ice cream would keep him occupied for a few minutes, she stifled her guilty feelings and stepped inside the gallery. A wooden, backless bench hugged one of the walls in the foyer, and she guided him to it. Perfect. No way would the owner want a sticky-fingered child wandering around. Plus, from this spot, she could keep an eye on him while she made a quick circuit of the rooms that opened off the entry area. If she was lucky, Nathan’s second painting would be in one of them.
“Wait here, Zach. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to look in these two rooms. You can see me the whole time, okay?”
“Can I come?” He gave the gallery an interested perusal.
“Only if you throw away your ice cream. There’s no food allowed.”
She waited while he debated this choices. As she’d expected, the ice cream won.
“I’ll stay here.”
That problem solved, she started her circuit of the first room, scrutinizing the paintings for signatures.
Less than sixty seconds later, a tall woman emerged from the back of the gallery. She gave Zach a quick glance before continuing toward Catherine.
“Don’t worry. He has strict instructions to stay on the bench,” Catherine assured her. She’d expected someone to appear, and she had her story ready.
The woman smiled. “I wasn’t concerned. He appears to be a well-behaved young gentleman. I’m Monica Stevens, the owner. May I assist you with anything?”
“I’m just browsing. Your place looked interesting, and I thought I’d stop in for a quick peek.”
“Take your time. If you have any questions, let me know. I’ll be in the room at the end of the foyer hall.”
After confirming that Zach was still intent on his ice cream, Catherine waited until the woman retraced her steps,
then resumed her search. She had no clue what she was looking for in terms of either style or subject matter. All she knew was that Nathan’s first painting had featured a blond-haired little boy. But in her initial scan of the room she hadn’t spotted any paintings of children.
She had almost completed her circle of the first room when she found it.
And it was nothing like she’d expected.
At first glance, she thought it was a landscape. A long strip of sand stretched toward the horizon, and though the foreground was lit by the sun, the distant clouds that were massed in the background and the whitecaps on the sea warned of a coming squall. There was a stunning power to the scene, and a slight impressionistic feel added to its evocativeness.
She was impressed.
But she was even more impressed when she drew close and discovered it wasn’t a landscape at all. It was a portrait—of a very different kind. There was only one figure in the scene, and it was small. But it was the focal point of the painting, and it vaulted the piece from very good to extraordinary.
Moving in, Catherine studied the dark-haired little boy in the distance. Still in the sunshine, his back to the clouds, he was oblivious to the approaching storm. Toting a bucket of water from the sea to a moat he’d dug around a sandcastle, he was the picture of innocence—unaware that his quest to fill the hole was futile and his efforts to protect his castle were hopeless. For soon the shadows would overtake him. The storm would come. His stronghold would be demolished.
The scale of the child in the painting was masterful, Catherine realized. By placing him in a vast landscape, Nathan had clearly communicated that he was not only oblivious to the approaching tempest, but vulnerable to forces beyond his control.
The scene conveyed a hushed, ominous sense of impending danger, of innocence lost, that sent a shiver snaking down her spine.
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?”
Startled by the question, Catherine turned to find that the gallery owner had returned. She had no idea how long she’d been rooted to the spot, mesmerized by Nathan’s painting, but a quick peek confirmed that Zach was still occupied with his ice cream.