A Father For Zach

by Irene Hannon

“You do that. Well, we’re off. Nice to meet you both.” Snagging Chester’s arm, she barreled toward a small group across the lawn, towing her husband in her wake.

  “Do you feel as if a hurricane just passed through?” Catherine stared after the departing duo.

  “She’s a bundle of energy, that’s for sure,” Nathan observed.

  “You want to come back to our house and have some cinnamon rolls, Nathan? That lady said there was enough to share,” Zach piped up.

  Indeed she had, Nathan reflected. The Lighthouse Lane matchmaker had struck again.

  “You’d be welcome to join us, Nathan,” Catherine seconded.

  And scored a hit, it seemed.

  He fought down a surge of regret. “I’d like to. But I promised to have brunch with J.C. and Heather, and I’ve already stood them up once since I’ve been here.”

  The flash of disappointment in Catherine’s eyes warmed his heart.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She took Zach’s hand again.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “See ya, Nathan,” Zach called over his shoulder as they started across the grass.

  He lifted a hand in farewell, then shoved it into his pocket as he watched them strike off down the street toward their car.

  When he turned, he found both Edith and Marci watching him from afar—with a gleam in their eyes. It was clear they both thought there was potential with him and Catherine.

  He hoped they were right.

  And if the intervention of his nosy sister and the Lighthouse Lane matchmaker helped him realize that potential, he didn’t mind their interference in the least.

  Catherine took a sip of coffee, picked up her pen and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. With Zach down for his nap, quiet had descended in the house. Sated with cinnamon rolls and worn out from a long walk on the beach spent chasing seagulls and collecting shells, he’d fallen into bed with nary a protest. That meant she had at least an hour or two to tackle the most difficult letter she’d ever had to write.

  A letter to the man who’d killed her husband.

  Two months ago, if anyone had told her she’d ever reach this point, she’d have consigned them to the loony farm. Stop despising the man who’d destroyed her world? Give up the hate that had fueled her days and overpowered her grief, subduing it to a manageable level? No way.

  But a lot had changed in the past five weeks.

  Thanks to Nathan.

  Not yet ready to begin her difficult task, she set her pen aside and wrapped her hands around her mug, letting its heat permeate her fingers—much as Nathan had infused her life with warmth.

  For with his kind and gentle ways, he’d demolished her conviction that no criminal could be rehabilitated. By showing her the power of faith to transform a life, he’d inspired her to take the first steps toward reconnecting with the Lord. And his successful efforts to make peace with his horrendous past and move beyond it had convinced her she, too, could create something good out of the ashes of her old life.

  But to do that, she had to dispel her hate once and for all. She had to acknowledge that while the act that had stolen her husband’s life was wrong, the man who had done it could have been as misguided and abused as Nathan had been. While that didn’t excuse his crime, Nathan’s experience had given her a better understanding of how forces beyond a person’s control could twist and deform a life.

  Yesterday had been a turning point for her. Not only because Nathan had shared his terrible story. But because of what he’d said near the end.

  There are a lot of ways to be in prison that don’t involve metal bars.

  That one sentence had struck a chord deep within her.

  For she’d been living in a prison of a different kind these past two years. Hate and fear had isolated her from God and from life. She’d clung to Zach, seeing him as the only good thing in her world, smothering him with her attention, burdening him by making him her sole source of joy.

  That hadn’t been fair. To either of them.

  Zach was antsy to spread his wings. To broaden the scope of his world.

  It was time she did the same.

  But first she had to begin the process of bringing closure to the trauma from her past.

  Based on her faith, she acknowledged that forgiveness had to be her ultimate goal. She wasn’t there yet. Not even close. But she was ready to take the first step in that direction. Because the fact that her husband’s killer had sent her a letter suggested he might have a conscience after all. Perhaps something had enlightened him to the error of his ways, imbued him with guilt and a sense of remorse.

  Perhaps he was finding his way to the Lord, in much the same way Nathan had.

  If so, a letter from her might speed his journey—just as Nathan’s quiet faith had helped her begin her own journey of reconnecting to the Almighty.

  She closed her eyes. Folded her hands on the table. Bowed her head.

  Lord, please soften my heart. Give me the words that will accomplish Your will and bring this lost soul back to You. Guide my hand and my heart as I take this first painful step toward forgiveness. And fill me with courage and trust in Your goodness as I prepare to let go of the past and embrace the future You have planned for me.

  Taking a deep breath, she picked up her pen and began to write.

  On Wednesday afternoon, as Nathan braked to a stop on his bicycle in front of Catherine’s house, the sound of violin music wafted through the quiet air, as it had a few weeks ago. But what a change from the last impromptu concert he’d overheard.

  Resting his bike against the split-rail fence, he took a few moments to enjoy the lilting, upbeat classical piece. In direct contrast to the previous melody, this one brimmed with optimism and lightheartedness.

  It sounded the way he felt.

  Thanks to the past three days.

  As they’d worked side by side to lay the flooring in the remodeled rooms, their relationship had evolved into an easy, natural, comfortable camaraderie. A hurdle had been vaulted, barriers dismantled. Nathan suspected some of the change was due to the story he’d shared with her last Friday. But Catherine had also told him about the letter she’d written to her husband’s killer—the first, freeing step toward forgiveness and a future unencumbered by the past.

  There was another very significant change, as well.

  She’d taken off her wedding ring.

  That’s what had given him the courage to ask her—and Zach—out on a date.

  Unless it failed him before he issued the invitation.

  The music ceased, and Nathan took that as his cue to head toward the breezeway.

  Zach must have been watching for him, because the youngster banged through the door the instant he stepped inside, his face animated, his greeting enthusiastic.

  “Hey, Nathan.”

  “Hi, champ.”

  “Mom’s got something to ask you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let me get her.” He grinned and raced back inside.

  Half a minute later, the two of them emerged again, Zach tugging on Catherine’s hand. Her color was a little higher than usual, and Nathan gave her a curious look. “What’s up?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. Shifted from one foot to the other. “Well…you probably already have plans, and it’s okay if you do. I know you have family on the island, and I’m sure they’d like to spend the day with you. So don’t feel obligated.” She folded her arms across her chest. Swallowed. “But the thing is…we were wondering…” She paused and cleared her throat.

  Zach huffed out an exasperated breath and cut to the chase. “Do you want to have a picnic with us and go see fireworks on the Fourth of July?”

  A slow smile curved Nathan’s lips as a blush crept up Catherine’s cheeks. “That’s funny. I was going to ask you guys the same thing.”

  “Honest?” Enthusiasm lit Zach’s eyes.

  “Honest.” He kept his gaze fixed on Catherine’s. “I can’t thin
k of anyone I’d rather celebrate my independence with.”

  The warmth of her smile chased away the last lingering chill from the darkest corner of his soul.

  “Oh, boy! This will be so much fun!” Zach hopped from one foot to the other, unable to contain his excitement. “Isn’t this great, Mom?”

  Her smile deepened, producing an endearing dimple on one side of her mouth that he’d never noticed before. “Yeah. It is. We’ll talk about the details after we finish the floor.” She started toward the rooms on the other side of the breezeway. “I know you have another job to go to this afternoon, so we’d better…”

  He snagged her arm as she passed, and she stopped. When she looked at him, the pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat tripped his own heart into double time, and it took every ounce of his willpower to restrain the urge to kiss her. That would have to wait for a private moment.

  “Thank you.” He said the words softly, for her ears only. Expressing gratitude for far more than a simple outing.

  And she knew it. He could tell by the way her eyes softened with tenderness. And by the gentle, unexpected brush of her lips against his cheek as she stood on tiptoe, then moved on.

  Leaving him with a silly grin on his face that he was pretty certain matched the one on Zach’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What’re you looking for, Mom?”

  Sparing Zach a quick, distracted glance, Catherine continued to search the kitchen. “I left some money here this morning, but now I can’t find it.” Eight fifty-dollar bills she’d gotten from the ATM last night, to be exact. And she was certain she’d set the envelope containing the cash on the kitchen counter. That’s what she usually did when she got home from running errands.

  Truth be told, though, she hadn’t been thinking very straight over the past few days—thanks to a certain visitor with velvet-brown eyes who’d been playing havoc with her metabolism. “Did you see a white envelope anywhere out here, Zach?”

  “Nope.” He propped his elbow on the table and took a big bite of his chocolate-chip cookie. “Why don’t you ask Nathan? He came in to get a bandage for my finger while you were on your cell phone in the backyard. I got a splinter. It bled a little, but he fixed it for me.” Her son held up his latex-wrapped pinkie. “Maybe he saw the money.”

  Nathan had entered the house uninvited? That was a first. But now that he’d witnessed Zach’s reaction to blood, she could understand his quick response to even a minor injury. And she had been on the phone for an extended period with her sister. He probably hadn’t wanted to interrupt her.

  Zach was right. It was possible he’d seen the money.

  Or taken it.

  Shocked by that unbidden thought, her eyes widened. Where in the world had that come from? Of course he hadn’t taken the money! Nathan wasn’t hurting for cash. He had more jobs than he could handle, and he’d just sold a painting for an impressive price. Why would he take a few hundred dollars from her?

  Because stealing is in his blood.

  No!

  Catherine gripped the edge of the counter, steadying herself. Why were such hateful thoughts darting through her mind, leaving suspicion and agitation in their wake, disrupting her equilibrium, dimming the joy that had lifted her heart of late?

  Nathan had changed. He wasn’t a thief anymore. He was a kind, caring, generous man with high morals and rock-solid principles. And he’d proven that to her in every way humanly possible, demonstrating that her once-a-criminal, always-a-criminal stereotype had been wrong, wrong, wrong.

  So why was it rearing its ugly head now? After she thought she’d put it rest for good?

  It was unforgivable. And it made her feel awful.

  “Do you have a tummy ache, Mom?”

  At Zach’s question, she tightened her grip on the counter. “No, honey. Why do you ask?”

  “Your face looks funny. Like something hurts.”

  Something did. Her conscience.

  Pasting on a smile, she released her grip on the counter and topped off his glass of milk. “I’m fine, Zach. Now finish up that cookie. It’s naptime.”

  Summoning up every bit of her resolve, she pushed aside her noxious suspicions. She wasn’t going to let doubt infiltrate and destroy the relationship she was building with Nathan. She wasn’t. That would be a huge mistake—one she suspected she’d regret for the rest of her life. The money had to be around the house somewhere. The place had been chaotic ever since the move, and she might have set it down in another room without thinking.

  It would turn up. She was sure of it. And until it did, she was determined to banish every last doubt about Nathan from her mind.

  Zach rested his chin in his hand. “I could help you look for your money, Mom.”

  A genuine grin tugged at her lips, replacing her artificial smile. Her son would try anything to get out of taking a nap. “I appreciate the offer, honey. But I can handle it.”

  She retrieved the dishcloth from the sink and joined Zach at the table. Crumbs were scattered over the surface, and she wiped them up into a neat pile and disposed of them.

  Vowing yet again to do the same with the unwelcome, insidious crumbs of suspicion that were cluttering her mind.

  “You do great work, Nathan. I can’t even tell where the hole used to be.”

  Balanced on one knee, he continued to apply the final coat of cream-colored paint to the wall of the family room in the palatial, ocean-front home where he’d been working for the past three days. And did his best to discreetly put some distance between himself and Danielle Price.

  But she only leaned farther over, her long hair swinging close enough to brush his face as she pretended to examine his work.

  He had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to back off.

  If he hadn’t been loath to leave a job unfinished, and if this hadn’t been his last visit, he wouldn’t be here today. The twenty-something blonde made him nervous. Big-time. He’d met her fiftyish husband on his first visit, as the man was leaving their summer home for a fishing excursion, and this woman had bored trophy wife written all over her. Worse, she was on the prowl.

  He didn’t intend to be her prey.

  “Thanks.” He continued to stroke the paint over the repair he’d made in the drywall, feathering it out with a light touch so it would blend seamlessly into the existing paint, hurrying as much as he could without compromising the quality of his work.

  “Can I hand you a tool or anything?” She moved in again and leaned a shoulder against the undamaged part of the wall. Shoving her hands into the pockets of her micro-shorts, she exposed a broad section of midriff under her low-cut cropped top. Right at his eye level.

  Nathan swallowed past his distaste and did his best to ignore the flagrant flirting.

  “No, thanks, Mrs. Price. I’m about finished here.”

  She gave him a little pout he suspected she was used to employing to her advantage. He supposed some men might find it appealing. It had the opposite effect on him.

  “Now, Nathan. I told you to call me Danielle. We don’t have to be so formal.”

  “I always show respect to my customers.” He added a few more strokes, stood and stepped back. It was good enough. “Okay. That should do it. I’ll go clean my brush and get out of your hair.”

  He started to turn away, but she startled him by snagging one of the belt loops on his jeans with a perfectly manicured finger. When he looked back at her, she gave him a sultry smile. “I wouldn’t mind having you in my hair, Nathan.”

  Disgusted by the blatant come-on, he extricated himself and eased away. “I’m sure Mr. Price wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

  She gave an indifferent shrug. “He’s gone all the time. When we’re in Boston, he’s at the office. When we’re here, he fishes. A girl can get lonely.” She sidled up to him, her baby blues locked on his lips, her tone seductive. “But you know all about being lonely, don’t you, Nathan? I hear prison is a very lonely place.”


  He sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her, blindsided.

  A smug smile lifted her lips. “It’s amazing how much you can learn by searching about a person on Google, isn’t it?”

  Repulsed, he took another step back. “You checked me out on the Internet?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Why not? I always search the Internet about things I’m interested in.”

  His back stiffened. “I don’t appreciate having my privacy invaded.”

  She gave a careless shrug. “Your incarceration is public record, Nathan. But that’s beside the point.” She moved in again and rested her fingers against his chest. “The fact is, my husband is gone. You’re lonely. I’m lonely. The way I keep score, that equals a pair.”

  Very deliberately, he removed her hand from his T-shirt. Until now, he’d tried to be polite. This time he made no attempt to warm up the chill in his voice. “Not to me. I don’t play those kinds of games. And for the record, I’m not lonely. Excuse me while I take care of this brush.”

  He turned, but not before he caught the sudden bright spots of color in her cheeks. Apparently his customer wasn’t used to having her advances rejected.

  His conclusion was verified when he returned to the family room and found her lounging in a rattan chair, paging through a magazine. Her pose was nonchalant, but the cobalt eyes she strafed him with were cold enough to stave off global warming. As was her tone.

  “Your toolboxes are in the foyer. Pull the door shut behind you when you leave.”

  Without a word, Nathan exited the room. After retrieving the twin boxes, he let himself out and stowed them in the wire baskets on the back of his bike. Then he mounted and took off as fast as he could.

  Leaving behind his first unsatisfied customer.

  And feeling nothing but relief.

  “Hi, Nathan!”

  As he biked up the dirt road toward Sheltering Shores Inn the next morning, Nathan grinned at Zach’s boisterous welcome. The youngster was peeking through the split-rail fence that separated the yard from the road, and he gave a vigorous wave.

  Returning the gesture, Nathan pulled to a stop. “Hi, champ. What are you doing out here?”