Like a Love Song

by Camille Eide

  Layne leaned back. “Okay, so he might not be ideal counselor material. But he can definitely help you out of a really tough spot. And it’s just for a few months. If it makes any difference to you, it would help him out too. Besides, it’s a steal of a deal. Joe is probably worth far more than whatever you were paying Bowman.”

  The sensation of being trapped in a corner and bullied into submission soured the lingering taste of chocolate. “I don’t like this, Layne. I don’t like being forced.”

  “I know, Sue. I’m sorry. But I don’t think you have any other choice.”

  See, it’s that no choice part I really dislike.

  People shuffled about their business on the other side of the curtain, while Sue lay trapped, a victim of rotten circumstances outside her control. A familiar feeling of powerlessness crept over her, but she refused to let it take hold. She was no longer a small, defenseless child. Swallowing her dread, Sue said quietly, “Since this Joe is already on his way, what am I supposed to do? Hire him sight unseen?”

  “You interview him like you would anyone else.”

  An interview. Where I drill this total stranger and pretend I actually have a choice. “Okay, let’s say he passes the interview. Until I get a full background check and references—which you are going to provide me, by the way—he’s only working on repairs under supervision, and he’s not coming anywhere near my kids. He lives off-site until everything clears.”

  Layne’s eyes widened. “You’re going to supervise him?”

  “Of course.”

  A slow smile spread across Layne’s face. “So that’s a yes?”

  Sue turned toward the assortment of hoses and medical panels on the wall. Sometimes Sue secretly admired Layne’s subtle powers of persuasion.

  This was not one of those times.

  Chapter Five

  At her desk Monday morning, Sue listened to the kids doing schoolwork in the den—a passable distraction from the pain. The interview with the oil rigger was set for ten o’clock. It would have been better if it wasn’t so soon, but the repairs weren’t getting done by themselves, and the deadline was fast approaching.

  Layne had put a rush on the guy’s background check, but there would still be a wait. Since Sue didn’t have his full file, she prepared a list of questions for him.

  Her knee throbbed. Of course, she was supposed to be icing it. With the Ice Machine. The contraption was little more than a flat pad attached to hoses dangling out of a picnic cooler. It looked more like a science fair project gone berserk. And evidently, she was supposed to strap it to her leg. All day.

  The sounds of laughter filtered into the office.

  Sue pulled herself to standing, wincing at the stabbing pain in her knee and arm, and crutched her way to the study.

  Miss Graves, the ranch’s part-time tutor, had her first shift of students hard at work.

  Chaz spun from the computer screen and frowned. “Hey, Miss Susan. You can’t be in here. You’re supposed to have that knee elevated and on ice.”

  His lilting lisp reminded her of Linus from Charlie Brown. Except a Linus with a proficiency in robotics, aerodynamics, explosives, and a half dozen other things Sue was sure she’d rather not know. “Chaz, I don’t think it’ll hurt to come in here and see how you guys are doing.”

  The kid shook his head. “You can’t have surgery unless you get the swelling down, and you can’t get the swelling down unless you elevate and ice your knee. You’ll never get better if you’re in here every five minutes bugging us.”

  Sue smiled. “Thanks, buddy. I’m touched by your heartfelt concern.” She ruffled his hair and hop-thunked back to her office.

  Smart aleck. He was probably right.

  She entered her office and gasped.

  A huge man stood just inside the outer door of her office, blocking the exit. He was built like a linebacker, a skin-tight, green T-shirt straining across his chest.

  “Who are you?” A steely pain in her shoulder sucked the breath from her lungs.

  The man only stared.

  Sweating from ricocheting pain, Sue shifted her weight on the crutches, but one slipped out and clattered to the floor. She struggled to balance on the remaining crutch with her bad arm, sending a fresh surge of lightning-sharp pain. Dizzy, she tried to focus on the guy, but everything swirled and the floor began to tilt. Darkness swallowed her as the man lurched toward her, arms stretched out.

  Falling …

  Floating up …

  Up and away …

  In the dark, voices murmured.

  Sue forced her eyes open and blinked against the light streaming in the window. A pair of dark eyes fringed with long lashes met her gaze. Not Bertie’s faded blue ones, but rich, mocha brown. And close. Chocolate eyes, muscular jaw, woodsy aftershave, and male—all extremely close.

  “You okay?”

  The voice, deep but quiet, rumbled through her. It seemed she was in the green giant’s arms. Her pulse sped. “Yeah, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d put me down.”

  He lowered her carefully, then grabbed the other crutch and offered it to her. “You must be Susan Quinn.”

  Heart pounding, she stood as steady as she could. “That’s right.”

  With a pained smile, he held out a hand, then must have thought better of it, because he let it drop. “Joe Paterson. I’m here to see you about a job.”

  * * *

  Joe glanced around, noting the newer walls and flooring. This office wasn’t part of the original structure. He still couldn’t believe this was the ranch Dan had told him about. If he got the job, he couldn’t wait to poke around, see how else his old group home had changed. Plus, a job at Juniper Ranch would allow him to be close to Bend but out of sight. He’d struck out at the courthouse on Friday, but here he could still work on tracking down the Jacobs family without any of them knowing he was around.

  It took Susan Quinn a while to get her brace-encased leg situated on a chair, but she didn’t seem the least bit open to help.

  “Should I ... go get someone? I mean, since you passed out?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. Please have a seat.”

  Whatever was wrong with her leg, it looked painful. And her face was pale, which didn’t make her any less attractive.

  He lowered his gaze to the pile of papers between them on the desk, being careful not to stare at her, something he’d caught himself doing more than once.

  She had a natural, clean kind of pretty about her, like a girl from a soap ad. Her big brown eyes had grabbed him immediately—something about the way they contrasted with her blonde hair. She had a little upturned nose and small, full lips that reminded him of a tiny rose.

  Lips that, at the moment, were pressed tight. Blood-draining tight.

  Finally settled in, she drew a shaky breath and met his eyes. “My apologies, Mr. Paterson, for the … um, fainting spell.”

  “No problem. And call me Joe, please.”

  She cut straight to her first question, asking him about his experience with maintenance and structural repair work.

  When he stopped talking, the only sound was Susan’s pen scratching notes on paper.

  She went on to explain the rules and work details. Then she showed him a list of repairs and asked if he could get them done by the end of next week.

  As he read the list, he sensed her scrutiny of him. When he looked up, her expression remained even, but a hint of wariness lingered in her eyes. He resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his jeans. Something about this woman got right under his skin. And stung.

  Father, I don’t know what’s bothering her, but You do. Help her with it, whatever it is.

  * * *

  Sue shifted her hips to relieve some of the pain and stiffness in her back. If only she had more time, more information. More options.

  Joe set the list down and nodded. “I can have this stuff done to code by the end of next week, as long as I have the tools and supplies I need.”

 
“Great.” She gave him an application. While he filled it out, Sue studied the man. Good looking, no denying that. And he seemed polite, but his size made her nervous. He had to be six-four with a logger’s physique and arms the size of tree trunks. She felt like a wounded field mouse next to a water buffalo. He appeared to have an easy friendliness about him, but Sue had learned long ago not to be fooled by the way people seemed. Plus, he acted oddly nervous, putting her radar on high alert. A guy his size had no reason to be intimidated by a small woman on crutches.

  And he didn’t seem worried about being able to do the work. Something else had him off kilter.

  And what’s with the shaved head and tight T-shirt? Who does he think he is—Vin Diesel? Sue cleared her throat. “Just so you know, even though there’s no official dress code for staff, if you work here, you’ll need to rethink your choice of clothing.”

  Joe glanced down at his clothes, then met her with a questioning look.

  “There are teenage girls living here. The … skin-tight T-shirt look isn’t appropriate.”

  “Sorry. My clothes were stolen at a truck stop. I grabbed a couple of shirts at a feed store in La Pine and this was the largest size they had. As soon as I can get to a regular clothing store, I’ll take care of it.” He gave a slightly pained smile. “Trust me, I’d rather have my own stuff.”

  She replayed his words and the inflection of his voice, giving her warning instincts a chance to kick in.

  Nothing.

  She needed to keep him talking. “Layne said you have family in the area. Were you planning to stay with them?”

  Joe stopped writing. “I don’t know where they are right now, and I’m not …” He looked up. “To tell you the truth, I thought I’d be staying here. I guess I’m so used to living on a rig I sort of expected that.”

  Think again, mister. Not until I get every last scrap of your history. But … the High Desert Inn in Juniper Valley was closed for renovation. He couldn’t very well camp out with near freezing temperatures at night. She’d have to either turn him down for the job or let him stay at the ranch.

  And time was running out.

  The feeling of being forced into a corner by this guy’s existence swelled again. How had the survival of her ranch come down to taking in a total stranger built like Paul Bunyan? If he were to stay, she needed some kind of reassurance. How could she be sure she could trust him with her kids? Or with her staff? Or with herself, for that matter?

  A guy like him could do pretty much anything he wanted to anybody.

  A shudder swept through her. She needed to dig deeper, to know more. “Why do you want to work with kids?”

  Joe rubbed his palms along his thighs. “I’m not really looking to work with kids. I do have experience in a group home setting, but I’m mainly here to help with whatever repair work you need before I head to the Gulf.” He avoided her eyes. Not a good sign.

  “Tell me about your group home experience.”

  He took a long look at his surroundings. “I lived in one for about six years,” he said, deep voice softening. “This one, actually.”

  “What? Are you saying you lived here?” In my house?

  Joe nodded.

  Of all the assumptions about Joe Paterson forming in Sue’s mind, this was not one of them. Had foster childhood scarred him as it had her?

  He folded his arms on the desk and leaned forward, looking around. “It was called My Father’s House back then.”

  He was awfully close. His long-lashed eyes gave the muscular cut of his face a boyish look, especially with that dimpled smile.

  Which he knew, of course. Total player, most likely.

  Sue leaned back, trying to gain a little distance. “Yes, I’ve heard. The Realtor told me the place used to be a religious group home.”

  His eyes met hers. Even his half smile produced a dimple. “It was a Christian home.”

  Whatever. Same thing. “How did you like group home life? What did it teach you?”

  Joe didn’t answer right away but gazed at some point beyond her. “I think you and I both know group home life has its moments, but for me it was still home. Even with all the oddball personalities and differences, it felt like a big family. You learn a lot about getting along when you live in tight quarters, twenty-four seven, with people you probably never would’ve chosen as friends.”

  Again, not the kind of answer she expected. She tried to imagine him as a boy, like Edgar or Chaz. “How old were you when you came to live here?”

  “About twelve. I stayed until I turned eighteen and went to work in Alaska.”

  “Really?” Her curiosity ignited like a match to gas. “You aged out?”

  He nodded.

  In her experience, few group homes had the staff or resources to adequately equip their young residents for successful, independent adulthood after leaving the facility. But it could be done. In fact, it should be top priority.

  She herself, along with too many others, had been drop-kicked into the unknown at eighteen, unskilled and unprepared, without any of the tools needed to succeed in a confusing adult world. She had learned to survive the hard way. She wasn’t about to let her kids drift in and out of the system or struggle to get a leg up as she had.

  “How did aging out go for you? I mean, if you don’t mind, I’m always curious to hear from people who grew to adulthood in a group home. Did it prepare you to live on your own?”

  Joe examined his interlaced fingers. “I came to My Father’s House after spending most of my childhood in foster homes. And there are great ones, but let’s just say mine weren’t among them. Those weren’t good years. I was always on the outside. Had no clue who I was. By the time I came here, I …” With a shrug, he shook his head. “I had no hopes for my life. I couldn’t imagine growing up and amounting to anything, or even …” The quiet pain in his face was unmistakable.

  “Surviving?”

  He nodded.

  A flash of understanding struck her. She’d seen it in many of the boys she’d taken in. They’d come to her completely stripped of self-worth—tuning everyone out, often displaying anger, depression, impulse issues, and sometimes suicidal behavior. It had taken poor Edgar a long time to believe he even had any business breathing. She could easily picture Joe as a kid Edgar’s age, feeling hopeless and unwanted, desperate to know if he even mattered. That picture tugged at something deep inside. In spite of her wariness, Sue felt a keen sense of pity for this man.

  “But all that changed. At My Father’s House, they taught me basic skills—like how to take care of myself, how to keep a bank account, that kind of stuff. But they also taught me how to work hard, have integrity. Take responsibility for myself. Be a man. They didn’t just tell me I had worth; they taught me to be a man of worth.”

  This was exactly what Sue wanted to teach her kids. “So there is hope,” she said softly.

  “There is, if the counsel you’re following is …” He studied her for a moment as if she were the one being interviewed.

  The idea made her stiffen.

  Whatever he was going to say, he didn’t finish.

  “Now that you’ve had some time on your own as an adult, how do you feel about being raised in a group home instead of a traditional home?”

  Joe’s look pierced her. “Thankful. Living here changed my life.” His face struggled to conceal some sudden emotion. “I’m pretty sure it saved me.”

  Surprise lifted Sue’s brows, but instead of asking him to explain, she clamped her lips. He’d probably tell her how he’d found God here or something. If that were the case, he’d be disappointed. Things were different at Juniper Ranch. No deadbeat, absentee dads were allowed here. Especially the giant, invisible kind.

  Her gut had better be right on this. “Mr. Paterson, I need the help, as you can see.”

  “Please, call me Joe.”

  “I’ll be honest, Joe. I’m reluctant to have you living here until your background check comes through. But with your situ
ation, I don’t see any other option. So I’ll hire you, but on the condition that you will sleep in the staff quarters out back and only work around kids when other staff members are present. You can store your things in the work shop. As you saw by the conduct agreement, we have strict rules here. No alcohol at any time, on or off premises. And you are never to be alone with a child.”

  He nodded, but an uncomfortable look passed over his face.

  If it hurt his feelings that she couldn’t fully trust him, it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully, he understood. She would do whatever it took to protect her kids and staff. “So if that’s agreeable to you, welcome to Juniper Ranch. Do you have any questions?”

  Joe shook his head. “None for now.” He smiled. “Thanks for taking me on, Ms. Quinn.”

  Sue nodded. “And just so you know, we refer to each other as ‘Miss Susan’ or ‘Mister Joe’ around the kids, and we expect the kids to address the adults the same way.”

  “Miss Susan. Got it.”

  Good. Now let’s see how you are at following the rest of the rules.

  Chapter Six

  When evening came, Joe lowered himself onto the splintered step at the door of his new room behind the main house and listened to the hush of night, silent except for the steady thrum of crickets.

  He’d spent most of the day getting familiar with the place again. From what he’d seen, the kids kept the staff on their toes from morning to night. But now, the stillness worked like a sedative. The air here smelled of sage, just as he remembered. And it was cold. He’d need to find a thicker work coat. He’d forgotten how chilly nights were in Oregon’s high desert.

  Almost as chilly as his pretty, new boss.

  What was eating at her? Every time they crossed paths, Miss Susan seemed to stiffen. As if she could get any stiffer. Her watchful eyes and the tilt of her chin clearly showed her distrust. As if she knew something. But she couldn’t have seen or heard anything of his past. None of that stuff would be included on a background check, as far as he knew. None of the people he’d listed as job references knew how his time with the Jacobs family had come to a traumatizing end or how shame had left a stain on his soul. Yet it felt as if Sue Quinn had traveled back in time and sat in on the family court proceedings, heard the condemning testimony and terrible words his ex-mother had used. Heard the horrible accusations.