“He may get wet, but he won’t drown,” Mac said. He pointed downstream of the bridge that sat a hundred yards up from the entrance of the turnoff. “And I will call him back if he wanders too far. Is it not my son’s job to explore the world around him, and my job merely to keep him safe while he does?” He frowned. “At least that’s what I’ve surmised from the books I’ve been reading.”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been reading books on parenting?”
Instead of returning her smile, his frown deepened. “At least a dozen—only I’ve discovered a good many of them contradict each other, and one or two had some rather disturbing notions about discipline.”
“Parenting is more of a hands-on, trial-by-fire sort of thing, Mr. Oceanus. And though several people have tried, no one’s been able to write a definitive book on child rearing because humans are not one size fits all.”
Good Lord; there she went sounding like Eileen again.
He finally found a smile. “So I have your permission to ignore everything those books said, Mrs. Baldwin?”
Oh yeah, his eyes definitely turned a deep vivid green when he was amused. “Actually, you have my permission to throw them away. And please, call me Olivia.”
Up went one of his brows. “Forgive me; you led me to believe we were no longer on a first-name basis.”
“My mistake… Mac.” She arched a brow right back at him. “Do you know where your son is right now?”
“Just downstream, crossing the brook on a fallen log.”
Olivia turned, trying to locate Henry. “Where? I don’t see him.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I have very good eyesight as well as exceptional hearing. He’s just reached the end of his courage and is heading back toward us.”
“Speaking of good hearing, apparently your son has inherited yours. You’re going to have to watch what you say around him, Mac. He kept calling Mark a bastard.”
“Is that not the appropriate term?”
“Not for a six-year-old boy, it’s not.” When she saw the sparkle leave his eyes, Olivia wondered if she’d ever learn to read this man. “I don’t think you understand what Henry’s doing. When Trace first called me, he said that in the course of only a few months your son’s mother died and he came to live with you, even though the two of you had never met. Is that correct?”
Mac silently nodded.
“Well, coming to live with a complete stranger after suffering such a loss has been far more traumatic for Henry than for you,” she said softly. “And from what I’ve seen in the last half hour, your son is trying very hard to be what he thinks you want him to be. Henry’s like a sponge soaking you up: emulating your mannerisms, your language, and how you treat people.” She smiled, gesturing at the road she’d been pacing. “Heck, he even walks like you.”
“Excuse me?”
Still unable to read his expression, Olivia widened her smile. “You have a rather direct stride, Mac. You want to see what it looks like sometime, just watch Henry.”
“Are you saying I should discourage him from emulating me?”
“No. That’s a good thing. It means Henry is looking to you as a role model.” She shoved her hands in the jacket pockets again. “You really should be talking to my mother-in-law about this; Eileen’s the expert. I’m just trying to point out that when you call someone a bastard, even if he is one, Henry’s going to call him one, too. And if you beat up that bastard, even if he deserves it, Henry’s going to beat up any kid his young mind believes might deserve it. So I’m only suggesting that you be aware of what you say and do in front of him. All children are highly impressionable, but Henry’s even more so, because not only is he trying to figure out exactly where he fits in your life, he’s desperately trying to find his place in your heart.”
Mac unfolded his arms to shove his hands into his pants pockets and turned to face the woods. “I have no business being anyone’s role model, especially not an impressionable young child’s.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back toward the brook. “I am the worst son a man could have, and there’s a very good chance I will be an even worse father.”
“You already are a wonderful father, Mac.”
“How can you possibly say that?” he asked without looking at her. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know how completely focused you are on Henry. And your insisting on coming to Inglenook early and then staying through the entire summer certainly proves how determined you are.” She started walking toward the main road when she heard the school bus approaching, but stopped and turned with a smile. “Parenting’s not about you versus Henry, Mac; it’s about you and Henry versus the world.”
For the first time in nearly three months—since a mysterious, overly intelligent, pint-sized person had come to live with him—Mac felt a glimmer of hope that he might actually survive this. He hadn’t even made it to Inglenook yet and already he was seeing his son in a whole new light, the most surprising revelation being that Henry was soaking up everything he said and did like a sponge. Which, now that he thought about it, was frighteningly true; within days of their tumultuous meeting, Henry had started mimicking him to the point that Mac realized he could be looking in a thirty-year-old mirror from when he was six. But maybe the most insightful—and reassuring—thing Olivia had said was that he and Henry were on this journey together.
And that simple notion intrigued him as much as the woman who’d said it did.
Which could be a problem. He was here to learn how to become a good father, and he really didn’t need the distraction of finding himself attracted to the teacher, no matter how beautiful she might be, or how warm and inviting her smile was, or how compassionate she was to a fault. Damnation, he’d didn’t know which had angered him more: that she would have been raped if he hadn’t happened along, or that she had in turn protected the bastard.
“It’s a good thing we were driving by when the lady was being attacked, wasn’t it, Father?” Henry said. “It’s too bad she wouldn’t allow you to kill the bastard, though, because I think he deserved it. Your letting him go might lead him to believe he can attack another woman and get away with it again.”
Mac looked down to find his son standing beside him, the child’s arms crossed over his chest and his feet planted to relax back on his hips as he watched Olivia walk across the main road in front of the stopped school bus. Sweet Prometheus, how could the boy possibly know his very thoughts?
Mac unfolded his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Apparently bastard is an inappropriate term for a six-year-old to use, son. So maybe you should cease saying it until you’re older.”
“How much older?” Henry asked, also shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he frowned up at Mac. “Can I say it when I’m ten? Or fifteen? Or do I have to wait until I’m your age?”
The boy always took everything so literally! And if Henry asked one question he asked a hundred; every day, morning until night, one right after another. The problem was, Mac didn’t have a clue how to answer him half the time. How in hell was he supposed to know how old a person should be to use certain words? As far as he was concerned, if the term fit it was permissible at any age.
“Maybe that’s a question you should ask Olivia.”
“And do I call her Olivia when I ask, or madam?”
Mac dropped his head in defeat. “You might wish to ask her that, too. And Henry, don’t mention to her daughter what happened today,” he said when he saw Olivia walking back across the road holding the hand of a girl who appeared to be a year or two older than Henry. “Olivia might not want her to know for fear of worrying her. Now go put your things behind your seat to make a place for her to sit,” he instructed, looking toward the main road as Henry ran to the truck.
The two women could have been twins but for their ages, the younger Baldwin having wavy brown hair that fell over her shoulders to frame an angelic face, an effortless smile, and an energized beauty tha
t seemed to swirl around her like liquid sunshine—exactly like her mother.
Mac shuddered, thanking the gods he’d sired a son, knowing damn well he would have worried himself into an early grave if he’d had a daughter.
The young girl even took on Olivia’s same expression of concern when she spotted her mother’s swollen lip and puffy eyes. She stopped to ask a question once they reached the dirt road and the school bus started off again, and Mac saw Olivia’s smile widen as she made a gesture, obviously concocting some tale to explain her injury. Only it appeared the young girl wasn’t sure if she believed her, judging by her frown. She then tugged on the unfamiliar jacket her mother was wearing over her own and asked another question.
Mac watched Olivia glance guiltily toward him as she started unzipping it. But her daughter stopped her by grabbing her hand and pushing up the sleeve, exposing a bruise on Olivia’s wrist that had darkened enough for Mac to see from where he was standing.
“Sophie looks just like her mother,” Henry said, having come back from his chore to once again stand with his hands in his trouser pockets.
“Sophie?” Mac repeated, unable to remember Olivia mentioning her daughter by name. Probably because he’d been too angry that he’d been forced to release the bastard who’d brutalized her.
“Didn’t you hear Olivia tell me her daughter’s name is Sophie, and that she’s eight years old and in the second grade?” Henry glanced up at him then looked back at the women. “Even from here I can see they have the same colored eyes as each other, just like you and I do. Olivia’s eyes remind me of cinnamon, which is my favorite spice, and I bet Sophie’s are the same.” He suddenly frowned. “I don’t think I would have let the bast—that man drive away if I had caught him hurting Sophie.” He suddenly grinned menacingly. “I would have at least sent him home carrying his stones in his pocket.”
Mac broke out in a sweat. Henry wasn’t merely walking and talking like him; his son even thought like he did!
How could he have forgotten that people became who they lived with?
Especially impressionable young children.
There were a lot of things he’d forgotten, apparently, about the inherent nature of man—which, considering his line of work, could be hazardous. But indulging in the more pleasurable aspects of human desires for the greater part of his adult life, Mac realized he had obviously dismissed as unimportant many of the more mundane laws governing the universe.
Nothing like having a son to put everything into perspective.
Yes, for as much as he hadn’t wanted to travel even this short a distance from the ocean, bringing Henry to Inglenook just might prove to be one of the wisest decisions he’d made in several centuries.
Chapter Three
The moment they crested the final knoll that brought Inglenook’s main lodge into view, Olivia spotted Eileen helping John climb up into the passenger seat of their van. And judging by the look of relief on their faces when they realized she was in the SUV, it was obvious they had been coming to search for her. Giving them a wave to show that she was fine, Olivia directed Mac to continue along the narrow lane winding its way through the high peninsula studded with old-growth pines.
She had originally wanted to put Mac in cabin three nearer the main lodge, so he and Henry wouldn’t have so far to walk before the dining hall opened in three weeks, as well as because the smaller cabin was a good fit for them. But considering the size of the check he’d sent—most of which was already spent—Eileen had felt Mr. Oceanus deserved their most secluded cabin that sat right on the lake, since it was going to be his and Henry’s home for the next six months.
Only instead of heading out onto the peninsula, Mac pulled into the driveway leading up to the lodge, stopped behind the van, and shut off the engine. Olivia got out with a sigh, wondering why she bothered to open her mouth if no one listened to her.
“What’s going on?” Eileen asked, rushing over as John followed on his crutches. “Livy! What happened to your face?”
“In a minute,” she said, turning to grab the opening back door. “Sophie, why don’t you take Henry over to cabin ten and show him where he’s going to be staying?”
Sophie started to hand Olivia her backpack, but suddenly passed it to Eileen instead. “Mom hurt her wrist when she fell, Gram, so could you take this for me?” She turned as soon as she was relieved of the burden. “Come on, Henry. The grown-ups will probably talk forever, so we can stop by and see Tinkerbelle on the way.” She headed toward the barn. “And if you promise to be gentle, I’ll let you hold her babies.”
Olivia watched young Henry start after Sophie but wasn’t surprised when the boy suddenly stopped and turned to Mac, who was just walking around the front of his truck. “Father?” Henry asked.
“It’s okay, son; you can go with Sophie. Just remember to assure the mother that your intentions are good before you pick up her kittens.”
“And you two stay away from both of the lakes,” Olivia called after them as they took off at a run. “The ice is already rotting along the shoreline of Whisper.”
“What happened?” John asked the moment they were out of earshot. “Mark came flying in here like a bat out of hell and drove straight to the bunkhouse. He threw his things in his truck, shoved the water heater out of the back of it, and was gone before I could get over there to see what was going on.”
“What happened to your face?” Eileen whispered, eyeing Olivia’s swollen lip. Her gaze darted to Mac, then back to her. “You look like you were… did Mark hit you?”
“He tried to rape her,” Mac said before she could answer.
Her in-laws turned to him, Eileen with a gasp and John’s eyes hardening in anger as they both looked back at her.
“Eileen, John, this is Mr. Oceanus,” Olivia said with a tight smile. “He and Henry were driving by when… while Mark… when he…” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of the jacket, unable to admit—even to herself—that she’d nearly been raped.
“And you just let the bastard go?” John growled, his question directed at Mac.
“Not by choice,” Mac said. “It would appear your daughter-in-law doesn’t believe in holding a ‘dumb kid’ accountable for his actions.”
Eileen sighed so hard Olivia felt her hair move as her mother-in-law wrapped an arm around her. “Oh, Livy, you’ve always been too damned softhearted for your own good. Good Lord, you’re shaking like a leaf.” Only because she’d started shivering again when she’d spotted Mark speeding toward them from Inglenook, his face filled with fear as he’d nearly driven into the ditch when they’d passed each other on the narrow dirt road.
“Let’s go inside and get some hot tea into you.” Eileen tightened her arm around Olivia. “Please come in, Mr. Oceanus, so we can properly thank you.”
Her rescuer fell into step with John hobbling beside her on his crutches. “I prefer you call me Mac. And could you also tell Henry how he should address all of you, as I’m unsure what to advise him.”
Eileen stopped. “Everyone here is on a first-name basis, Mac, especially the children. All of our staff wear name tags, and the first few days of each session we encourage our guests to wear the conference badges we give them.” Her smile widened. “We should probably have some name tags made for you and Henry, since the two of you will practically be permanent fixtures here for the next six months.”
Mac bowed ever so slightly, though Olivia noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Apparently Maximilian Oceanus wasn’t all that keen on running around with his name plastered on his chest.
Still hugging Olivia, Eileen headed up the walkway to the lodge. “I told you the moment I met him there was something odd about Mark,” she said quietly. “And the worst part is you agreed with me. But you kept him on against my better judgment anyway, claiming you couldn’t very well have him drive all the way from Georgia just to fire him.” She gave Olivia a squeeze. “I can’t believe you allowed that bastard to drive away after what he
did to you.”
Olivia let herself be led up the stairs like a child, wondering how they’d gone from Mark to her being the idiot.
Sitting on the bathroom floor of cabin six, a pipe wrench in one hand and an opened book on home repairs in the other, Olivia scowled at the pipes coming out of the leaky water heater crammed in the closet between the shower and equally leaky toilet. She’d given herself one hour to change out the heater, a half hour to replace the wax ring on the toilet, twenty minutes to tidy everything up afterward, and ten minutes to deal with any surprises. Only that schedule was blown to hell now, seeing how it had taken her thirty minutes crawling around under the cabin to find the water shutoff that some diabolical plumber had placed under the floor.
She glanced down at the step-by-step pictures in the book, then at the heater, then at the pictures again—not one of which looked anything like the maze of pipes in front of her. She snapped the book closed and tossed it on the floor, crawled onto her hands and knees and squeezed into the closet, and fitted the pipe wrench over the corroded brass… thingy on the bottom side of the tank. Maybe she’d have better luck figuring out how to plumb in the new heater after she got rid of the old one.
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