Apprentice Father Page 11

At Reverend Richards’s call the next morning, Clay cast a longing glance at his truck. So much for his usual fast escape after Sunday services.

  The minister hurried up to him and extended his hand. “I’m glad I caught up with you. However, you may not feel the same way after I tell you why,” he added with a grin.

  It was hard not to like the pastor. He was easygoing and down-to-earth, and he radiated empathy and caring. He also gave great sermons. The man’s simple speaking style was compelling, his points always pertinent, and Clay was finding his message harder and harder to resist.

  The God Reverend Richards spoke of bore little resemblance to the fierce, wrath-filled, vindictive figure he’d been taught to fear as a youth. As the pastor spoke in his unassuming style about the goodness of the Lord, His forgiving nature, His great love for the human race and His promise to be with us always, Clay began to experience a yearning to know Him better. To develop the kind of relationship with Him that seemed to provide comfort and guidance to the members of this small, close-knit congregation.

  But the trust thing was hard to deal with. The letting go, the willingness to put yourself in God’s hands, scared him. After his first seventeen years of living under his father’s harsh rule, then another twelve dictated by the strict rules of military life, Clay had vowed to take control of his life. To make his own rules and live on his own terms. Turning his life over to God felt like a betrayal of the promise he’d made to himself. And he wasn’t ready to do that.

  The good news was that no one had pressured him to take that step. Including Cate. She knew he came to church only for the sake of the children. But while her faith was deep, and her devotion to the Lord solid and strong, she’d never tried to force her beliefs on him. She’d just gone about living her life according to the principles Reverend Richards spoke of each week. And in all honesty, that had done more to change his attitude toward religion than any words she could have said.

  He was also grateful to Reverend Richards for respecting his decision to maintain a distance from the church. While the pastor had invited him and the children on numerous occasions to stay for the social hour after services, he always smiled and said, “Maybe another time,” when Clay refused. There was no pressure, no handing out of guilt trips. That, too, appealed to Clay.

  “What can I do for you, Reverend?” Clay returned the man’s firm clasp.

  “You may be sorry you asked that.” The pastor gave a wry laugh. “But here’s the gist of it. We’re getting ready to build a picnic pavilion out back, where we can have socials and hold outdoor services in the nice weather. One of our members dabbles in architecture, and he put together a great design. But I’d feel better if someone with your background reviewed the plans, perhaps supervised the construction. We’re going to have an old-fashioned one-day barn-raising to put it up. It will be a family event, with a picnic and activities for the children. I know how busy you are, but I’d be grateful if you could squeeze this in.”

  Clay frowned. Getting involved in a project like this wasn’t going to help him keep his distance from the church community. On the other hand, he’d been coming to the services for more than two months, and other than putting some money in the collection basket, he’d done little to repay the warm welcome he’d received. It wouldn’t kill him to review the plans and lend a hand for one day. And the kids would have fun. They needed to socialize more with children their own age, and this would be a good opportunity for that.

  “Will Cate be there?”

  Clay wasn’t sure where that question had come from, but if Reverend Richards considered the query odd, he gave no indication.

  “I’m sure she will. The whole Shepard clan will show up, I expect.”

  Weekend time with Cate. That clinched his decision. “Okay. I’ll be happy to help.”

  “Great! If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll dash over to the office and get the plans for you. Help yourself to some coffee and doughnuts downstairs if you like.”

  Clay wasn’t ready to take that step yet. But he knew the kids would like him to accept the invitation. They’d asked him every Sunday if they could stay, and he’d always bribed them away with a promise of pancakes at a nearby diner. He steeled himself before looking down into the two sets of big eyes fixed on him.

  “I like doughnuts.” Josh’s expression was hopeful.

  “You can get a doughnut at the diner.”

  “Cate says they have the best doughnuts here,” Emily added.

  “Not today.”

  The kids let it drop, but their disappointment was obvious. And he felt like a heel. But he couldn’t bring himself to make any more connections, to start any more relationships, to send down any more roots.

  Suddenly he recalled what Pop had told the children about roots on moving day. How they helped stabilize you, protecting and strengthening you against storms. How they served as an anchor.

  Clay could use some stability in his storm-tossed life about now, he reflected. And there were plenty of times he felt adrift.

  Even so, he wasn’t sure he was ready to drop anchor.

  “Hi, Clay. It’s Mark. I just checked my messages at the office and got yours from yesterday. Michelle and I are out of town for the holiday weekend. What’s up?”

  Shifting the phone on his ear, Clay stirred the spaghetti sauce he was heating for the kids’ Sunday lunch. “The social worker showed up yesterday.”

  “I told you she’d be stopping by.”

  “Yeah, well, she couldn’t have picked a worse time.” Clay described her visit, sparing none of the gory details. When he finished, he braced himself for the worst. “What do you think?”

  Mark’s momentary silence was telling. “To be honest, I’d hoped she would walk away from her first visit with a better impression.”

  “What does this do to my chances?” Clay’s tone reflected his mood. Flat and disheartened.

  “Her report won’t be based on one visit. She’ll be back at least once more. Assuming things are more under control in the future, your chances should still be good. After all, everyone has an occasional bad day. I expect she’ll take that into consideration. Try not to sweat this, Clay. It’s over. Focus on doing everything you can to ensure she finds a less chaotic situation on her next visit.”

  “Yeah.” Clay turned the stove off. “Listen, thanks for returning my call on a Sunday.”

  “No problem. I’ll be in touch later this week.”

  As Mark hung up, Clay gave the spaghetti sauce one final stir, then crossed to the back door and pulled it open to scan the fenced yard. A few minutes ago the children had been playing on the swing. Now they were nowhere in sight.

  A tingle of alarm raced down his spine, and Clay strode to the front of the house and opened the door. To his relief, the children were tossing a ball back and forth on the front lawn. But fear once more got the upper hand when Josh dashed toward the street to chase a wild throw by Emily—just as a car began to pass.

  “Josh!” The urgency in his tone caught the boy’s attention, and he stopped to turn toward his uncle. “Come up here!” Clay ordered, his voice raw. “You, too, Emily.”

  Mark’s comment about the social worker replayed in Clay’s mind as the children exchanged uncertain glances, then came slowly toward him.

  Assuming things are more under control in the future, your chances should still be good.

  Clay’s blood ran cold as he imagined Ms. Douglas’s reaction if she’d found the two children unsupervised and playing close to the street.

  They stopped at the bottom of the two steps that led to the porch, anxiety etching their features. Clay planted his fists on his hips and glared at them, panic eating at his gut.

  “I told you two to always stay in the backyard.”

  “It—it was muddy back there,” Emily responded, subdued.

  “That’s no excuse. Josh almost ran in front of that car. He could have been killed if he’d gotten hit.”

  “I s-saw the car.” Jo
sh’s lower lip started to quiver.

  “You didn’t act like you did,” Clay snapped. “Emily, why didn’t you try to stop him?”

  “It happened too fast.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  Josh edged closer to his sister, and she put a protective arm around his shoulders. “Please don’t yell at E-Emily.” A sob punctuated his plea. “Please don’t be mad.”

  As Clay gazed down at them, huddled together several feet below him, he suddenly saw the situation from their perspective. They were at the mercy of an intimidating, angry man, just as they’d been at the mercy of the father they’d feared, who’d made them feel guilty for things that weren’t their fault.

  And today wasn’t their fault, either.

  They were only kids, Clay reminded himself. Trying to escape the mud, not being defiant. And Emily was only five. Though mature and conscientious beyond her years, she wasn’t old enough to bear the burden of responsibility for her brother. Implying she was put inappropriate pressure on her.

  If there had been any mistakes in the past few minutes, they’d been his, Clay realized. In his fear of losing the children, he’d overreacted to a situation that, while it needed to be addressed, didn’t call for such severe treatment.

  Taking a deep breath, Clay relaxed his posture and sat on the top step, putting himself on the same level as the children. From that vantage point, he had a clear view into their wide eyes, which reflected fear and insecurity—and that haunted look he’d first noticed in Nebraska.

  Clay knew he had some bridges to mend. And a simple, “I’m sorry,” wasn’t going to cut it. Nevertheless, it was the place to start.

  “Let’s sit out here for a minute and talk, okay?” He gentled his tone and gestured to the concrete wall beside the steps that led to the porch, scooting over to give them room to pass.

  The children complied, cutting a wide, wary berth around him. Once seated, Josh stuck his thumb in his mouth and Emily regarded her uncle in silence.

  “First of all, I’m sorry I yelled. That was a wrong thing to do. But I was scared when I saw Josh run close to that car. I was afraid he’d get hurt. That’s why we have the backyard rule. It’s safer if you play there. And I want you to promise me you’ll always stay inside the fence unless you’re with me or Cate. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Emily dipped her head and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the concrete step. “Are you going to…to send us away?”

  A shock wave reverberated through Clay at her whispered question. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “Sometimes, when Daddy got mad, he’d say he was going to send us to an orphan’s home.” Emily’s voice quavered.

  Clay gritted his teeth. Was there no end to the damage that monster had inflicted on his children? “That was a bad thing to say. When people make mistakes, you don’t send them away. Or stop loving them.”

  “Do you love us?” Josh ventured.

  Josh’s wistful question startled Clay. He’d assumed the children were aware of his feelings. Why else would he be fighting to keep them? But he’d never put it into words. The admission implied too much. Love meant taking responsibility. Protecting. Sharing at the deepest levels. Opening yourself to risk.

  Love was a loaded word.

  Yet people needed to hear it, Clay acknowledged. Especially young children who had known far too little love in their lives, who had been taught by a bully of a father that love was contingent on behaving according to his standards. It was the same lesson Clay had learned from his own tyrannical father. The old man had never once told Clay he loved him, and he’d been clear that his love—and God’s—was conditional, based on his son’s ability to follow a set of rules so strict even Mother Teresa would have had trouble adhering to them.

  It was time to break that pattern.

  Moving slowly, he laid a hand on each of the children’s shoulders. “I love you both very much.” The words came out scratchy and rough, like the hinges on a door that hasn’t been opened for a very long while. He cleared this throat and tried again. “You are the best thing that has ever come into my life.”

  Skepticism warred with hope in their eyes.

  “Honest?” Josh said.

  “Cross my heart,” Clay told him.

  “We’ve never been anybody’s best thing.” Wonder filled Emily’s face. “Except Mommy’s.”

  “We love you, too,” Josh told him.

  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Clay smiled. “How about we go in and have some lunch?”

  “Okay.” Josh held out his arms, and Clay gave him a hug.

  Emily leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We love you a whole bunch, too, Uncle Clay,” she whispered.

  The gentle, innocent love of the children touched him in a place that had long lain dormant, stirring up feelings that washed over him like a balmy tropical breeze.

  And even though their spaghetti might be cold, his heart was warm.

  Chapter Ten

  “The social worker came by again this morning.”

  As Clay made the quiet comment, Cate stopped removing picnic items from the wicker hamper she’d packed for their fishing outing. The kids were down by the lake, getting a lesson on baiting hooks from Pop, giving them a minute alone. “How did it go?”

  “Much better than the first visit. The kids were neat and clean, and chattering about today. The house was in good shape. I was cutting up vegetables in the kitchen to go with the dip.”

  She grinned. “Sounds even better than when she came last week while I was there.”

  Cate had given him a full report on the woman’s second visit. She and the children had just finished baking cookies and Cate was telling them a story when the social worker had shown up. He’d assumed the woman had left with a good impression. Today’s visit had gone equally well. That meant they had two good reports to counter the bad first visit two weeks ago.

  “What happens next?” Cate asked.

  “Mark says she may have enough material to write her report. After that, we wait for the hearing.”

  “I hate that things are unsettled.” Frowning, she looked toward the children, who were talking in animated voices with Pop. Their giggles carried across the distance in the balmy, mid-June air. “I can’t imagine putting them in an environment where there’s no warmth or love or laughter. It would wipe out all the good we’ve been able to accomplish.”

  Clay agreed, though her use of the term we was generous, he acknowledged. While some of the credit for the children’s great strides went to him, he knew the lion’s share went to Cate. Without her, they’d be in an impersonal day care setting. Without her, his house would be a house—not a home filled with the smell of fresh-baked cookies and flowers from her garden and children’s artwork adorning the refrigerator. Without her, he would long ago have crumbled under the awesome responsibility that had been thrust on him.

  With each day that passed, it was becoming more and more difficult to imagine his life without her. Her gentle manner, kind heart, intuitive intelligence, courage, strength, sense of humor…they’d all enriched his life.

  But what if he took the plunge—and failed? What if he chafed under the constraints that came with commitment? What if he couldn’t give her the unfettered love she offered with such generosity to others—and which she deserved in return?

  Yet when Cate turned toward him, her face awash with compassion and tenderness, his doubts dissolved. She always had that effect on him. In her presence, he felt like a ship that had been battered by storm-tossed seas but had at last found safe harbor. He felt as if he’d come home at last.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, a little voice reminded him of the hands-off promise he’d made to her a few weeks ago. He’d abided by it faithfully, tamping down the frequent impulse to seek opportunities to touch her. But today the urge was too strong to resist.

  As their gazes locked, awareness zinging between them, he saw longing war with prudence in Cate’s eyes. It was obvious s
he felt as strongly as he did—and just as obvious she was fighting it. Yet he could sense her restraint giving way, stretching like an overextended rubber band about to snap.

  He took a step closer, never breaking eye contact. As he lifted his hand, a pulse began to beat an erratic rhythm in the delicate hollow of her throat. She swayed toward him, and he reached out to her…

  “Uncle Clay! Uncle Clay! Look at this!”

  Cate’s eyes flew open, and as warmth tinted her cheeks a delicate pink, she moved away on the pretense of sorting through the picnic basket.

  A powerful wave of disappointment swept over Clay as Josh skidded to a stop beside him clutching a small bird’s nest. His fingers had been less than a heartbeat away from connecting with Cate’s soft, satiny skin.

  But perhaps he should be grateful for the interruption, Clay told himself. If he’d touched Cate, he would have broken his promise—and moved their relationship to a different level. And that wouldn’t have been fair to her. He knew her reluctance to get involved stemmed, at least in part, from a concern that he wasn’t ready for a house-with-a-white-picket-fence scenario. And for a woman from such a loving, stable family, that would be the only kind of relationship worth considering.

  He understood her trepidation. And it was valid. While he might be willing to take responsibility for the children, putting a ring on a woman’s finger…that required trust and sharing and communication and compromise. None of which he felt equipped to offer. Under Cate’s tutelage, his fathering skills were improving. But that didn’t mean he was husband material. Being a spouse required a whole different set of skills, and he didn’t have a clue how to develop those.

  It was better to keep following the plan they’d agreed upon weeks ago—let things rest for now.

  Yet Clay couldn’t help wishing Josh had waited just a little longer to claim his attention.

  An hour later, after everyone had consumed their fill of Cate’s fried chicken and potato salad, Clay took a sip of soda and exhaled a contented sigh.

  Pop chuckled. “I’d take that as a compliment, if I were you,” he told Cate, who’d risen to stow the remaining food in the cooler.