A Father For Zach Page 2

  But it was too late to fix things now. She doubted he’d come anywhere close to them again today, considering the unfriendly reception she’d given his kind gesture. And there was little chance their paths would ever cross again.

  She needed to let it go.

  Catherine tried hard to follow her own advice, doing her best to immerse herself in the lilting, joy-filled strains of one of Beethoven’s most uplifting works. To focus on the happy faces of the guests enjoying a perfect celebration in a beautiful garden on this sunny, warm day.

  But somehow she couldn’t erase the image of a weary face that she sensed belonged to a man who had endured more than his share of hostile looks.

  Talk about dumb.

  In the split second it took for the gallon can of paint to slip from her fingers and smash into her toes, Catherine Walker knew her decision to pad around the house barefoot as she organized her remodeling supplies had been a huge mistake.

  And the sharp pain that shot through her foot and set off bright pinpricks of light behind her eyes confirmed it.

  Choking back a cry, she stared down at her crushed toes as the can rolled away. And came to the obvious conclusion.

  Her do-it-yourself remodeling plans for the B and B she was scheduled to open in eight short weeks were hosed.

  “What was that noise, Mom?”

  Exiting the main house, Zach skidded to a stop in front of her in the breezeway that connected the two parts of their new home near Surfside. Soon to be known as Sheltering Shores Inn.

  Maybe.

  She cast another dubious eye at her foot, blinking back tears.

  Without waiting for a reply, Zach squatted in front of her and examined her swelling toes.

  “Wow! They’re turning purple, Mom. Do they hurt?”

  “Yeah.” A lot.

  “Should we call 911?”

  He gave her a hopeful look. She knew he was desperate for some excitement, some activity to break the monotony of his days on this quiet byway they’d called home for the past three weeks. Their occasional trips to the grocery and hardware stores didn’t provide enough variety for her inquisitive six-year-old. And he’d hated sitting through weddings, like the one she’d played at two weeks ago. But since their move from Atlanta, she’d been too busy settling in to do much exploring with him.

  That was about to change, she conceded as she tried to put her weight on her foot and cringed. She didn’t intend to summon an ambulance, but a trip to the ER seemed unavoidable.

  “No, honey. I don’t need 911. But I think I better have a doctor take a look at my foot.”

  “In town?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we stop at Downyflake before we come home?”

  Already the local hangout, known for its sugar doughnuts—which had edged out Hershey’s Kisses as her son’s favorite treat—was high on his list of must-visit places whenever they ventured out.

  “We’ll see what time it is when we’re through.”

  “Okay. Want me to get your purse?”

  “That would be good. And grab my sandals, too, okay?”

  While he headed back into the kitchen to retrieve the items, Catherine tested her foot again. If she put her weight on her heel, she could hobble as far as the car, she decided. But beyond that…

  A sudden surge of panic swept over her, and she did her best to stifle it. She’d find a way to cope. She always did. Things would be okay.

  They had to be.

  “Here they are, Mom.” Zach burst through the door, purse and shoes in hand. “You want to lean on me?”

  Despite the pain that was intensifying with every passing minute, she dredged up a smile as she gazed down into his earnest, trusting face. What would she do without this little guy? If it hadn’t been for him—and her music—she’d never have made it through the past two years. Yet she’d come so close to losing him, too. Fear clutched at her, twisting her stomach and renewing her resolve to make his safety her top priority.

  “That would be nice, Zach. Thank you.”

  After she slipped her feet into her sandals, he moved beside her. She’d intended only to lay her hand on his shoulder, but she found herself leaning on him more than she expected as she locked the door and they headed for her Honda Civic, parked in front.

  “I guess it hurts, huh, Mom?”

  “A little. But the doctor will fix it up and I’ll be good as new. Can you get your seat belt on by yourself?”

  “Sure.”

  He hopped into the backseat while she took her place behind the wheel and carefully lifted her injured foot inside. As she put the key in the ignition, she checked on Zach. He was already strapped into the car they’d driven up from Atlanta, eager for an outing—no matter the destination.

  She grimaced as she eased the car back, every little bump on the gravel drive reverberating through her foot. Zach was watching her face in the rearview mirror, his expression somber.

  “I guess maybe you should have worn shoes when you were carrying those paint cans,” he offered.

  No kidding.

  A tall, white-coated man with light brown hair entered the examining room at Cottage Hospital and smiled first at Zach. “Hey, big guy. How are you doing?”

  The youngster shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Getting tired of sitting around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hear you. Let’s get your mom taken care of so you can go home.”

  He turned to Catherine and held out his hand. Midthirties, she estimated as he approached the examining table, with an appealing compassion in his blue eyes. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  “Christopher Morgan, Mrs. Walker. Sorry it took me a while to get to you. We were dealing with some victims of a car accident who needed immediate attention.”

  She took his hand. “No problem. So what’s the bad news?”

  “Two broken toes.”

  Her shoulders drooped. The verdict wasn’t a surprise, but she’d been hoping they might only be bruised. She’d even toyed with the idea of praying for that outcome, though she’d quickly dismissed that notion. Why bother? God hadn’t come through for her the last time she’d sought His help.

  “What does that mean in practical terms, Doctor?” She tried not to panic again, but it was difficult to remain calm when she had no idea how she was going to whip the inn into shape in time for her first customers.

  “No strenuous activity involving your feet for the next six weeks.”

  “I suppose climbing up and down ladders falls into that category?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Definitely.”

  She stared down at her elevated foot, which was surrounded by ice packs.

  “Are you gonna put on a cast?” Zach interjected. “You know, the kind people draw on?”

  “Nope. That’s the good news.” The doctor smiled at him, then redirected his attention to Catherine. “A hard-soled, sturdy shoe should do the trick. You need to protect your toes from further injury while they heal.”

  “I have some hiking boots.”

  “Those will work.”

  Good thing she’d thrown them into a box at the last minute instead of giving them to charity, as she’d been tempted to do, Catherine reflected. Although looking at them had evoked a bittersweet pang and reminded her of happy times never to return, the thought of cutting that link to David had been more painful than dealing with resurrected memories. So she’d kept them.

  “Now let’s talk treatment.”

  The doctor’s voice drew her back to the present, and she shoved her melancholy thoughts into a dark corner of her mind.

  “Expect quite a bit of bruising and swelling. Prop your foot on a pillow when you’re sleeping, and stay off it as much as possible for the next few days at least—no prolonged standing or walking. Keep your foot elevated above your head, if possible. That will help reduce the swelling. For the first couple of days, put ice on it for fifteen to twenty minutes every ho
ur or two. You can use a plastic bag filled with ice, but be sure to put a towel between it and your skin. Take an over-the-counter pain reliever if you need it. Any questions?”

  “No.”

  He tipped his head. “I have one. Why did you ask about ladders a few minutes ago?”

  She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’m renovating a house I just bought that I plan to turn into a B and B. We’ve only been here three weeks, so I haven’t gotten very far. And my first guests are arriving August 1.”

  “Are you doing the work yourself?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Yes. Or I’d planned to, anyway. It’s mostly cosmetic. Nothing too heavy, but it does require a lot of climbing up and down ladders.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find someone to help if I want to be ready for opening day.”

  “I can help you, Mom,” Zach volunteered.

  She smiled and reached out to take his small hand. “I know, Zach. And you’re a good worker. But I’ll need someone a little bigger, too, to carry heavy things and climb the ladder.”

  “If you’re in the market for an extra pair of hands, I’d be happy to give you the name of my brother-in-law,” the doctor offered. “He’s new on the island, too. I know he has some training in carpentry and painting, and he’s already done some work at our church.”

  Catherine sent him a grateful look. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  The doctor pulled a prescription pad out of his pocket and jotted a couple of lines. Stifling a yawn, he gave her a sheepish grin and handed it over. “Sorry about that. I just got back from my honeymoon yesterday, and I’m fighting a little jet lag.”

  Honeymoon.

  The word conjured up a poignant image of white beaches, palm trees and a tall, sandy-haired man with love and laughter in his eyes.

  It also reminded Catherine where she’d seen the doctor before. She’d played at his wedding two weeks ago. He’d looked quite different that day, in a tux instead of a white coat. Besides, her attention had been on her son, not the bride and groom, whose happiness had brought back bittersweet memories.

  Somehow Catherine dredged up a smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Let me help you off the table.”

  He freed her foot from the ice bags, waited while she gingerly swung her legs over the edge and supported her as she fitted her feet into her sandals.

  “Is someone waiting to drive you home?”

  “We drove ourselves,” Zach piped up.

  The doctor frowned. “Driving in your condition isn’t the best idea.”

  It was all Catherine could do to hold her tears at bay now that her foot was flat on the floor again—and throbbing with pain. How could two little toes possibly hurt this much?

  Summoning up a shaky smile, she brushed his concern aside. “I don’t have far to go. Besides, my car’s an automatic, and my right foot is fine.”

  “I’d feel better if you were a passenger instead of a driver. Isn’t there anyone you could call?”

  She didn’t miss the subtle glance he cast toward her wedding ring.

  “No.”

  At the finality in her tone, he capitulated. “Okay. I’ll have one of the aides take you to your car in a wheelchair. But no more driving for a few days. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Five minutes later, as Catherine maneuvered herself into her car with the help of the aide, she thought back to the doctor’s question about whether there was someone who could assist her.

  She wished she’d been able to answer in the affirmative. That she could pick up a phone and call the man who’d been the center of her world for eight glorious years.

  But she was alone now, except for Zach.

  And she always would be.

  Because a broken heart was a whole lot harder to heal than two broken toes.

  Chapter Two

  Nathan braked to a stop on the side of the bike path as he approached Surfside and pulled out the directions he’d jotted down when Catherine Walker had called last night. Her street should be the next one on the left, he concluded, pocketing the slip of paper.

  The three-mile bike ride from Nantucket town hadn’t taken him nearly as long as he’d expected, so he slowed his speed as he turned off the main road and headed down the dirt lane. The houses here were spread much farther apart than the ones in town, and all were constructed of weathered clapboard. Although they were too far from the beach to offer a glimpse of the sea, they had a wide-open vista of the blue sky and felt a world removed from the tourist crowds and noise. He liked that.

  He had no trouble spotting the house his potential boss had described. It was a bit unusual in that it consisted of two clapboard structures joined by a breezeway. The one on the left was a story and a half, Cape Cod in style, while the smaller section on the right appeared to be one level.

  Unlike the houses closer to town or in ’Sconset, it didn’t boast lush, well-tended gardens and tall privet hedges. Instead, it seemed to blend into the open, windswept terrain, as if it was a natural part of the landscape. He liked that, too.

  Leaning his bike against the rail fence that separated the property from the dirt road, he walked up the gravel path to a front porch rimmed with budding hydrangea bushes. After ascending three steps, he rubbed his palms on his jeans and knocked on the door.

  “Hey, Mom, he’s here!”

  The sound of a child’s voice drifted through one of the front windows, which was open two or three inches. That was followed by the sound of eager, running footsteps. And a woman’s voice.

  “Wait for me, Zach. I’ll open the door.”

  Zach.

  Nathan had only the space of a few heartbeats, while he listened as a lock was slid back and a dead bolt turned, to process that name and come to a startling conclusion.

  But it was more warning than the woman who opened the door was granted.

  Stunned, Nathan stared at the wary violinist. The mother of the friendless, blond-haired little boy.

  She stared back.

  Several beats of silence passed.

  Her son recovered first. A wide, welcoming smile split his face as he beamed up at the visitor. “Hey, Nathan! It’s me, Zach, remember? From the wedding. You gave me your cake!”

  Grateful for the distraction, Nathan tore his gaze away from the woman’s startled green eyes and smiled down at the youngster. “Hi, champ. I’m surprised to see you again.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. Isn’t this cool, Mom?”

  One look told Nathan that cool didn’t come anywhere close to describing Catherine Walker’s reaction. Cautious, guarded, uncertain—those adjectives were more accurate. Placing a protective hand on her son’s shoulder, she edged closer to him.

  “Mr. Clay, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated for another moment, as if still processing this peculiar coincidence and debating how to proceed. But at last she took a deep breath and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. “All the work’s in that building.” She gestured toward the smaller structure on the other side of the breezeway. “I’ll show you around and you can put together an estimate.”

  He followed her in silence, noting her limp—and the sturdy, somewhat clunky hiking boots that were out of place with her slim capri pants. When they reached the porch steps, she descended slowly, one at a time, bottom lip caught between her teeth, features contorted with pain.

  In his thirty-four years, he’d had more than his share of cuts, scrapes and broken bones. And he knew how much they could hurt. For an instant he was tempted to take her arm in a steadying grip. But he quashed the impulse at once, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead as he followed at a nonthreatening distance. If he so much as breathed on her, he suspected she’d send him packing.

  “My brother-in-law told me about your accident,” he offered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll live. But it’s not very convenient.”

 
“She dropped a can of paint on her foot in there.” Zach pointed to the breezeway, throwing the words over his shoulder as he trotted along beside his mother, his hand firmly held in hers. “I heard it all the way in the living room. Then her toes got purple. And they puffed up. They look really gross. And she can’t walk very…”

  “Zach.” Catherine’s quiet but firm tone cut him off. “I’m sure Mr. Clay doesn’t want to hear about my toes.”

  “He might. Did you ever break anything?” Zach directed the question over his shoulder.

  “A couple of fingers once.”

  “Yeah?” Zach gave him an interested glance. “How?”

  He should have seen that question coming, Nathan realized in dismay. No way did he intend to share that bit of background with this duo. Telling this wary woman they’d been smashed by a police officer’s baton wasn’t likely to win him any brownie points.

  Pulling open the door of the breezeway, Catherine saved him by changing the subject.

  “Let me explain the project.” She stepped inside and he followed. “I plan to use the smaller part of the house as a B and B. It’s already set up as guest quarters, with two large bedrooms, each with a private bath and a separate entrance. However, it’s in desperate need of some TLC. I have guests booked beginning August 1, which would have given me plenty of time to get the work done myself. But now I’m going to need some help.”

  She took a key out of her pocket, fitted it into one of the two doors in the breezeway that led into the structure and pushed it open.

  Nathan followed her in. The empty room was large and boasted a vaulted ceiling, but evidence of disrepair was obvious. Some of the drywall was damaged, paint was flaking off in several areas and the stained carpet smelled musty.

  “The other room’s worse,” she told him as she limped over to the bathroom and pushed the door open. “It has peeling psychedelic wallpaper that will have to be stripped—meaning lots of drywall repair, I suspect. I also want to install Pergo wood-grained flooring in both rooms. Any experience with that?

  “No. But I’m a fast learner.”

  She gave a slight nod. “I installed some a few years ago in our old house. It’s not that hard. I can guide you through it. Maybe even help by that point.” She flipped on the light in the bathroom. “These aren’t as bad. They need more redecorating than repair.