Her Forever Family. Mae Nunn

counseling skills to abuse victims where she had a ton of personal knowledge.

      But here she was anyway, dealing with this bizarre disorder again. It was giving her anxiety the likes of which she hadn’t experienced since her earliest days in foster care. Ali’s candle was melted at both ends from searching for wisdom. Between office sessions with her patients she pored over old research materials hoping for a long-forgotten clue. Then late into the night she surfed psychotherapy sites, reading updated studies on Asperger’s hoping for a discovery.

      And as she’d waited for Ethan to finish today’s diatribe on the chemical properties of sedimentary rock so he would finally get off the bed and change his sheets, only one thing was certain in her mind: she was ready to admit defeat.

      “Ethan, I need to tell you something.” Ali tried again to distract him. When he yammered on about salt and gypsum she used the time to gather what little was left of her paper-thin patience. If the attention he’d paid her over the past few days was any indicator, the boy probably wouldn’t hear a word she said. So, why bother?

      And that’s when the fight broke out. Pillows flew, blankets were tossed and a battle for the linens became a life and death issue. But the bed would get stripped.

      “After I drag you over this line, we’re gone for good!”

      “But you just got here,” Ethan insisted between grunts of exertion. “Why are you leaving already?”

      “For your information, bituminous breath,” she jerked her head toward the clock placed prominently above his flat-screen television, “It’s been two hours since I arrived and we haven’t accomplished diddly squat.”

      “How can you say that?” Indignation filled his wide, incredulous eyes. “If you’d pay attention to me when I speak instead of constantly looking at your notes, you might learn something.”

      She ground her teeth, holding back the defensiveness that always accompanied being busted. She’d learned it was a waste of breath. The first time Ethan had called her out she’d been impressed with his intuitive nature. By the tenth time he’d taken her to task she realized he simply had no sense of tact. To an Aspie, diplomacy was tantamount to a lie. When something was straightforward, a candy coating made no sense. It was just that simple to Ethan, who had a remarkable ability to hit a nail on the head even if he could only hit one nail over and over and over again.

      Enough already. Ali tossed her brush into her purse, resigned to what was about to happen. After the display of foolishness Benjamin Lamar had just witnessed, she didn’t figure he’d want her coming back again anyway. She slung her bag over her shoulder, opened the door and headed down the stairs with Simba in tow.

      Chapter Six

      As Ali softly descended the staircase, her gaze came to rest on the wallmounted fountain above the massive fireplace. A cross, crafted from rusty and twisted barbed wire, was embedded in the burnished copper and gray slate sculpture. A sheet of living water tumbled down the slick surface of the stone, then bubbled across the barbs of the cross, whispering forgiveness.

      There was movement near the windows, where she caught sight of Ethan’s father. He was as lean as a Grecian statue and stood facing the twenty-foot wall of glass, with arms folded across his chest.

      Probably searching for a positive way to say, “You’re fired.”

      When her boots and Simba’s feet tapped against the hardwood floor he turned his head. The broad smile on his face sent an unexpected sizzle through Ali’s nervous system.

      “Something funny?” Maybe he secretly enjoyed playing the bad guy once in a while.

      “As a matter of fact, yes,” he responded. “That whole scene upstairs was very funny. But I’m more pleased than amused.”

      “Pleased?” She dropped her purse on the sofa table, then pointed to a nearby throw rug where Simba settled comfortably with her head on her front paws. “How can you be pleased about wasting your money?”

      “Excuse me?” He blinked, looking unsure of himself for the first time since they’d met.

      He was in good company because Ali’s self-confidence was shrinking by the minute. Ending this association sooner than later was probably for the best.

      “My approach isn’t working with Ethan so it’s a waste of money to keep me involved in his treatment.”

      The heart-melting smile was back. “Let me be the judge of whether or not the return is worth the investment. Right now, I happen to think it is.”

      She slumped down on a plush floral sofa. He took the chair positioned at a right angle to the couch and propped his heels on the expensive-looking coffee table.

      “Suppose you tell me what happened up there.”

      “Nothing happened, that’s just it. I don’t seem to be having any impact at all.”

      He shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Give yourself time to get to know Ethan and you’ll start to recognize what we call progress in this house. You got him to engage with you and it’s only been a few days. That’s more than I’ve accomplished in the past few weeks.”

      “I wouldn’t normally call an argument that degenerated into a wrestling match an accomplishment,” Ali countered.

      “Tell me how your sessions usually play out.” He slid lower in his oversized Queen Anne chair and folded large hands across his flat abdomen. Ali’s head was splitting and she was ready to leave for the day, but he seemed to be settling in for a lengthy chat. She pressed fingertips to her temples and rubbed in small circles for a few moments before answering.

      “Well, you have to remember that my patients are all suffering from the effects of abuse. Their experience may have triggered some mental illness but nothing as profound as autism. So, with one of my usual clients, I lead them into discussions that will eventually allow us to deal with the root of their problem.”