like fried chicken, too.” Just as Joe was about to say he wasn’t sure he could handle fried chicken that didn’t come out of a box, the boy added, “But only Mama’s.”
Joe muttered a bad word under his breath, only to realize this was the first time Seth had mentioned his mother since the boy had come to live with him. The lady from social services in Oklahoma City had said Seth’s talking about his parents would help him to accept their deaths and eventually heal some of his pain, but that Joe shouldn’t worry if it took a while for that to happen. Joe knew nothing about his father’s second wife—she could have been a saint, for all he knew, even though he did know the couple hadn’t been living together at the time of their deaths—but he sure as hell knew his father. And a not-so-small, unhealed part of himself was hard put to wonder how, or why, the child would grieve Jose Salazar at all.
Except Joe certainly had, hadn’t he, all those years ago?
“Joe?”
He looked down at Seth. The boy’s forehead was a mass of wrinkles.
“You mad at me?”
“No,” Joe said on a rush of guilt. None of this was Seth’s fault. And there was no way he would’ve refused to take his brother on. Still, that didn’t mean he was a hundred percent okay with the situation, either. Full-time responsibility for an eight-year-old boy you’d never met before wasn’t something easily slotted into your life, especially one already crammed to the gills. But more than that, Seth’s sudden appearance had stirred up a whole mess of issues Joe’d thought he’d dealt with years ago and was not at all amused to discover he hadn’t. Not as much as he’d thought, at least. The social worker had suggested counseling to help Seth through this, but Joe was beginning to think maybe he was the one who needed help getting his head screwed on straight. “Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. And it’s been a long day.”
Seth nodded, but didn’t say anything, leaving Joe wrestling with another brand of guilt—that he didn’t feel more for the kid than he did. Sure, he cared about what happened to him, and he hated seeing the boy so unhappy, but if he thought he’d feel a strong attachment right off just because they were brothers, he’d been dead wrong.
“Hey. You want some ice cream?”
After a moment of apparent contemplation, Seth said, “C’n we get chocolate chip?”
“That your favorite?”
Seth nodded.
“Huh. Mine, too. Let’s go see if they’ve got some.”
As they walked up and down the aisles until they found the frozen-food section—not only did they have chocolate-chip ice cream, they had five different kinds—it struck Joe that he’d better damn well work on forming that attachment, because right now the only thing that mattered was making this kid feel secure again. And the only way that was going to happen was by Joe’s devoting as much time and attention to him as he possibly could. No distractions allowed.
Especially distractions with red hair, a generous smile and green-gold eyes that saw deeper inside a man than this man wanted them to see.
Chapter 3
Taylor was officially in a cruddy mood. And it had nothing to do with the heat, or her hormones, or even that Oakley, her four-legged roommate, had devoured the salad she’d made for lunch today, leaving her with nothing but tuna fish. She only kept tuna fish in the house because it was easy to fix and lasted forever in the can, but truthfully, she wasn’t all that fond of it. No, her cruddy mood had something to do with Joe Salazar. She just wasn’t sure what, exactly.
From her perch on the edge of the Sunday school room’s low stage, Taylor took a bite of her tuna sandwich, but it tasted like dust. Fishy dust, at that. For heaven’s sake, she’d barely even seen the man this past week. He dropped Seth off every morning and picked him up every evening—although Taylor did notice he got later and later every day—but mostly he talked to Blair, since she was Seth’s counselor. Which was just how Taylor wanted it.
But even totally non-Joe-related events or situations would set her off. Like last night, when she got home and her house was empty. Well, duh, she lived alone; of course her house was empty. But usually she walked in and felt “Ahhh.” Last night, she walked in and felt…actually, she wasn’t sure what she felt, but it wasn’t pleasant. And why she should connect this unpleasant, undefined feeling to a man she didn’t even know made no sense whatsoever. But there it was. And there she was, in a cruddy mood.
“How’s he doing?”
A cruddy mood clearly destined to get worse.
Taylor didn’t have to ask to know who the pastor’s wife was talking about. She glanced across the room at Seth, listlessly picking at his sandwich and still doing his best to ignore the other children. Since Didi could obviously see for herself how he was doing, Taylor guessed the older woman wanted her take on things. Which unfortunately smelled to high heaven of ulterior motives.
“Maintaining. Barely.” Compunction about not letting herself get too close to the boy had been increasingly gnawing at her for several days. “Mostly he’s just hung back and watched.”
She most definitely did not like the silence that greeted her comment. “I don’t mean to butt in,” Didi said at last, almost provoking a laugh, “but don’t you think you should, um, get a little more involved?”
“Blair’s doing fine.”
“Yes, she is. But Seth isn’t. Honey, this is a special case—”
“I know that.”
“Then why in tarnation are you sitting back and doing nothing?”
“I’m not sitting back and doing nothing. I’m here if Blair needs me. And it’s not as if I’m ignoring the child.”
“Taylor.” Didi hauled her petite, but ample, form up onto the stage beside her, setting short, fading blond curls all aquiver. “The poor kid follows every move you make. If anyone could help him over this, it would be you.”
“And there’s also a real danger of his becoming too attached—” she bit off another corner of her sandwich “—and then what happens when the summer is over and he has to leave?”
“You’ll heal.”
“I’m not talking about me—”
“Aren’t you?”
Oh, yeah, her mood was definitely worsening. Especially when Didi added, “And I don’t think it’s just the boy you’re afraid to get close to, either.”
With friends like this…
“No comment?” Didi said.
“Not in a million years.”
That got a chuckle. Then Didi crossed her arms and said, “Still, sometimes you gotta worry about the present and trust the future to take care of itself.” A pause. “And hiding out from life isn’t exactly trusting, now, is it?”
This was hardly the first time the pastor’s wife had hinted that she had problems with some of Taylor’s choices, most notably her moving to an itty-bitty town where there weren’t a whole lot of choices. In jobs, in housing, in prospective relationships of the man-woman variety. But it wasn’t as if Taylor hadn’t known from the start what she’d be getting into when she accepted the teaching job here. Still, after her marriage’s collapse, there was a lot to be said for being able to go to sleep every night grateful for her relatively complication-free life.
A cop-out? Maybe. But ask her if she cared. She loved her job, and her little house nestled in the woods, and she was perfectly content with her safe, calm, orderly life, one where she could face the world each morning with a smile that she didn’t have to pull out of a drawer and paste on. So how come Didi’s words weren’t rolling off her back the way they usually did?
As