Redemption. Carolyn Davidson
me what to do,” Jason said stoutly. “It’d be better with just you and me here, Pa.”
“It isn’t better, though,” Jake admitted. “You need someone to take you in hand, son. Someone who can take you out and buy you clothes that fit and see to it you visit the barbershop.”
Jason leaned forward on the couch and spoke eagerly. “I can do that, Pa. I can go to the barber by myself, and I’ll go to the general store and pick out some stuff. Can we afford all that?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.
Jake nodded. He’d been living without dipping into his savings, Cord depositing a quarterly amount from the family ranch into Jake’s account at the bank. The house was paid for, thanks to Rena’s thrifty nature, and food for the two males in the household was the largest expense he had.
“We can afford whatever you need, son,” he said, wishing that he’d noticed for himself the boy’s general appearance. “But I’d feel better if someone went with you.”
“Can you go?” The look in his blue eyes was hopeful as Jason focused on his father, but Jake retreated quickly.
“No. You know I don’t go out.”
“You need a haircut, too, Pa.” Jason looked at his father with eyes too old for a lad of nine. “You’re not in much better shape than me.”
“Well, the difference is that you have to be out in public and I don’t,” Jake told him firmly. Then he heard the distinct rap of knuckles on the front door.
“Somebody’s here,” Jason said, rising quickly from his seat to head for the hallway.
“Wait,” Jake told him, calling him back with a single word. “Let me see who it is first.”
“You can’t see any better than me,” Jason told him, standing to one side to peer through one of the long panes of glass that trimmed the door on either side. Glass that was dirty, with cobwebs hanging from the upper corners, Jake noted.
“It’s Miss Merriweather,” Jason said, his eyes seeming to darken even as his face paled in the light from the narrow windows.
“What have you done now?” his father asked, and knew an unexpected moment of pleasure at the thought of once more fencing with the woman.
“Nuthin’,” Jason answered sullenly. “Why do you always think I’ve been bad?”
“Bad?” Jake repeated. That his son should use that word in connection with his own behavior was telling. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the apology from the depths of his heart. “Open the door, Jason. Let’s see what Miss Merriweather wants with us.”
A NARROW FACE PEERED at her from behind the dirty windowpane, and Alicia caught her breath at the apprehension displayed on the boy’s features. Fixing a smile on her face, she waited for the door to open.
“Ma’am?” Jason watched her warily as he stepped back, allowing her entrance if she wished.
“Is your father—” At the sight of Jake McPherson behind the boy, almost lost in the shadows of the wide hallway, she halted her query and nodded a greeting.
“I’m here, Miss Merriweather.”
“I noticed the sign is still there, but I wanted to talk to both of you about something, and this seemed like the best way and time to approach the subject.”
Jake’s hand sliced the air, effectively halting her explanation, and he glared in her direction. “Get to the point, ma’am. Is there a problem?”
She spoke with haste, lest he be angry for nothing. “No, of course not.”
“I’ve found there’s no ‘of course not’ with you, Miss Merriweather. There is still something on your mind.”
“Well, in this case you’re wrong, sir,” she said, standing outside the front door, feeling the air of dislike that emanated from the man. “I simply wanted to talk to you about something.”
Jake waved a hand at her. “Well, unless it’s a topic you think the whole neighborhood needs to be privy to, you’d better come on in.” He regarded her as she hesitated. “My brother tells me you’ve already done damage to your pristine reputation with your interference in our lives. Might as well do it up brown.”
And wasn’t that the truth? She’d heard the murmurs behind her in the store yesterday, and noted the sidelong glances of ladies as she passed them on the sidewalk. It could not be helped, she decided. The welfare of a child was more important than any gossiping females.
Jake turned his chair and rolled it toward the parlor, Jason scampering ahead of him, and Alicia followed in their wake. The boy was industriously picking up an assortment of objects from the couch when she stepped into the room, and he dropped them with a total lack of ceremony onto the floor in one corner.
Jake looked her way and for a moment they seemed to be in tune, both aware of Jason’s meager attempts at straightening up the room.
“Have a seat, ma’am,” Jason told her, waving at the couch, where an unoccupied cushion awaited her. Even as she watched, his eyes filled with hesitant light, as if he feared her mission might prove to be not to his liking. “I haven’t done anything bad this week, have I?” he asked.
She shook her head and smiled, sensing that he’d feared that very thing. “No, you’ve been an exemplary student for the past couple of days, Jason. I appreciated the papers you turned in to me. They’ll help your grades enormously.”
“What’s exemplary?” he asked with a frown.
“It’s a word we’re going to use in our spelling lesson on Monday,” she told him. “If you know the meaning by then, you’ll receive extra credit.”
She looked at Jake McPherson then, wondering if he saw the boy as she did. If he noticed the ragtag appearance of the child, or if he just didn’t care. If he took note of the extraordinary intelligence that gleamed from his blue eyes when they weren’t dulled with unhappiness. Then she steeled herself, putting her plan in motion.
“I received a visit from your brother,” she announced tentatively. “He told me you were looking for someone to help out with Jason. A woman who would see to him choosing new clothing at the general store, maybe arrange for a haircut, or whatever else he needs.”
And for the life of me, I don’t know why I volunteered for the job.
“Cord told you that?” The subdued tone of Jake’s voice was a cover for anger. She could see it in the flush that touched his cheekbones, the flaring of his nostrils and the glare of fury that shone from his eyes. He wouldn’t be smiling today.
“Well,” she began, hedging a bit. “He didn’t say it in so many words. Just suggested that you might be amenable to accepting my help.”
The man looked her over then as if he saw her as a slab of meat in the butcher shop on Main Street. Disdain marked his face, disapproval glittered from his eyes. She felt the brunt of both as if a sharp knife had stabbed her, slicing her good intentions to ribbons. She was no raving beauty—her own mother had told her that more than once—but she was presentable.
“And you think you qualify as an expert when it comes to young boys?” Jake asked with a cynical smirk. “How many children do you have, Miss Merriweather?”
She dropped her gaze to her lap, noting that her fingers were twisting together in an agony of embarrassment. She lifted her chin and met his eyes head-on. “None, of course. As you very well know. But I’ve worked with children for almost ten years, Mr. McPherson. I’d say I have a fair amount of experience.”
“Enough to take on the raising of my son?” he asked.
“I’m not asking for that position,” she told him forcefully. “I have no intention of interfering with the job you’re doing. I only thought to lend a hand.”
“You