Next Door Daddy (4 page)

“Got anything else to do?”

Nate had been about to clean out some stalls, and though he figured Gil would run at the sound of that, he offered it up.

“Woo-hoo! Gimme a shovel—I use a shovel, right?”

Nate almost laughed. Almost.

“Maybe you need to give your mother a call and let her know where you are first.” Pollyanna might get worried when Gil didn't show up for so long.

“Maybe I better. You know how moms are.”

Nate motioned to the phone hanging on the wall next to the tack room. “She wants to talk to you, Nate,” he called after only a moment on the line.

Nate took the phone. “Yes?” he said, watching Gil hop around like he was prone to do.

“Are you sure you don't mind him helping? If he's in the way, please just send him home.”

Her voice was soft and he pictured her gentle green eyes looking pensive as she said the words. He was struck by the image and startled by how much he felt the need to reassure her. “He's a good helper. If you don't mind, I'd appreciate the help.”

There was a long pause, as if she was weighing the validity of his assurance. He added, “A boy living in the country needs to know how to muck out a stall.” Her chuckle startled him a little, like another pinprick on a toughened callus.

“I'm sure you're right about that,” she said. “If you're sure, then I know he would love it.”

“Yes, ma'am. I'll send him home in a couple of hours.”

“Nate, thank you,” she said, before he could hang up.

“No need,” he said, more than a little uncomfortable as he pressed the disconnect button.

Two hours later he sent Gil and Bogie home. He wondered if Pollyanna would thank him when her son walked into her clean house smelling worse than the stalls he'd cleaned. Nate found himself smiling as he watched the kid race his bike around the bend with the dog in hot pursuit, holding his head high in order to keep his feet on the ground.

Something told Nate that as long as Gil came home smiling, Pollyanna McDonald wouldn't care if her son stunk like a polecat.

I
t was only seven in the morning but Polly had been up since five. Rubbing her tired neck, she walked from her office.

In the two hours, she'd sent off approval of her Web site and accepted a couple of reservations for midsummer from an online booking directory she was listed with. She'd also finally decided on the bedding she wanted in the four guest rooms, and had ordered it quickly so she wouldn't change her mind again. At least now she would be able to choose her paint colors. That was a relief. She had a lot on her mind and hadn't been sleeping well. The B and B had to be a success for so many reasons. Besides making Marc proud and fulfilling their dream for Gil, she needed to feel in control of something in her life again. Each thing she marked off her list helped.

She and Marc had had some savings, but they'd also had a good life-insurance policy. Marc hadn't taken his responsibility lightly, especially with his love of extreme sports. However, Polly wanted to stand on her own two feet. She'd invested Marc's money and kept enough back to use as seed money for the business, and she was trying to live off of their other savings until she had an income from the bed-and-breakfast.

Marc's insurance money was funding their dream and, invested wisely, it would always give her and Gil a cushion to fall back on. The bed-and-breakfast showed great promise. Of course, being a worrier, she still feared it could fail. But as far as she could tell it was a healthy fear that kept her aggressive.

Coming around the corner, she spotted Bogie in his usual morning pose, sitting on the back of the couch, looking regally funny in his collar. She was convinced the dog thought he was a cat. Of course, his oddities weren't exclusive to him. The shar-pei breed wasn't fond of water, they batted balls around on the floor with paws cupped like a cat's, and because of their huge protector instinct, they loved to climb to a high spot. It gave them a lookout advantage, she assumed. Bogie preferred the couch but climbed up on anything available. If chairs were left pulled away from anything he climbed onto it—the table, vanity or desk—and proudly kept watch. But climbing wasn't his only extracurricular activity. Sometimes he took things. Before she caught him on top of her desk, she'd thought she was going crazy when things would go missing and turn up in weird places. Like her pocketbook behind the corner chair, or her hairbrush behind the toilet!

The breed also had a natural instinct to bond with a family unit. It was this reason her parents had given them the wrinkled pup. They knew she worried about Gil's emotional state since losing his daddy and they wanted to relieve her a little by giving him something with a huge capacity to love and protect.

What they hadn't realized was that shar-peis didn't have tremendous life expectancies…eight, ten years maybe. Polly hated the thought of Gil bonding with something so strongly only to lose it. She knew the fear was also for herself.

And yet with Bogie, Pepper and Gil's two turtles they were on their way to raising a farm. Add in the goat Gil wanted and the cow she wanted, and she seriously was going to have more to worry about. If any one of those animals died, she was going to have to watch Gil suffer again.

Death cut deeper than she could bear. Fear of it could be paralyzing…even for a woman with a strong faith in the Lord. If she could, she would protect Gil from ever having to experience it again.

A flash of color caught her eye and she looked up just in time to see Gil whizzing down the banister. He let out a whoop and landed on his feet with a thud. Just the luck of a worrywart like her, her son was part mountain goat. And fearless like his father.

“Gil, you keep sliding down that banister and you're going to hurt yourself. You've got to stop that,” she admonished. Her heart was thudding.

“Mom, it's fun.”

Fun. That was the name of the game when it came to Gil. Again, just like it had been for his father. Polly smiled despite herself, her heart swelling with love and fear at the same time. Marc would have slid down the banister with him…while she was telling him to stop. “We'll talk about it later. You ready for breakfast before Rose picks you up for school?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm
starrr-vin'Marrr-vin,
” Gil drawled, using one of Marc's favorite sayings. Hearing Gil, or Pepper, come out with one of Marc's lines always made her smile. She took a deep breath and fought off the burn of tears. What was wrong with her this morning? Tired, she decided as she watched Gil play a game of tag with Bogie. The dog all but tripped over his collar trying to get to Gil and rolled off the couch, landing in a heap. The noise stirred Pepper to life, and from upstairs, safely ensconced in the large cage where he ended and began each day, Pepper began singing “Jesus Loves Pepper” to Gil's turtles, his very own captive audience.

The song was God's perfect timing as Polly was reminded by the childlike voice drifting down to her that, despite her worries, all was well.

She was convinced God used Pepper's small voice to help calm her and remind her that she was not alone in raising her son.

She blinked away the sting of tears and sent up a quick silent prayer of thanks for both the reassurance and for Gil's continued safety.

They were doing okay. They really, really were.

She thought of Nate Talbert. The man had let Gil help him for the past couple of days and it had made Gil so happy. He'd come rushing in the first day looking like Pig Pen and smelling like one, too. But how happy he'd been. Country life suited him.

And that was an answer to prayer. It was also something that demanded acknowledgment.

Thanks to the girls, her kitchen was ready for business, and Nate Talbert looked like a man who could use a home-cooked meal.

 

“So the trip was good?” Nate asked his mother the minute he answered the phone and heard it was her. He'd been expecting her to call the moment she and his dad arrived home from their cruise.

“Alaska was as splendid as I thought it would be,” she said, then paused. Nate could hear his dad in the background telling her something. “Your father says you should go. And I agree.”

Nate stared out his office window and shook his head. “Tell Dad I'll let the two of you do all the traveling in this family.”

His mother sighed. He didn't have to see her face to know she was fighting a mixture of exasperation and sorrow. He hoped she'd let it go. “Nate, honey, you always wanted to travel.”

Yeah, with Kayla. They'd planned to travel as soon as they had the time. Turned out they didn't have any of that.

“Your brother will go with you if you don't want to travel alone.”

“Mom, stop.” He didn't want to hurt her, but she had to stop. She'd just this year started hinting that it was time for him to start dating. Start traveling. Start living. It was always something that began with
start
or
try.

By
trying,
she meant
move forward,
and her high hope was that he would meet a nice woman and remarry. Nate had a real problem with people wanting this for him. Still, she was his mother, and she wanted grandchildren. And since she'd given up on his brother ever settling down, Nate was still her best hope. Plus, she wanted Nate to be happy again.

“I'll be up to bring that load of cattle in two weeks,” he said, not answering her plea. There was no sense lying to her.

She sighed into the phone. “Oh, all right. I'll tell your brother.”

“Thanks, Mom. That'll save me calling him.” Nate's brother, Tyler, ran the family ranch operation outside Fort Worth. Their dad had suffered a light heart attack a few months back and was trying to slow down and enjoy life a little bit. This cruise had been part of the plan. Nate's mother thought grandchildren running around would help him adjust to not working so hard. Nate felt guilty for not being able to give her what she wanted. But life wasn't fair, and people didn't always get what they wanted. Still, he felt bad for his mother. She deserved grandchildren. He was going to have a heart-to-heart with his brother when he went home.

He and his mother discussed the trip for a few more minutes before saying their goodbyes. She always ended her phone conversations with “I'll be praying for you, dear.”

Nate figured his mother's prayers had helped him through his worst times. Hanging up the phone, he bowed his head and prayed for her. She was the best woman Nate knew, and she deserved to have her heart's desire.

He was heading out the door when the phone rang again. Thinking his mother had forgotten to tell him something, which she usually did when she called him, he snatched up the headset. “Did you forget something?” he teased.

“You could say that.”

Pollyanna's chuckle through the line was an unexpected surprise. “You're not my mother.”
Real sharp, Talbert.

“No. Sorry.”

“I just hung up,” he explained, and moved on quickly. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually. I need you.”

T
hat evening, with dread knotting in his stomach, Nate strode up the five steps flanked by two large pots of what looked like tulips that hadn't bloomed yet. He quickly knocked on the screen door before he lost his nerve and fled. After letting Gil tag along for the past couple of days, Pollyanna had called and insisted that he let her cook him supper. Nate had finally agreed to the invitation, however reluctantly. When Gil had come by after school, the boy had been over-the-top excited, and that had done away with any thoughts Nate had toyed with about reneging.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he willed his insides to settle down. The very idea of sitting at another woman's table had him feeling as nauseated as he'd been the first time he'd been kicked in the gut by a disgruntled heifer. He told himself it had nothing to do with the silky way Pollyanna's voice had pleaded with him over the phone. Or the way he kept remembering how her eyes practically talked out loud, they were so expressive.

Nate knocked again. No one came but he knew by the soft laughter drifting from somewhere inside the house that they were home and just hadn't heard him.

Swiping his hat from his head, he tried another route. “Hello,” he called, pulling open the screen. Unanswered, he stepped just inside. An impressive staircase wound upward in front of him. His gaze followed it up. One side of the railing detoured at the second floor, but the other railing never broke as it wound in a wide smooth arch up to the third story…man, would that be one good ride. Curious about the rest of the house, he moved into the large living room. Second thoughts about intruding converged on him. He started to turn around and go back to the porch when Pollyanna's laughter rang out. The sheer delight of her laughter hooked him.

Eyes on the doorway at the end of the living room, he took a few more steps and almost tripped on a puppy leg.

The lazy dog was sleeping beneath an end table, sprawled on his back, his relaxed face a scrunched-up mass of wrinkles inside the “lamp shade” collar.

“—they're gonna like it here, Mama. Bo's smiling. See? And look at Sylvie go,” Gil called out excitedly.

“Pepper, too. Pepper, too!”

“Yes, Pepper, you can watch, too.” Pollyanna laughed. “I think Bo's letting Sylvie win because he loves her desperately.”

Pollyanna's voice was husky with laughter as Nate stuck his head into the room. Mother and son were sitting on the floor of the kitchen side by side turned slightly away from him. They were watching two turtles striding—well, at least they were striding as fast as two turtles could stride—across the floor toward what looked like a red string of candy licorice. A
Twizzler.
The bright green cockatiel was perched on Gil's shoulder, doing a wild dance as he watched the race. It had to be one of the oddest things Nate'd ever seen. Before Nate could speak up, the bird cocked its orange-spotted head and pinned its beady little eyes on him. Instantly the feathers on its head fanned forward as the bird lifted one foot and pointed it at him.

“Stranger! Stranger!” it screeched, then flew straight at Nate.

Caught off guard, Nate whipped back to avoid the dive-bombing bird. Too late he realized that a disoriented Bogie had sprung into action, rushing in behind him—very effectively cutting his feet right out from under him.

'Bout summed up his day, Nate thought as his feet sailed out from under him and he hit the floor like a pile of rocks.

And there he lay. A green bird circling overhead, a fat, wrinkled pooch bumping into him with its odd plastic helmet, and a laughing boy and his emerald-eyed mother standing over him.

“Are you okay?” Pollyanna blinked big eyes at him.

Nate wasn't sure if it was because he'd smacked his head on the hardwood floor, but he just stared up at her like an idiot. She really did have the most dazzling eyes.

And a cute, tiny dimple beside her lips.

“Pepper gotcha! Pepper gotcha good.” Gil giggled, doubling over.

Nate sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

“Gil, be nice,” Pollyanna scolded, but Nate saw the corners of her lips twitch.

“It's all right.” He grinned at Gil, then up at Pollyanna. “It's my due for coming into your house uninvited. Besides, boys are born with an odd sense of humor.”

That made her smile. Not just smile, the woman's eyes lit up and twinkled like a thousand stars. “Yes. They are,” she said, her gaze settling on Gil like a caress.

That look shot longing through Nate as sharp as a hunter's arrow.

“He is truly a carbon copy of his daddy,” she said, her gaze returning to Nate. “Never knew what Marc was going to come out with next. Here, let me help you up.”

She reached for Nate's arm. Her touch was soft and sent a shock wave through him that knocked the breath out of him. This woman had loved well. Pollyanna McDonald was the kind of woman who loved with everything in her. Death, and space and time couldn't diminish it. At least, that was the impression he got of her.

They had that in common. In a way the idea made him sad for her.

The less you loved, the less you hurt.

“Gil, go find Pepper and put him in his cage. He's too excited to be zooming around the house right now,” she said, still tugging on Nate's arm.

Bogie bumped into him with his lamp shade, trying unsuccessfully to lick Nate's face. The whiff of awful doggie breath shook the cobwebs out of Nate's head and made him thankful the dog couldn't get any closer. Pollyanna was tugging on him pretty hard, so he helped her out by standing up. He didn't want her pulling a back muscle.

“Come, sit here,” she demanded, sweeping him into the kitchen and pushing him onto a bar stool. “Are you sure you're okay? I invite you to dinner and my circus tries to do you in.” Her face was now a work of anxiety.

His pride was injured, but it would only hurt it more to mention it. “I'm fine. Were you racing turtles?” He glanced at the two turtles eating a strip of candy.

“We sure were. Sylvie and Bo love to race for candy. And as you saw, Pepper is their cheerleader. Those two will really turn on the juice for a cherry Twizzler.” She grimaced comically.

And Nate laughed.

It happened so unexpectedly, that he froze.

 

The look that washed over Nate after he laughed was so stricken, so lost, that Polly knew instinctively what had happened. Her first impression of Nate had been that of a man still floundering from the loss of his wife. She understood this all too well.

“Is that the first time?” she asked, knowing the answer before he spoke it.

His brows dipped. “The first time?”

“That you've laughed since your wife died?” She knew it had been three years since his wife died.

“Pretty much.”

His expression said for her to drop it, that she'd stepped where she shouldn't. Then suddenly the emotion was gone. The clouds she'd glimpsed in his eyes vanished, as if the sun had come out. She wasn't fooled. She'd been there…she knew behind the dark, impersonal eyes she was looking into now that emotions were raging. She recognized a protective device when she saw it. She'd used it herself many times over the past two years.

For a moment she couldn't say anything, the recognition so acute that she felt her heart clutch inside her chest.

Gil's anxious voice calling out to Pepper broke the moment, followed by the sound of scraping and shuffling. Nate heard it, too, his head whipping around. The call had come from above them, drifting in from outside through the open screen door.

Gil was on the roof!

They reacted together. Bounding through the house and onto the porch, they raced down the steps and jogged clear of the roof line. Polly's heart thundered. Surely the sound of Gil's voice had just drifted out to them from an open window. But she knew she was wrong before she spotted her son. And Pepper.

The bird was perched on top of one of the three dormers on the tiny second-story ledge, though it wasn't Pepper Polly's gaze locked on. It was Gil.

Her son was creeping toward Pepper on the steep roof, talking soothingly to the terrified bird. Polly's first thought was at least they weren't on the third story—but the second story was scary enough for her. It was nothing more than a thin lip.

“Gilly,” she called before regaining her faculties and registering that startling him wasn't the best option. It wasn't Gil who reacted badly to her shout, but Pepper. The scared bird flew straight up as if shot from a cannon, then frantically swooped downward a foot before flying over Gil's head and out into the open, aiming straight for the woods at least two hundred yards behind the house.

“Mom, whad'ya go and do that for?” Gil shouted, spinning around to watch his beloved bird disappearing. Polly's heart dropped when he teetered momentarily.

“Gilbert Marcus McDonald!” she shouted. “What do you think you're doing? Sit down right this minute before you fall off that roof and break your neck!”

Gil stared down at her, his little face bright as the orange spots on Pepper's cheeks. “
Mom,
it's only a roof. Pepper's gone and it's all my fault. I left the window open.”

Polly worried for Pepper. The bird was terrified of the outdoors and with good reason—he had no idea how to survive. But her priority was getting her little daredevil out of his latest escapade. Without freaking out!

Nate touched her arm, then took a step forward, his eyes locked on Gil. “We'll get Pepper back, Gil.” His voice was calm, but with enough firmness it drew Gil's attention. And Polly's.

One look at his eyes locked on her son and the rising swell of panic eased inside of Polly. Like the lull in a storm, it gave her a moment to get a grip. She thanked the Lord that he was here.

“But first, Gil,” he continued, “you have to turn and walk back to that window. Can you do that?”

“Sure I can.”

Polly would have laughed at Gil's insulted tone if she hadn't been so scared. Instead, she held her breath, watching and moving along with him as he walked the roof without wobbling. She should have grown used to his “adventures.” There had been enough of them, but she hadn't. Every time she found him doing something like this she worried. Just like she'd done with Marc. He'd loved living life full throttle, out on the edge. Dirt bikes, speed boats, drag racing…skydiving. Anything that went fast held Marc in thrall.

She pushed the thoughts away, her gaze riveted to Nate as he took every step Gil took, his eyes glued to her son, ready to catch him if he should slip. When Gil climbed safely into his bedroom window, Nate actually heaved a sigh of relief and met her gaze.

“He made it. Just like he said he would.”

If she hadn't been so distraught, Polly might have sighed herself from the sweet way Nate had handled the situation, but as it was, she frowned. “My son is going to give me gray hair before I reach thirty!”

“Are you okay?” Nate turned his full attention on Polly, his eyes full of concern.

She gave him a weak smile. “I should be used to stunts like this. He takes after his father, a born daredevil. I almost didn't buy this house because of the multiple levels.” She bit her lip. “But it was so perfect for a bed-and-breakfast. Now I think maybe I should have passed—”

“He's a boy.”

Like that said it all, Polly thought. Of course, he was right. Marc had said the same thing, she'd just overreacted. Like any mother would do, she added on in her defense. But then again, he was on the roof! At least, she would have made Marc proud, because she hadn't totally lost it. She sucked in a lungful of fresh air. “I'm doing my best not to coddle him, but it goes against my nature,” she admitted. “Since Marc died, I've really had to fight not to overprotect him. Marc always balanced my worries with comments like the one you just made. ‘Rite of passage,' he would have said.” She met Nate's eyes, her lip curving up on one side. “You helped.”

“Don't sell yourself short. You'd have done fine on your own.” His dark brows knitted together above serious eyes.

“Right. And I guess you missed my near hysterics. Gil would have been totally mortified for his new hero to see his mother lose it. You being here made me dig deep. I've been working on handling things more like a man would—like his father would have. I have to learn to do that. I have to.” Polly shut her eyes. Gil was a little boy who was going to need her to be strong, not to coddle him. She couldn't make him afraid of life. Once more, as it had at least twice an hour for the past two years, Polly felt the enormous weight on her shoulders of being a single parent.

Her admiration had tripled for single parents when she'd suddenly found herself one.

Nate patted her shoulder. “You did fine.”

Gil's footsteps pounded to the floor, after yet another trip down the banister. Now he came running through the doorway and skidded to a stop in front of them with Bogie pouncing along behind him.

“C'mon on, y'all,” Gil said, dashing down the steps.