A Child Of His Own Read online

  “They’ll be all right, won’t they?” he heard himself ask. He was surprised by the note of impulsive concern he heard in his own voice.

  “They’ve only gone to the stream,” she assured him as she turned and began to walk away.

  Ben forced his gaze away from the spot where the old man and the small boy had disappeared into the woods and followed Dory back to the carousel.

  Gesturing at the shrouds that partially covered the carousel, he inquired, “What’s with the tarpaulins?”

  “I’m in the process of restoring some of the horses. You know, wear and tear, the elements,” she said offhandedly, not wanting to have to explain about the fire and Eddie.

  “I can give you a hand with it.” He took a step forward and was about to climb up onto the carousel.

  She spoke up quickly to stop him. “No, that’s all right. There’s paint all over the place, and the paint on one of the horses is still wet. You can mend the fence in the petting zoo. One of the goats got out this morning.”

  She was scared. He could tell by the way she didn’t look at him as she spoke. He’d seen the look of fear on the faces of enough men in prison to recognize it on her lovely face, and to know that there was something she didn’t want him to know.

  “Sure, Dory,” he said, backing away. “I’ll go mend the fence.” The muscles flexed in his broad back as he walked off.

  She hadn’t lied to him, yet neither had she been truthful. Her conscience was smarting an hour later as she swirled the brush in a can of paint remover, wiped the bristles clean, and stood back to admire her work. It had taken hours to finish this particular horse, a job that would have taken a lot longer if Ben weren’t helping with everything else. Despite her initial misgivings, she had to admit that hiring him had been a smart move. Stronger than any high school kid, his size and strength would come in handy when there were heavy jobs to be done. If only he didn’t have the unnerving ability to unhinge her with little more than a look.

  It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, for it wasn’t fear he inspired. She sensed an inherent gentleness about him in spite of the dark, mysterious eyes. She saw it earlier in the respectful way in which he had treated Martin. Rather, Dory’s fear sprang from within herself, for it reminded her that although she was a woman with a woman’s hungers, she could not risk involvement.

  With the dismal failure of her former relationship still fresh in her mind, she shored up her defenses against the handsome drifter, not daring to hope for any happiness beyond what she could create for herself and her son right here at the Dutch Mill.

  She found Ben at the little enclosure she called the petting zoo, repairing the hole in the fence through which the goat had made its escape. For several moments she said nothing, using his preoccupation with his work to watch him.

  He had discarded his jacket and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he seemed oblivious to the cool air. An unexpected little thrill coursed through her at the sight of the corded flesh that spanned his well-defined biceps, the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest, the dark, heavy curls that flicked about his forehead in the breeze.

  The graceful movements of his hands, combined with the total symmetry of his body, stirred in Dory an unwelcome feeling of attraction.

  Stuffing her hands in her pockets, she stepped forward to announce her presence. Her voice was husky, a little tentative, and unerringly provocative in its quiet way.

  “I’m sorry for the way I acted before. It’s just that...” She paused, uncertain of just what to say. Then she remembered something Martin always said, having appropriated it from Mark Twain. When in doubt, tell the truth. “Things are difficult enough with just me in there.”

  Into his nostrils wafted the intoxicating scent of fresh-cut flowers that seemed to accompany her everywhere. His head came up from his work and he fixed a long, steady look at her.

  The sunlight sparkled on her chestnut hair, highlighting select strands with gold, others with red. She was wearing it loose now and the thick mane fell to her shoulders in a deep, rich mass. Ben’s fingers twitched involuntarily at his sides, tingling with the anticipation of what it must feel like to bury themselves in all that glorious hair.

  “Apology accepted,” he said.

  “I’ve been working like the devil trying to get the carousel ready for opening day.”

  “Hey, Dory, you don’t have to explain to me. If you don’t want me in the carousel, that’s your business.” He smiled wryly, and said, “Not that I think it has anything to do with wet paint. But like I said, that’s your business.”

  He was far too perceptive for her liking. Nervously, she said, “I’m going up to the house to fix lunch. Nothing much, just soup and a sandwich.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I am.”

  “Then it is.”

  He put aside the wire clippers and reached for his jacket, which was hanging from a fence post.

  “Do you always do that?” he asked, as they walked back to the house together keeping an uneasy distance between them.

  “Do what?”

  “Answer a question with a question?”

  Dory blushed. “Is that what I did?”

  “You’re doing it right now.”

  “And do you always ask so many questions?”

  “I’m an inquisitive kind of guy. How about you? Are you as curious as your namesake?”

  “My grandfather claims that whenever I do something questionable, I blame it on my curiosity. But have no fear, the gods have left no box for me.”

  He smiled teasingly as they climbed the steps to the porch. “Ah, but what would you do if they did?”

  Dory considered his question, and answered honestly, “Then I suppose I’d have to open it and unleash all that sorrow and mischief upon the world.”

  Privately, she knew that she had inadvertently opened such a box a long time ago and unleashed upon herself the sorrow of a troubled marriage and its haunting memories.

  Ben saw her eyes cloud with sadness and said, “You’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”

  “What’s that?”

  “The one thing that was left inside the box, and which remains to this day mankind’s sole comfort in the face of misfortune. Hope.”

  Dory paused with her hand on the screen door and looked into Ben’s dark eyes, searching for an explanation of why it seemed as if he understood. Not what it was like to make mistakes and suffer the regrets, but what it was like to cling to the one thing that made living with the past possible. The hope that one day everything would be all right.

  Chapter 3

  “Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you very much, Mr. Evers. Good night.”

  Dory hung up the phone and returned to the dinner table. “That was Mr. Evers who owns an antique shop in Devil’s Corner,” she said as she resumed eating.

  “Happy-sounding place,” Ben remarked.

  “It’s up in the northern Catskills in Green County,” she explained. “By Kaaterskill Falls.”

  Martin looked up from fussing with Jason and chimed in, “Rip van Winkle country. Filled with dark ravines called cloves after the old Dutch name kloven. A darned spooky place, if you ask me.”

  Jokingly Dory warned, “Careful now, we don’t want to scare Ben away after only the first day. We need him around here, there’s so much to do.”

  Her acknowledgment of his worth surprised him, since she had maintained a wary distance all day, sending a polite but cautious signal that friendship was not part of the arrangement. Didn’t she realize that her reluctance to be friendly only heightened his interest in knowing her better? He popped a slice of roast potato into his mouth and pondered why it was always the thing one couldn’t have that one invariably wanted the most.

  “He has a carousel horse for sale,” said Dory. “He said he heard from Mr. Meade in Roxbury that I’m looking for one. I’m driving up there next Saturday to look at it. I’d
go sooner, but Mr. Evers says he’s going fishing next week and won’t be back until then.”

  “What do you need a carousel horse for?” Ben inquired.

  The fork slowed to a standstill midway to Dory’s mouth at the question that was asked harmlessly enough. “I...we, uh,...we had a fire in the carousel a few years ago.” Her gaze came up to chance a swift look at Martin, but he was busy with Jason.

  Ben kept right on eating. “Is that why you spend so much time under those tarps?”

  She answered carefully, “Yes, it is. I’ve been restoring the carousel, as you know. Several of the horses were damaged in the fire. A couple were beyond repair. I found one at an auction in Roxbury last autumn and asked Mr. Meade, who runs the local antique shop there, to keep an eye out for me for another one.”

  “Aren’t carousel horses expensive?” he asked.

  “They can be, if they’re originals from the turn of the century. The one I got at the auction is from the thirties. By then, craftsmanship began to give way to manufacturing. The makers of carousel horses used machines to rough-cut the bodies, although the detail work was still done by hand. It was in pretty bad shape when I got it. I guess nobody thought it was worth restoring, when they can just as easily buy one manufactured using fiberglass shapers and airbrush painters. But the Dutch Mill is one of the few antique carousels left in the country, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Her voice remained level as she spoke, but there was a tenseness in the gentle undertones that did not go unnoticed by Ben. He searched her lovely face in the soft yellow light of the kitchen. What was it, he asked himself, that brought out that ache in her voice? More than anything, he wanted to replace that gloomy look on her face with a smile. She was just so darned pretty when she smiled.

  Lifting his glass to her, he said, “My compliments to the cook. This meal is delicious.”

  “Pop-Pop, look! Mommy’s face is all red.”

  Dory blushed even harder. “Jason, if you’re finished eating, why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for your bath? I’ll be up in a little while.”

  “Do I have to, Mommy?”

  “You know the rules. Bath before bedtime.”

  “Is Ben gonna have a bath, too?”

  “That’s up to Ben, isn’t it?”

  Ben was uncomfortable at being thrust into the midst of their conversation. He was an outsider. He didn’t belong there. He couldn’t imagine that it would make any difference to anyone what he did. And yet, apparently, it did, for both their faces were turned in his direction, Dory’s lovely and Jason’s wide-eyed, waiting for his response.

  This was new to him. Wanting his own child was one thing. Dealing with this one was another. How was he supposed to be with the kid? Friendly? Aloof? God knew, with the way things were in the world, they had every reason to mistrust him. And yet they invited him into their home, giving him a glimpse of family life that he never knew existed. Every little exchange, each little interaction hit him hard. Some distant part of his heart longed for the familiarity and the love that filled the kitchen like a warm light.

  Jason took a big gulp of milk from his glass and beamed back with a white mustache. “Mommy, can I go with you to that devil’s place on Saturday?”

  Dory smiled tenderly and leaned over to wipe his face with her napkin. “Don’t you have a birthday party to go to on Saturday?”

  His face lit up at the reminder. Turning to Ben, he announced. “It’s Billy’s birthday and there’s gonna be a big party.”

  Ben was reluctant to accept the innocent overtures at friendship, not knowing how to respond. “Sounds great. Can I come?”

  “Course not, silly. It’s just for kids.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Feeling foolish for his effort and eager to make up for it, he said, “Say, how’d you like to help me build an airplane?”

  Jason’s eyes grew wide. “You can do that? You can build planes?”

  “I can build small ones.” He held his hands apart. “About so big. I bought a kit in a hobby shop a few weeks ago, and I’ve been looking for someone just like you to help me build it.”

  He’d known the instant he saw that P-51 kit in the hobby shop that he had to have it. A crazy thought had flown through his mind that he’d save it for his son and they’d build it together. But hell, he thought as he looked at the boy, that chance might never come, while here was this little guy, filled with enthusiasm and glee over the prospect of building a model plane, reminding Ben a little of himself at that age.

  It was easy to get caught up in remembering. Much too easy to let himself imagine that this was the son he was searching for.

  “Can I do it, Mommy? Can I help Ben build the plane?”

  “I don’t know,” she hedged.

  She wasn’t really surprised by Ben’s offer. Although he had appeared uneasy, he hadn’t complained at all when Jason had returned that afternoon with a cup full of pollywogs, and had insisted that Ben stop what he was doing to look at them. She had attributed Ben’s uneasiness to the fact that he probably wasn’t around children much. She knew that he was uncomfortable even now, but that he was trying valiantly not to show it.

  What was not so easy to determine, however, was the cause of the wince behind his dark eyes whenever he looked at Jason. What painful memories did it evoke for him? He had told her that he had no children, but who knew? Perhaps he’d had one once, and Jason served as a painful reminder of what he had lost. Or maybe he never had a child of his own and secretly longed for one. She’d heard that some men were like that.

  Still, it wasn’t wise to encourage a friendship between Ben and Jason. After all, Ben would soon be moving on.

  “There’s so much work to do around here,” she said. “I don’t know if Ben is going to have much time to build model airplanes.”

  “Hey,” Ben objected, “I get evenings off, don’t I?”

  “Oh, please, Mommy.” Jason begged. “Puleeze.”

  “I think it would be good for the boy, Dory,” Martin put in.

  She threw her hands up in mock defense. “All right, all right, you can help Ben build the plane. I can’t stand up against the three of you.”

  Ben’s heart gave a little leap of joy at being included. “Great. We can get started on it tonight, right after your bath.”

  “You promise?”

  For a moment Ben indulged in a crazy fantasy as he realized that Jason’s dark hair and eyes matched his own. Tracing an X over his chest, he said, “Cross my heart.”

  “Then I’m gonna go take that bath right now!”

  In the next instant the fantasy retreated back to reality when the child skipped from the room.

  With an incredulous laugh, Dory said, “I’ve never seen him so eager to take a bath.” She got up and began to clear the table.

  “Let me give you a hand with that,” said Ben, rising to help.

  The simple gesture took Dory by surprise and whisked her thoughts far away from the moment.

  She was thinking of dinners in the past, when it had been Eddie sitting across from her, and the air in the room had been so thick you could slice it with a knife. Eddie had never offered to help her clear the table, not even at the beginning, before things got bad. Only now, in retrospect, did she realize how much the gesture would have meant to her.

  She reached unconsciously for a dinner plate, but instead of the cool feel of china in her hand, she felt a stab of white lightning when Ben reached for the same plate at that precise moment. His touch was electric, going through her with the unexpected heat of a live wire. For a moment she was incapable of movement, trapped by the current that flowed from his strong fingers into hers. Was it her imagination or did she feel him quiver? It was difficult to tell, her heart was hammering so in her chest

  The plate fell from both their hands and clattered against the table like a giant coin.

  Dory pulled her hand back, feeling foolish. This was ridiculous, she chided herself. She had to get control of
her emotions if they were going to be sharing a home together for however long Ben decided to stay. She couldn’t react like a silly schoolgirl every time their eyes met or their hands chanced to touch.

  The last time she had shared her home with a man it had been her husband. Yet here was this stranger sitting in her kitchen, looking almost as if he belonged there, reminding Dory that for too long something had been missing around the house, from the empty seat at the dinner table to the place beside her in bed. How ironic, and secretly exciting, it was to think that she would be living under the same roof with this handsome dark-haired man.

  She had to be careful, though, not to react the way she did a few minutes ago when his hand had touched hers. There was no sense encouraging those kinds of feelings, not when she knew, in her heart, that nothing would come of them. She was attracted to him, yes, and granted, they would be sharing a home together, but she had closed the door to romantic involvement a long time ago and wasn’t about to open it again.

  Dory reached for the plate with trembling fingers, hoping he did not notice the effect he had on her. “That’s all right, I’ll do this. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make some coffee.”

  It had been a long time since she’d made coffee for anyone other than herself and Martin and the occasional friend who dropped by. But that wasn’t a friend, or even an acquaintance, sitting at her kitchen table. It was the stranger with whom she had to share her home. And not just any stranger, but a tall, dark and handsome one whose dark eyes regarded her a little too intently, and at whose touch she was caught like a wildfire out of control. Had he felt her nervousness in the fleeting touch of their fingers? What on earth could he be thinking, sitting there like that, with his lean legs stretched out before him and an unreadable look on his face?

  Ben was struggling to regain his composure. His erratic pulse was proof of the chilling effect something so simple as the mere graze of her fingers across his could produce. Yet as he watched her move about the kitchen, there was nothing overtly sexy about her, and he realized that it wasn’t lust he was feeling, but something stronger, something much more complicated. More than anything, her lack of pretense or guile was immensely appealing to a man who had learned to trust no one.