03_A Family To Call Her Own (17 page)

Rebecca thought again about the tragedy and heartbreak endured by the grieving, vulnerable child who now slept peacefully in the next room and by her loving father, driven to extreme measures by their desperate plight, and her heart ached. She couldn’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for Josef to put his child, who meant more to him than anything else in the world, on that plane and send her thousands of miles away. His sacrifice was a true measure of the depth of his love, and Rebecca vowed to do everything in her power to give Isabel the comfort and love and stability she so badly needed.

Slowly Zach folded the letter and silently replaced it in the envelope. Rebecca studied his profile, the familiar elements of strength, character and integrity now underlaid with pain, sadness and worry. She had never been blessed with a friendship like Zach’s and Josef’s, but she realized that the ties that bound them truly were stronger than blood. Strong enough for Zach to feel Josef’s pain almost as keenly as if it was his own. Her instinct was to reach over and comfort him, to lay a gentle hand on his arm, but she was afraid to initiate even such an innocent touch. So she let her hands rest motionless in her lap.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Zach turned to look into her sympathetic eyes. “I wish there was—” He stopped to clear his throat. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“You’re doing everything you can, Zach,” she consoled him.

He glanced back at the package in his lap. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied wearily.

“Josef did ask for our prayers. That’s something else you could do,” she offered quietly.

He shook his head. “I think I’ll have to let you do the praying for both of us, Rebecca. I’m sure God will be more likely to listen to a firm believer like you than a wayward soul like me. I haven’t prayed with any real conviction in six or seven years.”

“It’s not too late to start again,” she reminded him softly, wishing he would. Because she had a feeling that if he did, much of the restlessness, the searching, she sensed in him would ease.

“It is tonight. I’m beat. It’s been a long day for you, too. We both ought to just go to bed.”

At another time, under different circumstances, Rebecca might have sensed an innuendo in that remark. But not tonight. It was a simple statement of fact, and judging by the lines of fatigue on his face, Zach really was all in. She was fading fast herself. “You’re right,” she agreed, rising to retrieve her purse. “I’d better take off.”

Zach rose and followed her to the door, still subdued. As she turned to say good-night, she wanted to reach over and smooth the twin furrows in his brow, which spoke more eloquently than words of his troubled thoughts and deep concern. But again she held back.

“Good night, Zach,” she said softly.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m right here.” She pointed to her older-model car just steps from his door.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Is eight-thirty okay? My first class is at nine.”

“That’s fine. And don’t worry about breakfast for Isabel. I’ll give her something when you drop her off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be cooking, anyway. And Zach,” she paused and glanced down shyly. “Thanks again for the flowers.”

He smiled, and the concern in his eyes gave way to an intimate warmth that made her pulse take a sudden leap. “I’m glad you liked them.”

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly filled with a wistful yearning that he knew she wasn’t even aware of. It made him want to pull her into his arms, to let his lips say good-night in a way that expressed more clearly than words both his gratitude for her support during this difficult time, as well as the depth of his attraction to her. Somehow, the latter had been relegated to the back burner in the past week as they’d both prepared for Isabel’s arrival and he’d prepped for his new job. But he didn’t intend for it to stay there much longer. Now that he’d settled into his apartment, started his job and Isabel had safely arrived, he could turn his attention back to the most important thing in his life at the moment. Rebecca.

Except that he still needed to be patient and move slowly, he reminded himself, recalling Henry’s sound words of advice. So though his hands longed to pull her close, he stuck them into the pockets of his slacks instead and drew a long, shaky breath. “Drive safely, okay?”

With difficulty, she pulled her gaze away from the compelling intensity of his eyes. “Sure. It’s not like I have far to go.” She tried for a joking tone, but her voice sounded breathless.

“Will you call me when you get there?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“I’ll just feel better knowing you’re home safe and sound.”

She was touched by his concern, and a flush tinted her cheeks. “If you want me to,” she agreed. “Good night.”

As she turned and walked away, her heart felt lighter than it had in years. For the first time ever, she had a man in her life who cared about her and a child who needed her. The circumstances weren’t exactly what she’d imagined years ago, when she’d dreamed of a husband and family. But it felt good nonetheless. And right.

Rebecca knew this idyll was only going to last a few weeks. But she resolved to make the most of her time with this special man and charming child. And when it was over…well, for once in her life she would follow Scarlett O’Hara’s advice. She would worry about that tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

Z
ach wasn’t sure what woke him in the predawn hours. A noise of some sort, he assumed, listening as intently as he could manage in his half-comatose state. But the apartment was absolutely still. With a sigh he turned on his side and hitched the sheet up higher on his bare chest, drifting back to sleep even as he did so. But he was still awake enough to feel the sudden slight jolt, almost as if someone had bumped into his unfolded sleeper sofa bed.

His eyes snapped open and he rose on one elbow, squinting into the dimness as he made a rapid three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan around the bed. But there was nothing. He frowned. How bizarre! Could that gentle shake, almost like a nudge, have been caused by an earth tremor? he wondered. He knew this area was prone to them. Yet somehow he felt that wasn’t the explanation.

Perplexed, he glanced down at the floor—and got his first clue. A blanket trailed along the floor, disappearing from his sight as it reached the bed. He inched closer to the edge and cautiously looked down, his throat contracting at the sight that met his eyes.

Isabel was curled into a ball on the floor, wedged as close as possible next to the bed, her doll clutched to her chest. One bare foot peeked out from beneath the trailing blanket, and even as he watched she scooted closer still to the couch, making it vibrate ever so slightly.

Zach didn’t have any experience with children. Had never
wanted
to have any. The idea of being responsible for some little person who was totally dependent had never appealed to him. But the pathetic sight of this tiny, frightened child seeking the comfort of mere human proximity just about did him in.

Moving with extreme care so as not to disturb her, he swung his feet to the floor, then bent down and scooped her up, cradling the reed-thin body in his arms. There was nothing to her, he thought in shock, her featherlike weight hardly registering. She felt like…like a wisp, and he was once again struck by her vulnerability. Isabel whimpered slightly, and he held her closer, instinctively rocking her gently in his arms, murmuring soothing sounds as he made his way back to her room. But when he tried to lay her down, her thin little arms snaked around his neck and she held on fiercely, showing remarkable strength for someone so tiny. Short of prying her arms away—and waking her up in the process—there wasn’t much choice but to take her back to bed with him, he realized.

He retraced his route, easing himself down and stretching out carefully, Isabel still in his arms. She burrowed next to him as he pulled up the sheet and blanket, and as he looked down at the tiny body so trustingly cuddled against his, his heart was filled with tenderness. It was funny, really. He’d spent his life avoiding commitments that involved women and children. He’d always believed that they would be too demanding, that they would distract him from the really important things in life—like his work. But since arriving in St. Genevieve, he’d been forced to rethink that opinion, reexamine his priorities. He now had a woman
and
a child in his life, both of whom seemed achingly vulnerable and so in need of love. This little one in his arms was totally dependent on him.

And Rebecca…well, she didn’t need him in the sense Isabel did, to provide food and shelter and the day-to-day necessities of life. But she seemed to need him in other ways. He’d come to the conclusion that for reasons he had not yet discovered, her heart was being held prisoner. But he also believed that it yearned to be free. He could see it in the wistful longing reflected in her eyes. Somehow he felt the key to her freedom was in his hands, that if he was patient he would find a way to release her captive heart.

And so, in different ways, he felt responsible for both Rebecca and Isabel. That sense of responsibility to another person was never something he’d wanted. But the odd thing was, now that he had it, he
liked
it. Caring about them, being committed to their well-being, didn’t seem like a burden at all. It seemed like a gift. Because both of these special ladies had already enriched his life in countless ways.

“Pete…I’d like to see you for a minute.”

The tall, lanky youth looked at Zach nervously, then shot a glance at his buddies, who were waiting in the hall. Zach noted the direction of his gaze, and as the last student filed out of his classroom, he very deliberately moved over to the door and firmly closed it.

“I have to go or I’ll miss my ride,” the boy said, trying for defiance but not quite pulling it off.

“How far away do you live?” Zach asked, keeping his tone casual.

“About three miles.”

“No problem. I’ll take you home when we’re finished.”

“Finished with what?” the boy asked suspiciously.

“Let me ask you something, Pete,” Zach replied, ignoring the question as he propped a shoulder against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “Why did you take this class?”

Pete stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you take this class?” Zach repeated.

The boy shrugged. “It sounded better than another year of English lit.”

“You did realize that in a creative writing class you’d be expected to write, didn’t you?”

He gave Zach a sullen look, but remained silent.

Zach held his gaze steadily, and finally Pete’s wavered, dropping to the floor as he shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“I’ll tell you what,” Zach continued conversationally. “I’m new here, and as far as I’m concerned you’re starting with a clean slate. You’ve only missed one homework assignment so far, and I’m going to let you make it up right now.”

“Now?” Pete repeated, his dumbfounded gaze jolting up to Zach’s.

“That’s right. It shouldn’t take you long. An hour at the most.”

“But what if I don’t want to?”

Zach pushed himself away from the door and walked toward the boy, hesitating in surprise for a brief second when Pete took a startled step back, almost as if he expected to be struck. Zach resumed his advance more slowly. “I think you do want to, Pete,” he said quietly, his eyes locked on the youth’s. “I’ve heard you’re quite a student when you put your mind to it. And Mr. Carr said you have a real talent with words. I’d like to see what you can do.”

“Why?” Pete asked suspiciously.

Zach considered his answer carefully, sensing that whatever he said could make or break his relationship with this boy.

“Well, I happen to admire good writing,” he said frankly.

“There’s a magic in being able to put words on paper in a way that brings a story to life, whether it’s an investigative article or a short story. I think it’s a very special gift, and people who have that gift should be encouraged to develop it. One of the best ways to do that is by writing as much as possible. So if you have the gift, I’d like to do what I can to help you develop it.”

Pete stared at him for a moment, then looked down and shuffled his feet. “I’m not that good.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge?” Zach suggested. “Would a laptop help?”

Pete gave him a surprised look. “Yeah.”

“Good thing I brought mine along, then,” Zach replied, flashing the teenager a grin. “You okay with Word Perfect?”

“Sure.”

Zach retrieved the computer from underneath his desk and zipped open the case. “I’ll print your work out at home,” he told Pete as he set up the computer on a desk and plugged it in. “You ever work on one of these before?”

“No.”

“Let me show you a couple of things, then.”

With minimal instruction, and after asking a couple of astute questions, Pete was comfortable with the computer. The boy was sharp, Zach thought, just as the other teachers had said. “Okay, have at it. I’ll be up front correcting papers. No hurry.”

Fortunately he’d already told Rebecca of his plan, which she enthusiastically endorsed, and so she knew he would he late picking up Isabel tonight. He glanced at Pete, who sat slumped in front of the computer, staring at the screen, his fingers still idle. Suddenly, though, the boy leaned forward and started to type, and Zach settled back to finish reading the papers that had been turned in on Monday. So far so good.

He lost track of time as he made his way through the stack, writing both compliments and constructive criticism on each paper. The students were creative, he had to give them that. But there was plenty of room for improvement in terms of style, grammar and punctuation. Had the school ever considered a journalism class? he wondered. Or an editing class? Both would be excellent ways for students to polish the basics, as well as develop tight writing styles. They would be fairly easy to institute, he mused. It would just require…