“You’re worried about me?”
She looked back at him. “One of these days, you’re not going to come back. You were almost dead when I found you. And where would that leave the boys and your family, that you’re so determined to look after?”
“I’ll always come back, Catherine.”
“Are you going up there tonight or not?”
“Nay. I checked my calendar after you left, and your little fib to Daar wasn’t a fib after all. Marcus Saints is coming for a visit this afternoon, and so is Judge Bailey, but she won’t be staying for supper. Only Marcus.”
“Who are Marcus Saints and Judge Bailey?”
“Saints is a social worker who keeps tabs on the boys. And Martha Bailey is all that’s standing between them and the detention center.”
Catherine slapped her chest to catch her gasp. “They’re coming to the house today?” she squeaked, her previous terror turning to horror. “Darn it, you have to warn me about stuff like that! Turn around. I have to get home!”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, putting the truck in gear, checking for traffic, then making a three-point turn in the road. “They won’t arrive until after school.”
“But I need to start planning for supper now.”
“The way you cook?” he said as he headed back up the hill. “You could make stone soup, and Saints would be drooling all over himself. And the house is fine, Cat.” He snorted. “It’s a hell of a lot cleaner than the last time they visited. Marcus threatened to call the health department.”
Chapter Thirteen
The moment they got home,Catherine told Robbie to go to his logging yard, and she spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in near hysterics. She thawed enough beef to feed an army, scrubbed all three bathrooms until they sparkled, dusted, straightened the boys’ bedrooms and remade their beds, vacuumed upstairs and down, washed the kitchen floor, peeled ten pounds of potatoes and carrots, and threw together a double batch of yeast rolls.
In five hours, by the time the kids got home from school and Martha Bailey and Marcus Saints arrived, Catherine felt as if she had run a marathon—and had somehow managed to survive this one as well.
Not knowing what to expect but expecting the worst, Martha Bailey had surprised Catherine. She was a tiny woman, pretty in a haphazard sort of way, and genuinely warm. She had also become quite giddy and had burst into a huge smile when Robbie walked out of the barn to greet her and Marcus.
Now, Catherine was nervously pacing the kitchen porch while they held individual interviews. They were down to the last two boys; Marcus had Gunter in the living room, and Martha was talking to Rick at the kitchen table.
Nora was terrorizing the barn cats with Cody, Nathan was doing his henhouse chores, and Peter was sitting on the front porch, his nose in a book—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.
Robbie was rinsing off the last of the logging-yard mud from his truck, which Catherine had told him to face toward the garage doors so their guests wouldn’t see the bug shield. He had chuckled at her command, explaining that the shield had been a gift from the boys, but hehad turned the truck inward to wash it.
Unable to stand the suspense any longer and deciding she could pretend she needed to check on supper, Catherine finally entered the kitchen, only to run into Martha Bailey on her way out. “Oh! I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Miss Daniels. I was just on my way to find you.” Martha smiled sadly. “I can’t stay for supper, I’m afraid. I have my own crew to feed. And from what I’ve been told and from what I’ve been smelling all afternoon, I’m going to miss a real treat. All the boys could talk about was your cooking.”
Catherine could only nod.
“Peter said that you make a tasty barley soup.” Martha’s smile returned. “Peter said a lot of things. All the boys did. Welcome to Pine Creek, Catherine. I certainly hope you’ll be staying.” She canted her head. “Although I suspect that if you try to leave, four boys and a handsome giant will hunt you down and drag you back.”
“I think they were all starving to death,” Catherine said, relaxing for the first time today.
She shook her head. “I’ve been warned the boys might be a little hard to handle, but I haven’t seen a sign of that since I came here.”
Martha patted Catherine’s arm. “It’s amazing how good food can tame the beast. Keep it coming, and I doubt you’ll have any problems. I’ll be back next month, and maybe then I
’ll get to sample your cooking. Good-bye. And good luck.”
Okay, Catherine decided as she watched the woman get into her car and drive away, Robbie was right. Martha Bailey was one of the good guys. But Marcus Saints seemed… well, the man looked as if he picked his teeth with hardened criminals.
Nathan came dragging up the porch stairs just then, holding his hand cradled against his chest.
“What happened to you?”
“Those chickens are ferocious, Mom. They pecked me.”
Catherine reached down and inspected the boy’s wound. One of the old hens had managed to draw blood, but just barely.
“You’ll live, Nathan. Come on, I’ll clean you up and put on a Band-Aid.”
“It’s a dangerous job, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Let me guess,” she speculated, pushing him into the house ahead of her so he wouldn’t see her smile. “You still haven’t told Mr. MacBain that you need grain.”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“No.”
“Nathan.”
“I hope they starve.”
“Nathan.”
“Why can’t you just tell him for me?”
“Because, young man, that’s your job.”
“But he’s scary,” Nathan whispered, looking up at her with huge puppy-dog eyes.
“He’s been nothing but kind to us, Nathan. He’s not like your father,” Catherine whispered, squatting down and taking hold of his shoulders. “You have nothing to fear from Mr. MacBain.” She brushed the hair away from his face. “Honey, if you tell him the hens need grain, he’ll see what a responsible young man you are and respect you for doing your chore. And Nathan, you’ll respect yourself if you approach him bravely and do your job. You’ll be one of the boys here. You don’t see them being afraid of Mr.
MacBain, do you?”
He thought about that, frowning. “No,” he finally admitted. “And Mr. MacBain will be proud of me, too.”
Catherine sighed. “Nathan, you do your chores for yourself. Not for Mr. MacBain and not for me. I want you to see that you can deal with people, especially men, and not be afraid. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.”
“I understand,” he whispered. “I know you’re scared I’ll grow up to be like Daddy. And I’m trying not to.”
Catherine felt a sharp stab to her heart. When had her beautiful little boy realized her greatest fear? “Come on, let’s tend that vicious old hen wound.”
Peeking toward Gunter and Marcus in the living room, Catherine lifted Nathan onto the counter, got the first aid kit from the cupboard, and started cleaning his wound. Robbie came in from the yard, walked past her and Nathan to the stove, lifted the lid on the huge steaming pot, and started stirring the stew.
Catherine took the spoon away from him and shooed him upstairs to change his wet shirt. She headed back to Nathan, replacing the lid on the stew as she walked by, but turned when Nora came running into the kitchen, screaming bloody murder.
She ran to her daughter. “Nora, what is it?”
“A monster!” Nora wailed. “Daddy’s in the barn!”
Just then, Cody slammed through the door, looking frantic and hysterical himself, and Nora whimpered and tried to run away.
Catherine froze in shock, clinging to her daughter. Ron was here! He was here!
“Daddy’s in the hayloft!” Nora cried again, burying her face in Catherine’s stomach.
“It was me,” Cody said, drawing her attention. “I was just playing. I forgot. I’m sorry!”