He sipped the bitter brew. His mind tried to take him back to Ben’s mother and father. How had it happened that his two best friends could end up causing him such pain? Ridge resisted. No more unproductive trips down memory lane.
All I’ve done, it seems, since I came to Winfield is give people bad news. I didn’t think Ben wouldhate the idea of military school. Why didn’t I realize he might become attached here? The answer to that is easy. I thought he’d be happy to get away from my parents’ house.
The phone rang. He picked up. The words he heard did not make him happy. But at least one mystery was solved.
He didn’t bother to tell his dad that he was leaving. He merely put down the coffee mug and pulled on his winter coat. He hurried out to his SUV.
Sylvie opened the door and let Ridge into her apartment above her dad’s bait shop. His face revealed a mixture of strain and frustration. She touched his arm, asking him silently to pause, to moderate his anger.
His eyes connected with hers and a hint of chagrin shaded his. But he didn’t pull away from her touch.
She tightened her grip, aware of the latent strength in him. “Ben is very upset,” she whispered, “please be kind.”
Ridge grimaced. “I know he’s had a rough time,” he muttered, “but I need to get him established somewhere permanent, away from my parents. He will do better that way.”
There was much that Sylvie could say to this. But she merely gestured him inside. She hung up his coat on one of the pegs by the door. They turned to the table where her dad and Ben sat, waiting.
“I don’t want to go to that school,” Ben insisted, his face flushed.
Ridge waited until Sylvie also sat down at the table and then he eased down, facing Ben. “I know you’re afraid of going to a new school again—”
“I’m not afraid,” Ben objected. “I just like it here.” He glanced at Milo. “I don’t want to leave Winfield.”
Sylvie sat praying for God to open Ridge’s mind and heart. Even when he was upset and she was in disagreement with him, he drew her to himself, compelled her to notice him. Long to be nearer to him. It would have been easier on her if he’d left with Ben as planned.
“Ben, you haven’t even seen the school,” Ridge coaxed. “It’s really a good place. I’m just trying to get you settled somewhere….” He paused. “We’re all tired and it’s past your bedtime, Ben. Let’s go home, okay?”
Sylvie appreciated Ridge’s attempt to reassure Ben and she knew from his perspective that he was trying to do what was best for Ben. But he was wrong.
Ben bolted from the room. Milo rose and followed him.
Ridge had started to rise, but Sylvie pressed her hand on Ridge’s forearm to stop him from following her dad. This time her touch connected her to him in a new way. Vibrations of both his strength and his vulnerability flowed from him up her arm.
“Ridge, let my dad talk to him.”
“Ben is not your responsibility.” He slipped away from her touch. “He’s mine. But I don’t seem to know how to connect with him. I only want to see him settled and doing well. There’s just too much uncertainty in my lifestyle. He needs stability.”
She let her hand fall; their vibrant connection severed. Why did he always pull away from her? She nearly asked him, “Why did Ben’s parents choose you as Ben’s guardian?” But she held the words in. Ridge was a good man, but he had no experience as a father. And he had lost his own family for all intents and purposes. Sylvie watched Ridge struggle with this letdown, this failure of his carefully laid plans. She lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say to make him understand Ben.
Then she recalled what she’d told the sheriff. “Ridge, Ginger’s laptop was missing. Did Shirley mention that to you?”
“Yes, we’re looking for it.”
Milo returned to the kitchen. “Ridge,” he said in a very low tone, “I left Ben working on tying fishing flies. I wanted to ask you something. If we could find a place for Ben here, could he stay in Winfield until the end of the summer?”
Ridge’s expression stiffened. “Ben’s my responsibility.”
From under her half-closed eyes, Sylvie discerned offended pride as it flickered over Ridge’s distinctive features.
“Ridge, it’s hard for a kid to change schools in the middle of a year. Why not let Ben finish out the year here? I think I may have a solution.”
“What are you thinking?” Ridge asked.
“Why not let Rae-Jean go to Shirley?” Milo asked. “And Ben comes here.”
“At a sad time like this?” Ridge sounded uncertain.
“Having someone to take care of would help Shirley. I know my sister.”
Ridge shrugged. “Okay. Ask.”
Milo lifted the receiver of the kitchen wall phone and dialed a number. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, Tom.”
Sylvie listened to the brief conversation, carried on in a low voice Ben couldn’t overhear. And every word her father spoke made her love him more than she already did.
He hung up the phone. “Tom and Shirley will keep Rae-Jean with them. Ridge, we have room for Ben now. May he stay with us?”
Sylvie held her breath. Ridge, please.
“You’re very good. Both of you.” Ridge rose with obvious fatigue and lack of enthusiasm. “I just thought Ben needed a long-term solution. But I’ll think over your offer and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll be taking Ben home now.”
A gloomy Ridge and a dejected Ben left almost immediately. Sylvie and her father stood, looking at the closed door for a long moment. Then Milo put his comforting arm around her shoulder. “Ridge is making a big mistake if he takes Ben away now.”
Another in a long line of mistakes, Sylvie added silently. Was there any way to make Ridge see sense about Ben?
“Let’s go to bed,” her dad said. “I’m about to fall asleep on my feet. And we’ll still be settling Rae-Jean and her baby in here tomorrow. It will be an adjustment for both of us having an infant in the house.”
She nodded and he walked her to her bedroom door where he pecked her cheek good-night. Lord, wake Ridge up and let him see Ben as a gift, not a burden.
March 8
Late Tuesday afternoon, Sylvie paced the floor of the new clinic in Washburn. Her aunt Shirley was in the examination room with the nurse-practitioner who was examining Rae-Jean’s baby girl, little Hope. What could go wrong next? Rae-Jean, looking exhausted and weak, had arrived home and Sylvie had put her to bed immediately.
And then she and Aunt Shirley had rushed the obviously very congested baby here. Just over five pounds in weight, tiny Hope had been born three weeks premature and was so fragile. And they still didn’t know how the child would be affected from Rae-Jean’s drug abuse the year before.
Then Aunt Shirley came out with the baby in her arms and smiled. “We just need to get a couple of prescriptions filled. And to pick up some camphorated oil.”
Sylvie sighed with relief. Rae-Jean had a bad cold, too, and needed their attention.
A half hour later, Shirley parked in front of Milo’s Bait and Tackle Shop. Two police cars were parked there. “Oh, no,” Shirley moaned.
Sylvie knew just how her aunt felt. She was beginning to cringe at the sight of police vehicles. With a sinking feeling, she unhooked the baby from the car seat in the rear passenger compartment. And then both women hurried up the few steps to the shop. Milo, wearing a khaki