“I’m not responsible. I doubt I ever will be. So I guess you ought to take the kid and go.” If he acted as if he didn’t care, maybe she would believe him and leave. Maybe she would take the boy and give him a chance at a happier, healthier life than either Sammy or Marcus had known growing up.
“Go where?” the boy asked from the open door of the barn.
Marcus stroked the brush down the gelding’s neck. Once. Twice. Three times. With each stroke of the brush, he took a deep breath. And then he eased around to face the little boy. Oliver. His son.
Because of his own father, he recognized himself in that little boy. He saw a kid who was unsure. He saw fear. He saw uncertainty. He had been that kid. And now he was the dad. He hadn’t planned on being a parent because he’d never wanted to see that look in a kid’s eyes.
His attention shifted from the boy to the aunt. She didn’t believe in him. The fact that he cared what she thought was his third surprise of the day and none of those surprises had really been pleasant.
* * *
Lissa Hart held out her hand and Oliver hurried to her side. His small hand tucked into hers and she gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t know what else to say to Marcus Palermo. While she certainly hadn’t expected this to be easy, she found it even harder than she’d imagined.
Something about this man made her uneasy. Not afraid. She didn’t think he would hurt Oliver. He seemed rough and unfeeling, but she’d seen something in his expression, in the depths of his dark eyes, that told her he felt plenty.
Sammy had fancied herself in love with Marcus, but she’d ended the relationship because he was too broken, too angry to be the kind of person she could count on. Still, her sister had wanted him to heal, and she’d wanted him to have a chance with his son.
He’d stopped brushing the horse and he focused on Oliver, his dark gaze studying the little boy, a miniature version of himself. His mouth twitched, as if he might have found humor in something. The movement drew her attention to the jagged scar across his left cheek. That scar did nothing to detract from his looks. His too-long hair curling at his collar gave him a youthful appearance. But the firm jawline, the not-quite smile on his lips—those belonged to a man. A man who had lived a hard life and seen a lot of pain.
He shifted his focus from Oliver to her, and one brow arched in what could only be a challenge. She didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he, but then he dismissed her and returned his attention to Oliver. He squatted, holding out the brush.
“Do you want to brush him before you leave?” he asked quietly.
Oliver nodded because he was a little boy and of course he wanted to stand by this cowboy and brush the horse. He looked up at Lissa, seeking permission. He didn’t know yet that this man was his father. She hadn’t known how to tell him, and she hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed. The odds had been good that Marcus would reject his child or not be able to be a parent to him, and her main goal was to protect Oliver. Sammy had entrusted her with his care.
With Marcus watching, Lissa let go of Oliver’s hand and the boy slipped away from her. Her heart clenched in agony as she realized this might be the beginning of losing the child she loved so very much.
Oliver took the brush and Marcus lifted him, telling him to run the brush down the horse’s neck.
“Put pressure on it,” he said, in that gruff whisper of a voice, “or it tickles and horses don’t like to be tickled.” Oliver grinned at that and pushed the brush down the horse’s neck.
Marcus continued to hold Oliver. He spoke quietly to his son, words that Lissa couldn’t hear.
Tempted as she was to move closer, she stood there, waiting. He seemed content to ignore her and focus on Oliver. The two looked like father and son, dark heads together as Oliver leaned close to hug the horse.
“I think we can turn him out to pasture,” Marcus said as he returned Oliver to the ground.
“And we should finish our discussion,” she inserted.
“There’s an old tire swing,” Marcus told Oliver. “Want to try it out?”
“Is it safe?” Lissa asked.
“It’s safe.” Leading the horse to the door at the rear of the barn, he opened it and turned the horse loose. He stood there a moment, a dark silhouette against the sun, as the horse trotted a short distance away and then dropped to roll on the ground. A cloud of dust billowed around the big horse as he stood and shook like a dog. Next to her, Oliver laughed at the sight.
Marcus once again faced them, his expression still and composed. He held out a hand to Oliver. “Let’s go check out that swing.”
Lissa followed them outside into bright May sunshine. The house that lay a short distance from the barn was an older farmhouse, two stories with a long front porch. Beyond the house was a creek, the waters sparkling and clear.
The homestead looked a bit run-down, with faded siding, patched sections on the roof and a board over one window. It could have been any house she’d known growing up in poor neighborhoods, but instead it seemed peaceful. Maybe it was the location, with the stream, the rosebushes that had taken over and the green fields in the distance.
Thinking about the house pulled her back to her own troubled past, to the abuse with her drug-addicted mother. Life before foster care and the Simms family. She and Sammy had lived their teen years with Tom and Jane Simms.
“It took me a while to find you,” she told him as they walked in the direction of a big tree with limbs that stretched out like an umbrella, shading the yard of the old house.
“That’s the whole idea, being hard to find.”
He helped Oliver onto the swing and gave it a push. “We’re going to sit on the porch. You’ll be okay here.”
Oliver grinned big. “It’s fun here.”
“Yeah, it is.” He gave the boy one last look and headed for the house.
He didn’t turn back to see if she followed. Lissa tried not to let that hurt. She wasn’t here for herself. But it mattered, whether or not he was good and if he was caring. Oliver needed a real father, someone to look up to. Someone who would be there for him.
She stepped onto the front porch and glanced around. It needed paint and a few boards had to be repaired. There were chairs and an old dog sleeping in a worn-out dog bed. The animal lifted his head to give them a once-over.
“Lucky isn’t much of a guard dog,” Marcus told her as he pointed to a chair. “He’s been following me around the country for the past ten years. He’s half-deaf and nearly blind.”
Lissa thought the dog was a piece of the puzzle that was Marcus Palermo. The black-and-brown hound dog fixed soulful eyes on his master and then her. They must not have appeared too interesting, because he yawned and fell back to sleep.
“Why is his name Lucky?”
“He got hit by a car when he was a puppy. I found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health and he’s been Lucky ever since,” Marcus explained as he sat on the edge of the porch. “About the boy. Are you dumping him here, like he’s a stray? Or do you want money?”
“He is not a stray. He’s a little boy and I love him. I’m here to see if you’re ready to be a part of his life.”
“You make it sound like I was given a choice and rejected him.”
“Sammy gave me the job of making sure you are ready to be a dad.”
“Make sure I’m ready?” A cold thread of anger sharpened the words. He was no longer the easygoing cowboy he’d been moments ago. When she looked up, his gaze was on her, as glacial as his words.
“Sammy