She took a step closer. “Just so you know, I’m a psychologist, not a counselor. Basically, I can identify a disorder and provide treatment—I have a PhD—while a counselor’s goal is to help patients make their own decisions regarding treatment. Clearly, these kids are in no position to do that.”
Eden propped a fist on her hip. “Every hour of every day is a challenge, but I’m fully qualified to handle it. I appreciate your concern, but trust me, it’s unwarranted.”
He’d obviously hit a nerve, and right now those big gray eyes looked anything but warm and sweet.
“Hey, Eden?”
“Be right there, DeShawn. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she told Nate.
Hopefully not to pick up where she’d left off. She jogged across the yard to talk with a boy who towered over her and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds.
Something peculiar caught Nate’s attention as Eden and DeShawn chatted beside the bunkhouse: Thomas, alone in the doorway, aiming a baleful glare at no one in particular. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t invited the group to the Double M. Any one of those kids could come back, now that they’d made the trip.
Had his inability to say no put his parents, his sister, Hank, aunts and uncles, cousins and their children in unknown danger?
DURING THE FIRST half of the hour-long drive back to Denver, the boys talked nonstop about the weekend.
“I thought mucking stalls was bad,” DeShawn said, “until Nate made us shovel up the mess and move it to that stinking mountain over by the woods.”
“Wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t tipped the wheelbarrow over...on your shoes,” Kirk teased.
“Seriously, dude,” Wade said. “You’re lucky Nate found a pair of running shoes that fit you.”
“Yeah, but now I owe some ranch hand I never even met for a new pair. And I ain’t got that kinda money.”
“Don’t have,” Eden corrected. “But didn’t I hear Nate say you shouldn’t worry about that?”
“Man’s not gonna keep his word about us comin’ back over the Fourth if he keeps having to shell out for stuff we messed up.”
“It was just one pair of old shoes. And even Nate said the man rarely wore them,” Eden said.
“Yeah, maybe,” DeShawn said, “but just wait till he finds—”
In the rearview, Eden saw Thomas smack DeShawn on the shoulder and aim an angry glare in his direction.
Once they arrived home, Eden would take the smaller boy aside and find out what DeShawn was talking about. Knowing Thomas, it could be anything from a broken lamp to something stolen from one of the ranch hands bureaus...or worse.
Thomas had never been particularly easy to control, but since his father called, demanding his parental rights, things had gone from bad to worse. Thomas didn’t have access to the man who’d first neglected, then deserted him. Before moving to Latimer House, Thomas had vented his anger by starting fires; these days, for the most part, he took out his frustrations on the other boys.
“Did anyone think to write down Nate’s chili recipe?” she asked, hoping to distract them.
“Nate said he’d email it to me since I did most of the work,” Travis said.
“Did not,” Cody grumbled.
“Whatever.”
When Denver cops found Travis shivering and nearly unconscious in his hut of corrugated metal and cardboard, he had fleas and lice, multiple bruises and cigarette burns on his back, chest and forearms. And even after two operations to repair shattered bones in his left hand, he still had trouble manipulating the thumb. State psychologists who evaluated him in the hospital predicted he’d run away. Often. That he’d have a hard time adjusting to life in a house populated by ten other boys his age. That Eden should prepare for tirades, acts of aggression, destructive behavior. On his second night at Latimer House, he proved them right by flying off the handle because she’d served cheese pizza instead of his favorite, pepperoni. Eden sent the other boys upstairs out of earshot, and in a calm, quiet voice let it be known that she’d earned a black belt in karate. “Please don’t test me,” she’d told him. Travis took her at her word and ate the pizza without further complaint. And from that day to this, he’d been her best ally, quickly calming disputes between his housemates and helping Eden every chance he got.
It was no surprise that he’d imitated Nate’s walk, his cowboy drawl, even the way he stood, feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed over his chest. Halfway through the weekend, Thomas noticed all this and called him a copycat. The old Travis might have thrown a punch, or at the very least, bellowed at the smaller boy. But eighteen months at Latimer House had changed him, and he took his cue from Nate, who shrugged and smiled as if to say, “So what?”
There was a lot to like about the man, including his rugged good looks. No wonder he’d made Baltimore Magazine’s “Bachelor of the Year” list twice, and appeared in dozens of other news stories partnered with beautiful models and popular entertainers. Clearly, he preferred tall, blonde, buxom women. That leaves you out, she thought, smirking. But even on the off-chance he occasionally made an exception and dated short, skinny, dark-haired women, Eden didn’t have time for a relationship. Especially not with a guy who might withdraw once he learned more about the boys’ problems, most of which could be traced back to abandonment issues. After just one weekend, it was clear they were fascinated by Nate’s no-nonsense approach to discipline and teaching. And who could blame them? His warm, inviting demeanor had almost tempted her to spill the beans about her weird and depressing past.
Eden could blame the near confession on his soft-spoken drawl. The understanding glow in his bright blue eyes. More than likely, though, her inexperience with men, which consisted of half a dozen onetime movie dates in high school and college. Until she met Jake...
Young and foolish, she’d been so swept off her feet by his hardy good looks that it was easy to confuse his constant doting for love. All too soon, Jake’s involvement in every facet of her life began to seem less like caring and more like control. It wasn’t until Stuart recounted the events of a domestic violence case that she remembered something her psych professor had said: “Some people try to be tall by cutting off the heads of others.” The breakup had been messy, but Eden was determined to keep her head, literally and figuratively.
Somewhere out there, she told herself, was a special someone who’d share her dreams, achievements, even regrets. A man of character, like her dad and grandfather, from whom she could draw strength when life struck a hard blow, yet comfortable enough in his own skin to lean on her when the need arose. A man like Nate Marshall?
Eden sighed. No, not Nate Marshall. Even if he’d shown interest in her as anything other than the manager of Latimer House—and he had not—she couldn’t afford a single misstep. Since taking over when the last administrator quit, she’d been under intense scrutiny from state and city agencies. If she messed up, she could find another job. But if the boys got off track, they may never find their way back. Protecting them, providing for them, was the sole reason she put in eighteen hours a day.
Instead of hiring someone to teach history and literature to boys who’d been expelled—multiple times—from public school, Eden saved money by teaching the classes herself. She could have hired outside help for household chores and yard maintenance, but doing the work made it possible to afford extras—internet access and satellite TV—without bowing to some bottom-line-obsessed bureaucrat who didn’t give a hoot about providing the boys with something akin to normal family life. Field trips, such as the one to the Double M, were but another step toward that goal.
Arranging