so desperately to be acknowledged by him.
While no one could have accused Lucia of being an outspoken woman, his housekeeper did do her best to try to make Clint open up to the boy, but none of her efforts were successful.
Clint made sure that the boy was clothed and that he always had enough to eat, but that was where it ended. There was no actual bonding between them. If Clint did manage to make it home for a meal—which he missed with a fair amount of regularity—there was no animated conversation to be had at the table. If it weren’t for Roy, who lived in the ranch house with them, there would have been very little conversation at all.
On a few occasions Ryan would try to have a conversation with his father, asking him questions or talking about something that had happened in school. Clint’s responses usually came in the form of a grunt, or a monosyllabic answer that really said nothing at all.
It was clear that Clint didn’t know how to talk to his son, or to people in general, for that matter. The wounds that Susan had left in his heart had cut unimaginably deep and refused to heal. Communication with Roy was generally about the ranch, while his communication with Lucia in regards to Ryan was usually kept to a basic minimum.
In essence, to the adults who dealt with him it was evident that Clint Washburn was in a prison of his own making. The fact that the prison had no visible walls made no difference.
No matter where he went, the prison he was in went with him.
This particular morning, when Ryan walked back into the kitchen after his father had rejected his offer to help with the horses, Lucia all but pounced on him.
“Where did you run off to?” she asked. The housekeeper, Lucia Ortiz, had made a clean sweep through the house already, looking for the boy who had been placed in her care from the time he was one year old. “If we don’t leave for school right now, we’re going to be late. Let’s go.”
Small, thin shoulders rose and fell as the boy followed Lucia out of the house to where her twelve-year-old car was waiting.
“I thought I’d help Dad with the horses,” Ryan said in a small voice.
Lucia gave the boy a long look. “Did he ask for your help?” she asked, getting in behind the steering wheel.
Ryan scrambled into the passenger seat, then settled in. He buckled up before answering because he knew that was the proper thing to do.
“No,” he murmured.
“Then why did you offer?” Lucia asked, talking to him the way she would to an adult rather than a child. The boy was going through so much; she didn’t want to add to that by making him feel that he was being looked down upon. “You know your father has his own way of doing things. Besides, he has Jake and Roy helping him.”
Ryan seemed to sink farther into his seat. His voice grew smaller. “That’s what he said.”
Lucia started up the car. It was getting late and if they didn’t leave now, they really were going to be late. Glancing at the boy’s expression, she could feel her heart going out to him. There were times that observing the awkwardness between father and son when they interacted was almost too painful.
“See,” Lucia said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “You need to wait until he asks.”
Ryan pressed his lips together, staring straight ahead. And then he raised his eyes to his ally. “What did I do, Lucia?”
“Do?” she questioned, not really sure what the boy was asking her.
Ryan nodded. “What did I do to make my father hate me?”
She was tempted to pull over and take the boy into her arms, but she knew that he wouldn’t welcome that. He wanted to be treated like an adult, so she did her best to oblige. “Oh, hijo, he doesn’t hate you.”
“Well, he doesn’t like me,” Ryan insisted, hopelessness echoing in his voice.
“It’s not that,” Lucia insisted. “Your father just doesn’t know how to talk to a little boy.” Or to anyone else, she added silently.
“You do,” Ryan said with feeling. “Can’t you teach him?”
Lucia let her true feelings out for a moment. “Oh, hijo, if I only could. But your father is not the kind of man who would allow himself to be taught by anyone. He doesn’t like to admit that he’s wrong. He is a very, very sad man.”
The expression on Ryan’s face was equally sad. “Because my mother left. I know.”
Lucia looked at the eight-year-old sharply, caught off guard by his response. “Who told you that?” she asked.
“Nobody,” he answered truthfully. “I heard Jake and Uncle Roy talking about my mother, about how everything would have been different if she had stayed with my dad.” The look on Ryan’s face was all earnestness as he asked, “Did she go because of me? Is that why Dad doesn’t like me?”
Not for the first time, Lucia had a strong desire to box her employer’s ears. “Oh no, Ryan, no. She didn’t leave because of you. Your mother left because she didn’t want to live on the ranch. She wanted something more exciting in her life.”
“More exciting than horses?” Ryan questioned, mystified that anyone could feel that way. He loved the horses as well as the cattle. Uncle Roy had taught him how to ride when he was barely old enough to walk. The horse had actually been a pony at the time, but it still counted as far as Ryan was concerned. He had loved being on a horse ever since that day.
Lucia looked at him sympathetically. “I’m afraid so.”
Ryan just couldn’t understand. “But what could be more exciting?” he asked, puzzled.
“That was what your mother wanted to find out.” Lucia flashed a smile in the boy’s direction. “She didn’t realize that she was leaving behind the most exciting part of her life.”
Ryan’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair hanging over his forehead. “Dad?” he questioned.
Lucia bit back a laugh. The boy was absolutely and sweetly unassuming. “No, you.”
Ryan frowned at the answer. He stared at the tips of his boots, waving his feet back and forth slightly. “I’m not exciting.”
“Oh, but you are,” Lucia assured him. “And you’re only going to get more exciting the more you learn. For that,” she pointed out, “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to go to school. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
Ryan sighed and then nodded. “I guess so.”
The housekeeper caught the hitch in his voice. “Ryan, you’re not having any trouble at school, are you?” she asked, peering at his face.
Ryan shook his head. “No.”
“None of the kids are picking on you, are they?” Lucia asked. “You can tell me if they are.”
“No,” he answered, then added quietly, “None of the kids even know I’m there.”
Lucia
