okay. I can do this.”
“No.” She spun back toward the cracker-scattered counter to hide her discomfort, started brushing crackers and crumbs into the sink. “I made the mess. It’s only fair I clean it up. See, especially for kids with disabilities, low blood sugar is the enemy. But you have all these special requirements—” she gestured toward the laminated sheets “—so it took a little longer.”
“There’s leftover chicken and rice in the fridge. You could have served him that.”
“I didn’t see it.” But another, more practical person—like Chloe—would have looked harder.
“Look,” he said, “I appreciate what you’ve done, more than you know. But right now, I’ll be fine.”
You didn’t have to be a genius to read the subtext. I want to be alone with my son.
“Of course.” She sidled past him out to the living room and found her purse. She knelt down by Sammy, swallowing hard. “Good to hang with you, little man,” she whispered.
Then she went to the door, where Jack stood, no doubt impatient for her to go. “See ya,” she said, aiming for breezy.
He tilted his head to one side. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, forced a smile.
“Thanks again. Stay in touch.”
Stay in touch. The same thing you’d say to a friend you encountered after some time away, a friend you really didn’t much want to see again.
Her throat tightened, and she coughed harshly as she hurried to her car. She didn’t deserve to cry.
Didn’t deserve a job. Didn’t deserve to spend time with Sammy. Didn’t deserve any kind of warmth from her former brother-in-law, Jack.
She drove carefully down to the ranch’s entrance, glanced back to make sure she was out of sight of Jack’s new house, and then pulled off the road.
She drew deep breaths, trying to get calm, but it was impossible.
She’d just spent time—botched her time, really—with precious Sammy.
Her adopted nephew.
And, unknown to anyone on this earth but her and Sammy’s adoption agency, her own biological son.
The next Thursday, Jack walked out onto his porch with nanny candidate number four, Sammy in his arms. His son’s wails died to a hiccup.
“Aw, he’s such a cute peanut,” the nineteen-year-old said, flicking a long lime-green fingernail under Sammy’s chin, which made him cry again. “Just give me a call about when to start, okay?”
“Um, Mandy,” Jack said to her retreating back. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
She turned back in the process of extracting a cigarette from her purse. “What do you mean?”
“Sammy didn’t seem to connect with you,” he said. In the course of four nanny interviews, he’d learned to be blunt.
The teenager gave him a disbelieving stare. “He’s autistic,” she said, enunciating the word as if Jack were hard of hearing. “He’s not gonna connect with people.”
“Thanks for your time,” he said, “but I won’t be hiring you.”
She lit her cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew out a lungful of smoke. “What a waste coming up here. I told my mom I didn’t like babysitting.”
Jack blew out a breath as he watched her drive off and then sank down into one of the rockers on the porch, Sammy in his lap. “We dodged a bullet,” he informed his son.
Sammy looked at him solemnly but made no answering sounds, and worry bloomed anew in Jack’s chest. They needed to get started with treatment, but how could he find the time to interview nannies and therapeutic support staffers? He’d already maxed out Mrs. Jennings, his main caregiver in Esperanza Springs; although she’d assured him before that she’d be glad to continue babysitting Sammy after he moved, she’d quickly discovered she didn’t like driving ten miles on mountain roads to get here. And Penny had been sweet, taking care of Sammy twice, but he couldn’t continue asking that of the owner of Redemption Ranch.
From the newly renovated activities center, the sound of laughter made him turn his head. Four men emerged, one of them Carson Blair, his pastor, and another a veteran Jack knew a little. The other two were new to the ranch.
At their center was Arianna.
Before he knew it, he was on his feet, walking over.
“Everything okay here?” he asked. When the conversation abruptly died, he realized he must have sounded harsh.
Carson lifted an eyebrow. “We’re fine over here, Jack. Something up with you?”
I don’t like seeing Arianna surrounded by men, and I don’t know why. “No, everything’s fine,” he said.
Arianna seemed oblivious to any undercurrents. “Oh, hey,” she said to Jack. “What’s up with the little man?” She held out her arms for Sammy, and Jack was about to tell her not to bother, Sammy was upset. But his son considered her offer and then lifted his arms for her to pluck him from his father’s hold.
Immediately, Sammy quieted down. Arianna nuzzled her cheek against his, looking blissful.
Gabe Smith, the veteran Jack had met a few times, greeted him with a friendly handshake. “Hey, Doc, I hate to ask it of you, but could you take a look at Rufus?” He gestured to the porch of the activities center, where a large gray-muzzled dog sprawled. “He’s got a raw spot on his leg.”
“Sure. I’ll get my bag.” And pull myself together.
He had no right to care what his sister-in-law—former sister-in-law—was up to. He had to focus on getting help for Sammy. Another nanny candidate was arriving soon, hopefully better than the last.
He brought out his bag, glanced over to make sure Sammy was still content with Arianna, and then joined Gabe on the porch. Examining Rufus would ground him. Dogs were so straightforward compared to people, and Rufus was a steady, respectable senior dog.
“Where’s Bruiser?” he asked, and as if in answer, an elderly Chihuahua rushed out onto the porch, yipping. He postured stiff-legged in front of Rufus, teeth bared, growling at Jack.
“Hey, whoa, little buddy. I’m not gonna hurt your friend.” He moved closer, sideways, not making eye contact, so as not to threaten the pint-size protector.
“Bruiser!” Gabe scolded. “Quit that.” He picked up the little dog and sat down on the porch step, holding him.
Jack examined the hot spot Gabe was worried about and bandaged it. “We don’t want
