sure what you mean.”
“Right now. What we’re doing here. Is this work?”
“As opposed to what?” She really seemed confused.
Breaking more pieces of bread and hamburger patty, Jon put them on the paper in front of Abraham.
He felt stupid. “I don’t know. Two people becoming friends...” It sounded as though he was hitting on her. Which he wasn’t. At all. Not that he hadn’t noticed how those jeans of hers hugged her long legs and a backside that— No. He was better than that. “Am I a client? I mean, I know you said I don’t have to pay you, but—”
“I’m happy to help you with Abe, Jon. Don’t worry about it.”
He wasn’t worried, exactly. Except when paranoia set in and he thought she might be a spy. “I’m not too sure about protocol for child life specialists.”
His burger was getting cold. He loved burgers. And since becoming a father he only got one a week.
“Are you allowed to be friends with your clients?”
“Not according to the books,” she said, and then shrugged. “And certainly in some situations, life-threatening medical procedures, for instance, I have to keep my professional distance, but in a small town like Shelter Valley it would be impossible not to be friends with my clients. Most of the parents of young children are my age and I wouldn’t have any friends if I couldn’t be friends with them. Or conversely, I wouldn’t have many patients if I couldn’t tend to the children of my friends. I’ve got a skill set, you know, like a plumber or a doctor. If your pipe bursts and your buddy’s a plumber, he comes over to help, right?”
“So you and I—” he gestured toward her with his hamburger-holding hand “—we could be friends. If the idea was mutually satisfying, of course.”
“If the idea was mutually satisfying, yes...” She’d withdrawn a bit. Wasn’t smiling like she had been.
He got nervous again. “Hey, you do understand I’m not hitting on you, right?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But you are now.”
“Yes.” She nodded once, slowly.
“Good, because I’d like to offer my services. In exchange for what you’re doing here for me. And Abe.”
“Your services?”
The idea had occurred to him during the hour she’d spent giving him back some semblance of control where his son was concerned. “I’ve got some skills, too. I’d like to offer them to you.” Especially now that he knew she lived alone. “For instance, do you have a sliding glass door?”
“Yes, why?”
“Does it have a security lock on it?”
“It’s got the lock on the door handle. I’m sure it’s secure.”
He shook his head. “There was a theft in town last night.”
“I heard. And I’m sure the thief, if he’s still around, will be caught.”
What was it about the people in this town? Did they have no street smarts at all? They didn’t live behind a locked gate. Shelter Valley was accessible from the highway. All kinds of people took the highway.
“I’d like to install a secure lock on your sliding glass door. If you’re okay with that.”
“Sure. It never hurts to be safe. I’ll pay you for it, of course.”
“You’re missing the point,” Jon said. “This is a trade-off. You help me with Abe and I’ll help you.”
Being in debt gave people control over you.
She eyed the uneaten food in his container. “But...”
Abraham held up a French fry, looked from Jon to Lillie, grinned and nodded.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Lillie grinned at the toddler.
Abe’s nod encompassed the entire top half of his body. And then, still grinning, he chewed, French fry showing between his teeth. He picked up another and handed it to Lillie.
“You want me to have it?” she asked, when Jon would have just taken the fry.
Abraham, studying her with seriousness now as he held out his gift, nodded again.
She took the potato from his sticky fingers, said, “Thank you,” and popped it into her mouth.
Abe went back to the sections of burger Jon had cut for his son, picking one up and taking a huge bite out of it. He chewed, swallowed and kicked his feet. It occurred to Jon that he looked like a healthy, happy, well-adjusted kid.
One who was communicating.
“Do you want a pickle?” Lillie asked the boy, picking up the discarded vegetable from her take-out container.
“No!” Abraham said emphatically.
Smiling, Jon looked across the booth at their gorgeous companion. “I don’t buy that Bonnie Nielson pays you to spend hours on Saturday with the parents of her clients,” he said. “Being at the day care, to help them adjust, makes sense, but this?” Sitting back against the booth, he motioned at himself and Abe and the food in front of them.
Lillie’s gaze dropped before she once again looked him in the eye. “You’re right. I’m on my own time.”
“I don’t accept charity.”
“I understand.” She gathered her trash together and Jon thought she might be about to walk out on them.
“But if you’d allow me to return the favor—professional skills in exchange for professional skills...”
Her hands stilling, Lillie studied him and his son. “I have to be honest with you, Jon. I’m not sure why I’ve been so persistent where the two of you are concerned. It’s not my usual way.”
So he hadn’t been completely paranoid in thinking she’d singled him out. Just erroneous—okay, paranoid, maybe—in his conclusions that she was out to get him.
Maybe. Clara Abrams could afford to hire people who were highly skilled at acting.
“Tell me this,” he said, “are you here because you’re genuinely interested in helping me help my son?”
“Absolutely.”
She hadn’t blinked. Hadn’t looked away. “Then that’s enough for me,” he said. “Assuming you’ll allow me to reciprocate in kind. Service for—”
“I know, professional service for professional service,” she finished, a small smile on her beautiful face. “I agree to your terms.”
“Good.” He smiled. Her grin grew
