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 private tours of galleries, museums, dozens of vocational and technical facilities they might attend hadn’t been easy, mostly because Eden believed the administrators had the right to know that her kids’ hardscrabble lives might mean they wouldn’t always behave like Little Lord Fauntleroys. Most seemed sincere when they said things like “Boys will be boys” and “How bad could they be?” But even the most well-intentioned had trouble disguising shock, impatience, even full-blown disgust when the boys tested them with crude language or outrageous manners.
Nate Marshall was not one of those people. The boys could distinguish between phony acceptance and genuine interest, so when he issued clear-cut rules about everything from pushing and shoving to foul language, they listened. And when he told them that respect had to be earned, not doled out like candy, she could see by their solemn expressions that he’d earned theirs.
He wasn’t a man who took shortcuts, either. That first night, he brought the boys into the kitchen of his two-story log cabin, showed them where to find pots and pans, his corn bread recipe and the ingredients, and instructed them to work together, because supper was in their hands. He didn’t complain about the noise or the mess they’d made preparing his famous five-alarm chili. Instead, he laughed and joked during the meal, and let it be known it was their responsibility to clean up after themselves.
He’d taken the same approach in the bunkhouse, where it had at first looked as though their duffel bags exploded, raining jeans, T-shirts and socks everywhere. Without warnings or threats, he simply stated that until the place was shipshape, no one would saddle up again.
As they’d piled into the van, everyone but Thomas had thanked Nate—with no prompting from Eden—and asked how soon they might come back. Much to her delight and theirs, he’d invited them to the Marshalls’ annual July Fourth festivities.
“I’m starved,” Travis said once they arrived home. “Okay if I make a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“Biology test tomorrow,” Kirk reminded him.
“I know, I know.” He addressed the group. “Anybody else want one?”
Only Thomas—the one who could use a little more meat on his bones—remained quiet.
“All right,” Kirk said, “but that means lights out the minute you get upstairs.”
Eden wondered which of the teens would volunteer to clean up, to put off bedtime a few minutes more.
“I’ll do the dishes,” Thomas said.
“But you ain’t even eatin’,” Wade pointed out.
“Aren’t,” Eden said. “Let’s use paper plates. And I’ll clean up the griddle.”
Several of the boys distributed napkins, plates, and paper cups of milk. The others formed an assembly line, one buttering bread, another slapping on sliced cheese, while Travis tended the stove.
Eden thought back a few months, to when a similar event would have incited arguments and shoving matches that led to threats and balled-up fists. Time—and Kirk’s steady presence—helped her deescalate the brawls, and slowly they began to put into practice the lessons she’d taught about negotiations and compromises that allowed them to live in harmony.
They devoured two dozen sandwiches, all while discussing what Nate had taught them...and wondering aloud what more they might learn on their next trip to the Double M. It was so good to see them looking forward to something that Eden found herself fighting tears.
“Hey,” Wade said, “what you cryin’ about, Eden?”
“My eyes are as tired as the rest of me,” she said. “And speaking of tired, it’s time for you guys to head upstairs.”
“Biology exam,” Kirk repeated.
Groaning, the boys disposed of their plates. They each said good-night before heading for their rooms.
Half an hour later, when Eden closed the door to her own room, she expected to lie awake, worrying about where she’d find the money to fix the roof, the leaky washing machine and on-its-last-legs dryer. Instead, memories of Nate’s interactions with the boys lulled her to sleep.
She woke feeling rested and upbeat, until the boys gathered at the table, devouring oatmeal or crunchy cereal as they picked up where they’d left off last night. Listening as they recounted the trip to the Double M...and their perceptions of Nate.
“I like him,” Travis said, “’cause he ain’t all full of himself.” He glanced at Eden and quickly added, “Isn’t.”
“Yeah, but all grown-ups seem real at first,” DeShawn observed. “Takes a while before the phony wears off and the real hangs out.”
Eden started to disagree, but what if he’d been correct? Jake
