only family he had, was still better than what he’d been through since Mikayla.
It was still better than taking any risk of ending up like his grandmother.
And staying solo had been working for him. No other woman had so much as caught his eye or his interest, let alone stirred anything in him.
Until last night.
So, yes, he would have preferred it if he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the Northbridge social worker again.
Although he still didn’t understand why he was.
Maybe it was the resemblance to Mikayla. Neily Pratt wasn’t the spitting image of her but, still, maybe the resemblance was enough to trigger something in him.
But regardless of what was causing his eagerness to see her again, he was damn well going to fight it with everything he had.
“So make it quick,” he said aloud, as if he were giving the caseworker an order.
But he honestly hoped her work here would be done fast.
The faster the better.
And that then they wouldn’t have to have anything to do with each other.
Because nothing was worth risking being on the edge of that dark pit again.
“She’s having a sad day. Wyatt is sitting with her on the sunporch.”
Thanks to a hectic schedule, Neily didn’t get to the Hobbs house until late Monday afternoon. Mary Pat answered the door and let her in, informing her of Theresa’s mood and whereabouts once they’d exchanged greetings.
“I’ll go on back,” Neily said. “I know the way.”
The sunporch Mary Pat had referred to had probably been a greenhouse when the Hobbs place was built. It was a small space at the rear of the house, completely enclosed in glass—including overhead. Until the previous day’s fix-up it had had more broken windows than not, but those had been replaced and it was once again sealed off from the elements. So even with only the not-too-intense April sunshine to warm it, it was still a comfortable spot from which to look down over a portion of town.
That was what Theresa and Wyatt seemed to be doing when Neily reached the doorway.
She refrained from announcing herself, wanting to observe any interactions between the two before either of them knew she was there.
They were sitting in old wicker chairs facing away from Neily but angled just enough toward each other that she had profile views of them both. Theresa’s sadness was obvious—she sat with her head slumped, her expression gloomy, staring through the windows while Wyatt Grayson seemed to be trying to lift her spirits with a humorous story about a power-tool salesman.
There was nothing alarming in what Neily was seeing and yet she stayed quiet for a moment longer, her focus on Theresa’s grandson.
She told herself that her interest was only professional, that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that the guy was just too handsome to believe even dressed in a pair of plain tan twill slacks and a plaid shirt. It was his attitude toward his grandmother that she was observing, not the broad shoulders or the sun streaked through the dark-blond hair that gilded his starkly chiseled face.
But she couldn’t fault his attitude any more than she could ignore his good looks, and after watching him actually win a small smile from Theresa, Neily could tell that there was no tension between the two.
“Knock-knock,” she said from the doorway as if she’d just gotten there.
Wyatt Grayson immediately glanced in her direction, his gray eyes bright and alert as his grandmother merely continued staring blankly out the windows in front of them.
“Look who’s here, Gram—Neily,” he said, getting to his feet.
Theresa didn’t respond but still Neily went into the sunporch. “This is a nice place to be on a spring day,” she said cheerily.
“It really is,” Wyatt agreed the same way, as if it might inspire some enthusiasm from his grandmother. “It took some convincing but Mary Pat and I finally got Gram to come down and see for herself.”
Still nothing from Theresa, as if she was too lost in her own thoughts to even hear what they were saying.
Wyatt Grayson stepped between the chairs and came toward Neily. “I don’t suppose you’re here to see me so I should probably give you some time alone with our girl. But could I have a minute when you’re through?”
“Sure,” Neily agreed, trying not to pay any attention to the little thrill of excitement she felt at the thought that he wanted a minute with her.
“Can I get you something in the meantime? Tea? Coffee?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Theresa is all I need,” she answered.
“I’ll get out of the way then,” he said, reaching over the back of his grandmother’s chair to squeeze her shoulder. “That’s okay, isn’t it, Gram? If I leave you with Neily?”
Theresa’s only response was to pat his hand before her own fell limply back into her lap, all without glancing away from the windows.
Neily slipped between the wicker chairs and sat in the one he’d vacated. “We’ll be fine.”
He left then, but the heat of his big body lingered to warm the chair and Neily tried not to think about that—or like it—as she settled in.
“Hi, Theresa,” she said. “How are you doing?”
Theresa shrugged but didn’t answer, returning her gaze out the windows.
Neily checked the view, finding that the room looked down over an area of Northbridge that had been the first concentrated housing development in the late 1950s.
Finding nothing particularly noteworthy in that, she focused on Theresa instead.
“How do you like having your grandson and Mary Pat here?” Neily asked conversationally.
“They’re good to me,” Theresa answered without inflection.
“So you’re glad that they’re with you?”
“Yes.”
“What does Mary Pat do for you?” Neily inquired, still making certain that her questions sounded like a friendly chat rather than a probe into Theresa’s relationships.
The older woman shrugged. “Mary Pat does everything. She brings me my medicines when it’s time to take them. Fixes my food. Tells me when it’s cold and I should wear a sweater. Reminds me to brush my teeth or comb my hair when I forget. She’s my mother hen.” Theresa said all this in a flat tone of voice, never looking away from the windows.
“And yet you took her car keys and left her behind.”
“I had to. I had to come here. Even without Mary Pat.”
Neily
