A Weaver Vow. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ thumbed his hat back a few inches. “What’re you studying?”

      “Teaching,” she corrected. “Lucy’s put me on the schedule for several classes at her dance studio.”

      “Is that right… .” He didn’t seem to care when Murphy wandered away from them toward the wooden rails of the deck. “I didn’t think you were a dancer like Lucy.”

      Isabella waved her hands ruefully. “Believe me. I’m not.” Until an injury sidelined her career, Lucy had been one of the top ballerinas at the Northeast Ballet Theater. “I was the wardrobe supervisor at NEBT. But I’ve had enough training to teach some little girls a few basics.” She also would be teaching the big girls a few things throughout the week, but didn’t think tall-tanned-and-macho would be interested in hearing about yoga.

      “So that’s the reason for the getup?”

      She thought she’d given up blushing when she was about fifteen. But when his violet gaze seemed to travel down her body, that was exactly what she found herself doing. “Um, yeah.” She didn’t ordinarily go around wearing formfitting jazz pants and stretchy camis that clung like a second skin. She wished she’d zipped up the sweatshirt. Doing so now would seem obvious, though. “Tap shoes are in the car.”

      “Tap?”

      She nodded. One of her foster moms had been avidly into the activity. Isabelle had been happy enough to go along, because it meant she didn’t have to stay back at home with the other six foster kids living there. When she’d been granted her emancipation a few years later and could afford it, she’d taken more classes. “So—” she gestured toward Murphy “—it is okay if I leave him here with you like this?”

      Erik smiled a little. “Didn’t figure I’d be treated to your company all the while, appealing as it might be.”

      She was definitely blushing now. She brushed her palms down her thighs. The diamond engagement ring on her ring finger winked in the sunlight. She tried to remember what Jimmy’s wrists had looked like, and failed. “What time should I pick him up?”

      “What time are you done at Lucy’s place?”

      “I’m only on for two hours.” So far. If Lucy’s business kept growing, she could end up with more classes. Which meant a little more money and a little less debt.

      “Come on back anytime after that.” His tone was easy. “If we’re not finished, you can sit on the porch and relax a bit.”

      There were several rustic chairs scattered along the wide deck. Some had yellow-and-green cushions. Some didn’t. Overall, the whole effect was entirely inviting.

      Another unwelcome thought. Just as it was unwelcome recognizing that his deep, calm voice had a way of easing the knots between her shoulders.

      “You’re being very nice.” Lucy had said he was nice. A very decent, perfectly nice man. And Murphy would be as safe as houses with him. “I’ve really got to go now, though, or I’m going to be late to my class. Murphy?” She raised her voice, looking toward him. “Don’t forget what we talked about.”

      “Yeah, yeah.” He twisted his heel into the gravel.

      Hiding a sigh, she gave Erik an apologetic smile. “Thank you again for giving us this opportunity.”

      “Not us.” He nodded his head sideways toward Murphy. “Him. He’s the one who did it, not you.”

      “Yes, well, he is my responsibility. And I do thank you.” She started edging backward toward her car. “I’ll see you soon, Murphy.”

      Aware of Erik’s gaze on her, she hurried to her car. When she started the engine and turned around to drive back the way she’d come, she could see in her rearview mirror that Erik and Murphy had not budged.

      “Please let this go well,” she whispered. Neither she nor Murphy could afford otherwise, whether her stubborn young ward realized it or not.

      Once the faded red car was out of sight, Erik looked over at Murphy. Wearing an oversize black hoodie and blue jeans with a hole in the knee, he was still leaning against the porch, digging his shoe into the dirt. “All right,” Erik said. “Your mom brought you—”

      “She’s not my mom.” Murphy kicked the gravel, scattering the small pebbles. “She never married my d—She’s just my guardian.”

      Erik decided he really should have listened more closely to Lucy’s chatter. Or caved to his curiosity and called her at least once over the past week to pump her for more info, regardless of the consequences. “So where’re your parents?”

      “My dad’s dead.”

      Erik stifled an oath. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He studied the kid for a moment, wondering about his mother. “How long ago?”

      “Nine months.” The kid lifted a shoulder that looked skinny even beneath the hoodie. “It’s no big deal, dude. Am I gonna shovel cow crap or what?”

      Erik figured it had to be a very big deal. Both his parents were still alive and he was glad of it, though he could do with a little less of his mother’s unsubtle comments that she’d like grandchildren before she was too old to enjoy them. A crock, since he considered his mom to be pretty darn young, having passed fifty only a few years back.

      He abruptly changed his mind about mucking out the horse stalls and pointed instead at the old barn. “You’re gonna help me tear that old thing down.”

      “Then can I have my bat back?”

      “Nope.” He started toward his new barn. “Come on.”

      “Where?” Murphy’s voice was rife with suspicion.

      Erik’s stride didn’t slow. “To get some tools other than your baseball bat.”

      After a moment, he heard the shuffle of footsteps following behind him.

      At least it was something.

      “I’ve got a dozen women signed up for a second yoga class.” Lucy Ventura sat on the edge of the desk in her small office, jiggling the baby she held against her shoulder.

      Isabella swiped her neck with her hand towel. Tap dancing—even with six-year-olds—was a lot of work. “I can hardly believe a couple dozen women exist in Weaver who want to take yoga.” She’d been happy to think they had enough for one class. Two would be amazing.

      Lucy grinned. “You’d be surprised, Iz.” A small burp filled the office. “Genteel as always, my daughter.” She turned the infant around until she was sitting on her lap, facing Isabella. Where Lucy was fair, her daughter, Sunny, was dark. A mop of dark brown hair was tied at the top of her little round head with a bright red bow, and her dark brown eyes fairly snapped with cheer.

      Until Jimmy, Isabella had never aspired to motherhood. Not with the childhood she’d had. Then he’d swept her off her feet, and her orderly life had flown right out the window. She couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if he’d lived. What their baby—if he’d ever changed his mind about not having any—might have looked like.

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