His Brother's Gift. Mary J. Forbes

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      “Delays. You mean he’ll be normal, typical, one day?”

      “Like you and me? Not entirely. But he’ll have mastered life skills that will assist him as an adult.” A smile touched her mouth. “It’s believed Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton and Henry Cavendish, the scientist who discovered hydrogen, all had a form of Asperger’s. If that helps.”

      It didn’t.

      A weak sun peeked through the gray-blue patches, dusting the frosted trees in glitter. For a few moments they stood silent, contemplating the emergence of spring.

      Will said, “This isn’t all, is it?”

      A head shake. “We’ve barely touched the surface. But with each day I’ll explain more when a particular behavior crops up.”

      Will pursed his lips. “Seems he likes maps.”

      “You’ll find he’s very possessive about certain items. Like his maps, his knapsack, the sketchbook. He’ll draw trains for hours. But he’s averse to taking direction. Not because he’s belligerent, but because he relates it to negativism. He needs a lot of praise and encouragement.”

      “Terrific. So how do I tell him when he’s done something wro—inappropriate?”

      “Why don’t we take it one day at a time?”

      He was all for that. What she had given him had overloaded his brain.

      He studied her while she surveyed their surroundings.

      She was small and curvy, with hair that spiraled around the shoulders of her black coat the way forest fires whorled into a night sky. Genetics had given her a linear nose, a little on the long side with tiny nostrils—and well-shaped lips. Kissable if he had an inkling. Which he did not.

      On the whole, she matched nothing of what he found appealing in women. Her brows and lashes were auburn, her chin small and narrow. And she was shorter than he preferred. However, her smile was sincere and kind and he wished she’d volunteer it more often.

      Suddenly he wondered about her age and how long she’d worked on foreign soil. “How old are you?”

      Her head turned slowly, eyes wide and dark. “That’s rude, don’t you think? To ask a woman her age?”

      He shrugged. “I figure with you and Elke being best friends you know my age.” Lifting his eyebrows, he cut her a grin. “Fair is fair. And it’s not like we’re interested in each other.”

      She regarded him for a moment. “Forty-two.”

      “This year?”

      “No.” Her eyes flashed; he curbed a laugh.

      Forty-three this year. A separation of nine years. He’d already had his thirty-fourth birthday.

      “I think,” she said, moving down the path toward the house, “we’re done here.”

      “Are you planning to live with Georgia for the duration?”

      She hesitated. “I’ll be looking for a place to rent. Georgia is kind enough to have us stay, but I’d prefer not to take advantage.”

      Not with a high-maintenance kid. Will nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

      “I wasn’t asking.”

      “I know.” He shifted on his feet. “Thanks for the information about…”

      “His name is Christopher.”

      Was she for real? “I know that. Look, it may take a few months to adjust my schedule. I’m already booked into June.”

      “He doesn’t have a few months, Mr. Rubens, so I suppose it depends on what’s most important to you. Your job or your nephew.”

      Damn the woman. “My job,” he said, breathing deep for control, “pays the bills. It’ll keep the boy in clothes and food with a roof over his head and a babysitter at his beck and call—”

      “Babysitter?” Two steps and she was back within his space, a compact bundle of tenacity. “Christopher needs someone specialized in working with autistic children, Will. He’ll need a behavior interventionist to help reinforce strategies to curb his anxiety and frustrations, establish boundaries. He may require an SLP. And you’ll need to participate in his IEP. There’s also the respite worker—”

      He threw up his hands. “Whoa. Speak English. An IEP and SPL?”

      “SLP. Speech language pathologist. An IEP is an individualized educational plan the school requires for his workload.”

      “Okay, understood, but a respite worker?”

      “As sweet as Christopher is, you’ll need breaks. Respite workers are trained in special needs.”

      “And where am I supposed to dig out this nugget of gold?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe instead of going dancing or playing pool, spend the time doing research.”

      “What? Where the hell do you get this sh—Argh!” He headed down the frozen path. “Elke, right?” Swinging around, he jabbed a finger in Savanna’s direction. “Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Stowe. Her mother ruled the roost in that family, so I told Dennis not to marry the daughter. I also begged him not to leave Alaska. He’d started a fledgling practice right here, did you know that? But he wanted her and she wanted to be rid of Rose. And now they’re dead. Because of her.” The pain of it all had him breathing like a winded sled dog. “And here’s another newsflash. I gave up ‘craziness’—” he dittoed the air with quotation marks and a scowl “—the day Christopher was born. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and if I play pool, it’s once a month with good, decent folk. And, damn it, yes, I like dancing. You ought to try it sometime. Might loosen that block sitting on your shoulder.”

      Turning sharply, he strode for the back gate and alley that led to his cabin. Damn it. Forty-eight hours and the woman had his temper in a knot more times than in ten years.

      “Will!”

      She rushed after him. He strode on.

      “Will, stop a minute. Please.” Her fingers brushed his coat sleeve. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m making assumptions when I shouldn’t. It’s… It’s been a very grueling week, and I know that’s no excuse. I apologize. Can we start over?”

      One street over, a diesel engine fired into the morning quiet, and he knew his neighbor Nate Burns, their local flight-service controller, was bound for the airport.

      Will took a deep breath. “Are we gonna argue every time something doesn’t go your way?”

      “That I can’t promise, but I can give you honesty. If it means Christopher’s rights versus yours, I’ll choose his. Each and every time.”

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