Page 29 of The Hermit on the Hill

"Are you the kind of man who might use his power to take his child from his mother?"

Sam glanced at me, pure shock in every line of his face, but he didn't answer my question.

My stomach sank. There could only be one reason he wasn't answering immediately. I needed to get away from him, to run and never look back.

It wasn't a rational thought. Legally, he'd have little recourse to take our child, but my instincts were in overdrive and I wanted to get away.

Sam parked in front of his house and got out, slamming the door behind him. He walked over to my door and opened it, but he stepped in close instead of offering his hand to help me out. After he slid his arms under me and lifted me out of the truck, he set me on my feet and held my hand as he led me into his house.

My hand shook in his and he squeezed tighter.

"I think maybe you should take me home now."

He didn't answer. He led me to a couch in the den across from his office and sat next to me. "I didn't want to say this until you could look me in the eyes while I told you. When I was a baby, my parents died and my grandmother took me in. My grandmother's brother thought one of our cousins, someone who had young kids, ought to take me in, but my grandmother insisted on being my guardian. I loved Nana, and she was the best mother I could have ever asked for, but I still felt the loss of my mother. Even though I couldn't remember her, it was like there was a hole in me that could never heal. The place where she should have been. I would never take a child from a mother who loved and wanted him. Seeing that room you've got for the baby, it's clear you want and love him already. I would never try to take him from you."

The relief was almost painful, like blood flowing back into a limb that had fallen asleep. "Thank you."

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. "I want a place in my son's life. I want to know everything, to be there for every important moment. You don't have to like me, but can you promise me you won't keep me from him?"

I'd already told him I wouldn't, but I could understand his need for reassurance. "As long as you never give me reason to think you might abuse him I would never keep you from him."

He let out a long sigh. He'd been as scared as I'd been. In all honesty, he had more reason than I did to fear being cut out of his son's life.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't handled this well."

He didn't agree or disagree. "Why don't you come into the kitchen? I'm going to cook for you, and I've got something I think you'll like to read while I do."

I stood. "What are you cooking?"

"Vegetarian lasagna and a salad. The lasagna's already made. I just need to put it in the oven and start on the salad."

"I could help. I'm not much of a cook, but I can chop vegetables."

He shrugged. "If you don't like the reading material I've chosen for you, I'd welcome the help."

He spoke so formally when he wasn't grumpy, like a boy who'd been to finishing school and not raised by a grandmother the people in town called a witch. I wondered at his life, at where he'd been in the years since he'd left his grandmother's home, at all he'd done.

His hand in mine felt good, warm and calloused. It would be easy to lean on this man, even to like him.

Images of our night together flashed through my memory. Under those clothes he had a gorgeous body, as hard and honed as the near constant anger that thrummed under the surface of his skin.

His kitchen was a wonder, all white marble countertops, white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. He had two ovens and a copper pot rack that hung over the island.

Herbs grew in planters near the large windows over the sink, and dishes were stacked in a drying rack. Clearly, it was a kitchen that was used and not just there to make the house look pretty.

I lost all interest in that kitchen, however, when Sam handed me a familiar leather-bound book. "Your grandmother's journal?"

He shrugged, but there was a distance in his expression that made it clear he gave me the book grudgingly. "She would have liked you, and she would have been thrilled to be gaining a grandson. You should get to know the woman she was."

"Thank you."

He nodded and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out veggies and stacked them on the counter near a cutting board. I sat at the rough-hewn kitchen table and read.

A tale of a baby with croup and the herbs Sam's grandmother had mixed to ease it had me fully entranced when Sam set a steaming plate of lasagna in front of me. He'd set the table while I'd read and I hadn't even noticed.

At the sight and smell of our dinner, my stomach rumbled loudly.

Sam's frown deepened. "When was the last time you ate?"

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