Apprentice Father. Irene Hannon

for them suggested he possessed a kind and caring heart. She admired him for that.

      But that odd little flutter in her stomach when their gazes had met across the church grounds couldn’t be explained away by mere admiration, she admitted. It had been attraction, pure and simple. Clay Adams might not be her type, but he was handsome in a rugged, bad-boy sort of way that for some reason made her heart race. She wasn’t quite comfortable with the notion of working for someone to whom she was attracted. Yet for the sake of those two forlorn children, she could learn to control her reaction to him. She was sure of it.

      After setting the brake, she inspected the apartment development. It was well-maintained and landscaped, but there was very little open green space, and no play area, she noted. At least there was a park not far away. If she accepted this job, Cate intended to take the children there often. Their wan appearance suggested they needed fresh air, along with a place to run and play and just be kids.

      Opening her car door, Cate swung her legs to the ground and scooted to the edge of the seat. Although she hated to admit it, she’d overdone it in the garden a couple of days ago. Not only had she put extra strain on her leg, she’d pulled a muscle in her back.

      Once on her feet, she reached for her cane. In a day or two, she should be able to put that nuisance back in the closet. For now, though, it was a godsend. Especially when she realized Clay’s apartment was on the second floor. She could handle steps, but it was slow going even on a good day.

      As if on cue, a door on the landing opened. She looked up to find her potential employer watching her.

      “I forgot to tell you about the steps,” he called down, his expression troubled.

      She smiled. “No problem.”

      He hovered at the top, his concern obvious. It was a common reaction, and Cate was used to it. Many people were uncomfortable around those with disabilities, at least in the beginning. And sometimes forever. She’d been that way herself once, in the days when she’d moved with grace and perfect coordination. She understood his unease. She also knew that the best way to deal with it was to address it head-on.

      “Can I help?” Clay offered.

      “No, thanks. I’m fine. Just slow today.”

      Cate ascended the stairs, steadying herself on her cane once she reached the top. Much to her dismay, her stomach fluttered again as she looked into the intense, dark brown eyes that were fixed on her.

      “Steps aren’t always easy for me, but I’m very capable of handling the children,” she assured him, striving for a confident tone. “You’re seeing me at my worst, thanks to a gardening binge. Most of the time I don’t use the cane. I’ve had years to learn how to manage my disability, and it’s never hindered my work. Of course, your concern that Josh and Emily receive the best of care is commendable. I’ll be happy to provide some references.”

      Warmth crept up Clay’s neck. He considered himself to be a pretty tolerant and unbiased guy, but he didn’t often come into contact with people who had physical disabilities. And despite the positive spin she’d given his obvious unease by praising his concern for the children’s welfare, her graciousness didn’t alleviate his chagrin.

      “I’m sure Reverend Richards wouldn’t have recommended you if you weren’t capable.”

      “True. But it’s best to get any reservations on the table at the beginning. I’ve learned that people are often curious about my disabilities, and I don’t mind talking about them if that will help put your mind at ease.”

      He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight. He was curious. And not just because he was concerned about Cate’s ability to deal with the children. She was a beautiful woman—and far too young to have to rely on a cane. He wanted to know what had happened to her.

      “Fourteen years ago, when I was eighteen, I had Guillain-Barre Syndrome.” She answered his question before he could figure out a diplomatic way to ask it. “Are you familiar with that condition?”

      “I’ve heard the name. But that’s all.”

      “You’re not alone. Few people know much about it. It’s a rare illness that generally affects men over the age of forty, so I wasn’t a typical victim. It causes the body’s immune system to attack the nerves. Most people make a full recovery.”

      She paused, and Clay saw a brief flash of pain ricochet across her eyes. “I take it you weren’t typical in that regard, either.”

      “No. And since I didn’t fit the standard profile, I wasn’t diagnosed fast enough. I ended up paralyzed and went into respiratory failure. Even with symptoms that severe, however, most people recover. Longer-lasting effects, like lingering weakness in the arms or legs, usually go away with physical therapy. In a few cases, they don’t.”

      Like hers.

      The facts were clear, but there was much she hadn’t spoken of, Clay reflected. And questions she hadn’t answered. Like how had it felt, at the age of eighteen, to be struck with such a debilitating condition? How had it changed her life? What dreams had she been forced to give up? How had she found the strength to cope?

      He couldn’t begin to fathom what it must have been like for her to suddenly find her world so constricted, her options so limited.

      “I’m sorry.” It was a pathetically inadequate response, and he knew it.

      The door behind him creaked, and Clay swung around to find Emily peering through the crack, reminding him that he should have invited Cate in instead of letting her tell her life story while standing on the landing.

      His neck grew warm and he motioned toward the door. “Why don’t we go inside?” Stepping aside to let her precede him, he was struck again by her delicate, willowy frame and her long, slender fingers as they gripped her cane.

      For some reason, he was tempted to reach out, take her arm, reassure her, help her. It was an odd inclination—and completely inappropriate, he reminded himself, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead. She was here about a job. Nothing more.

      “Hi, Cate,” Emily greeted their visitor in a soft, shy voice.

      “Hello, Emily.” Cate stopped on the threshold, and Clay caught a faint whiff of some sweet, subtle scent wafting from her hair that kicked his pulse up a notch. “Where’s your brother?”

      Josh peeked around Emily’s shoulder and smiled.

      “How many pancakes did you eat?” Cate asked him.

      He pondered, struggling through the math. “Four.”

      “No wonder you’re such a big boy!”

      He gave her a pleased grin, then he and Emily moved away from the door to allow her to enter.

      Clay followed at a safe distance, shutting the door as he gave the room a swift survey, trying to see it through Cate’s eyes. He spent so little time in the succession of apartments he’d occupied that he always opted for a small, furnished place—living room, efficiency kitchen, bedroom and bath. This was no exception.

      Until today, Clay had thought the place was fine, if a bit cramped. But suddenly he recognized all its shortcomings. Besides being small, it was too sterile. There was nothing personal in the place to distinguish it from any unoccupied apartment in the complex. Nothing to suggest it was a home. Nothing warm and inviting. In other words, not the best environment for the children. Cate’s expression, however, gave no hint of her reaction.

      “Would you like some coffee?” he offered.

      “No, thanks. But a glass of water would be great.”

      “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward the living room.

      “I’d like to spend a few minutes with the children first, if you don’t mind. I brought an activity for them. May I borrow your kitchen table?”

      “Sure. Help yourself.”