The Path To Her Heart. Linda Ford

room. He’ll be back shortly.”

      “Is my daddy mad?”

      Aunt Ada chuckled. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about.”

      “Is my arm going to fall off?”

      Boothe stepped into the room intent on reassuring his son. The bandage already needed changing. “Your arm is going to be all right.” He kept all traces of anger from his voice even though he silently blamed Emma for frightening Jessie.

      “But that lady—”

      “Emma?” Aunt Ada prompted.

      “Yes, Emma—”

      “Miss Emma to you,” Boothe said.

      “Miss Emma. She’s a nurse. She said—”

      “I’ll wrap your arm better. It will be just fine.” Thank you, Miss Emma, for alarming an innocent child. He gently took off the soiled dressing, tore up more strips and created a pad. “Aunt Ada, do you have adhesive tape?”

      “In the left-hand drawer.” She pointed toward the cupboard. He found the tape and cut several pieces, using them to close the edges of the cut before he applied the pad. He wrapped it with fresh lengths of the old sheet and pinned the end. “There. You’ll soon be good as new.”

      Jessie nodded, his blue gaze bright. “I don’t need a doctor, do I?”

      Boothe kept his voice steady despite the anger twitching at his insides. “Jessie, my boy, a man does not run to the doctor every time he gets a cut. Okay?”

      “Okay.” He slid his gaze to Aunt Ada. “Miss Emma lives here?”

      “Yes. Did you like her?”

      “She has a nice smile.”

      Boothe shot Aunt Ada a warning glance. “Where do you want us to put our stuff?”

      Aunt Ada winked at Boothe. “She’s a nice woman. Knows her own mind. I admire that in a person.”

      Jessie nodded vigorously. “Me, too.”

      Boothe grabbed the suitcase, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation. He did not want Jessie getting interested in Emma.

      “I’ve made space for you in the back of the storeroom. Sorry I can’t offer you a bedroom but the upstairs ones are all rented, for which I thank God. And I don’t intend to give up mine.”

      “I’m sure we’ll be more than comfortable.” Boothe fell in beside Aunt Ada as she limped toward the back of the kitchen. Jessie followed on his heels.

      The room was large, full of cupboards stacked with canned goods, bottles of home preserves, tins and sacks of everything from oats to bay leaves. Spicy, homey smells filled the air. He tightened his jaw, remembering when such aromas, such sights, meant home. With forced determination he finished his visual inspection of the room. Two narrow side-by-side cots and a tall dresser fit neatly along the far wall. A window with a green shade rolled almost to the top gave natural light. “This is more than adequate. Thank you.”

      “Is this our place?” Jessie asked.

      “For as long as you want,” Aunt Ada said.

      A load of weight slid from Boothe’s shoulders. They would be safe here. And maybe one day in the unforeseeable future, they might even be happy again. “I can’t thank you enough.”

      Jessie kicked off his boots, plopped down on one bed, his bony knees crooked toward the ceiling. “I had a room of my own at Auntie Vera’s.”

      Boothe had been forced to leave Jessie with Vera on school days and often on weekends as he tried to find enough work to make ends meet. He hadn’t liked it, though he appreciated that Jessie had a safe place to stay.

      He hadn’t expected it to be a complete mistake.

      “No thanks needed.” Ada grinned at him. “You’ll be earning your keep sure enough. Things have been neglected of late. I can’t get around like I used to.”

      “I’m here to help. Tell me what you need done.”

      “I’d appreciate if you look after the furnace first. Emma’s been kind enough to do it but she’s a paying guest.”

      “I’ll tend to it. Jessie, your books and toys are in the suitcase. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

      Jessie bolted to his feet and scrambled into his boots, ignoring the dragging laces as he scurried after Boothe.

      Boothe should have known the boy wouldn’t let him out of his sight. He squatted down to face Jessie. “I don’t want you to come downstairs with me.” He had no idea what condition the cellar was in. It might not be safe for a six-year-old. “You go with Aunt Ada and wait for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      Jessie’s eyes flooded with fear.

      Boothe squeezed his son’s shoulder. He hated leaving him but Jessie was safe. Sooner or later he’d have to get used to the fact his father had to leave him at times. But he’d learn that Boothe would always return.

      Aunt Ada took Jessie’s hand. “I have a picture book you might like to see.”

      Boothe nodded his thanks as his aunt led Jessie back to the kitchen table. Only then did he venture down the worn wooden steps. He found the furnace and fed it, dragged the ashes into the ash pail then looked around the cavernous cellar. Bins built along one side contained potatoes and a variety of root vegetables. He hadn’t been to Aunt Ada’s in years but as a kid had spent several summers visiting her. He remembered her huge garden in the adjoining lot. But she had been quick and light on her feet back then. Now she moved as if every joint hurt. Did she still grow everything the household consumed?

      Boxes were stacked on wide shelves. He opened one and saw a collection of magazines. The next held rags. Another seemed to be full of men’s clothes. He couldn’t imagine whose they were, seeing as Aunt Ada had never married. Perhaps a guest had left them behind. He pulled out a pair of trousers and held them to his waist. He found a heavy coat, a pair of sagging boots and a variety of shirts. He’d ask Aunt Ada about the things. They were better than anything he owned. Despite his disappointment at Vera’s treachery, he allowed himself a moment of gratitude for the fine clothes she bought Jesse.

      He carried the pail of ashes upstairs and paused, breathing in the aroma of pork roast and applesauce. The furnace hummed and the warmth of coal heat spread about him. This was a good place to be. Safe and solid. He tilted his head toward the kitchen as he heard Jessie.

      “When will my daddy come back?” His voice crackled with tension.

      Boothe hurried to the back door to get rid of the ash bucket.

      Emma’s gentle voice answered Jessie. “Your daddy is taking care of the furnace so you’ll stay warm. What did he say when he went to the cellar?”

      “He said he’d be back as soon as he could.”

      “There you go. Even when you can’t see him, you can remember what he said.”

      Boothe stood stock-still as Emma reassured Jessie. A blizzard of emotions raced through him—gratitude that she dealt with Jessie so calmly, soothingly. Anger and frustration that Jessie had to confront the fear of loss. Children his age should be secure in the love of a mother and father. Most of all, emptiness sucked at his gut making him feel as naked, exposed and helpless as a tree torn from the ground by a tornado, roots and all. The future stretched out as barren as the drought-stricken prairies. This was not how he’d envisioned his life. Nope, in his not-so-long-ago plans there’d been a woman who shared his home and made it a welcoming place.

      He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. He’d come here to find peace and safety. In the space of half an hour, Emma had robbed him of that, not once, but twice. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to see her more than a few minutes each day—only long enough to