Take My Hand. Ruth Scofield

J.D. simply didn’t know what to do with the son now in his keeping. He’d missed the past five years of fathering.

      It was all well and good for smooth-as-silk Miss Richmond to talk. With that fancy education the principal had told him about, Miss Richmond could spout with ease all that stuff that modern teachers knew about how a misbehaving child should be taught. But that wouldn’t help him at home. How was he supposed to cope when Cliff hated him? When they didn’t know each other? When the boy whined constantly?

      In the alley off Sunny Creek’s main street, he pulled into his spot behind the shop and sat a moment. He leaned his head against his fist, his elbow supported on the steering wheel. He let his breath whoosh from his lungs. He was already tired, and the day was only half over.

      How much trouble was he in? He and his son?

      What was he going to do?

      Oh, Lord, I need Your help…. I feel like a dunce! I’m in over my head here and I don’t know how to handle my own son. Can You tell me what to do?

      It had been years since he’d addressed his creator—since he was a boy. He’d neglected that aspect of his life with little guilt, finding a morning out on the lake fishing or simply sleeping late on Sundays more to his liking. Maybe the Lord wouldn’t hear him anymore.

      He suddenly wished he kept a Bible at the shop. Perhaps some scripture might tell him something—give him some hope. The Bible is what his mom had turned to when she felt troubled. He had a Bible at home. Somewhere. But he wouldn’t even know where to look for it. Or what scripture to read.

      He no longer was acquainted with any pastor in town, either. He’d feel a fool to go to one for help now, when he was desperate. Yet helping was something ministers did, wasn’t it?

      That was something else he’d have to look into, he supposed. A church to attend. The one he’d known as a child, perhaps. Cliff would need friends.

      Well, he didn’t have time to think more about it now. He’d turned off his cell phone to concentrate on getting Cliff enrolled in school. No telling how many calls he’d have waiting for him on his answering machine. Though he never ignored them, customers grew impatient when they couldn’t reach him easily.

      As he unlocked the rear door and flicked on lights, his mood lightened a tad. This was his refuge, his territory. This was what he did well. Small-engine parts and repair. His customers knew he was the best in Missouri at small-engine repair. His reputation was known all over the lakes. He sold boat parts and limited equipment on the side, as well.

      At least Cliff was safely at school with that pretty teacher. He could relax, knowing the kid wasn’t tearing up his house while he wasn’t looking. At least Cliff was out of trouble. And looking at Miss Richmond all day would be no hardship. None at all, with that honey-colored hair and those cool blue-green eyes. Her delicate features positively invited masculine attention, he mused. He’d never been so lucky when he was in school.

      He’d almost lost his cool when he first saw her—shucks, he had, J.D. admitted. She’d looked good enough to tuck into his pocket any day.

      He wondered where she was from. He hadn’t seen her around town before, and the town wasn’t all that big in the winter off-season. Sunny Creek sat at the northern edge of Truman Lake, an old town now three times the size of what it was when he was a boy. She must be one of the new people.

      The phone rang, and he grabbed it on the third ring. “Sullivan’s Repair,” he answered, yanking his thoughts back from a womanly figure whose shapely calves peeking from a flowered hem had intrigued him.

      It was just as well. No way would a woman like Miss Richmond look twice at a man like him. She’d go for one of those summertime intellectuals or a smart-mouth from the school board.

      But you couldn’t shoot a man for merely looking. At least he’d see her again at the end of the school day.

      Chapter Two

      Two mornings later, Alexis shook her head, an unspoken regret rattling around her thoughts. She didn’t like having to call Mr. Sullivan so soon, but she had no choice. Cliff had caused a disruption. She’d expected such, but it had come more quickly than she’d anticipated.

      “Kathy, can you keep an eye on things for five minutes?” Alexis treasured her para, the assistant teacher assigned to her class. Kathy, an attractive woman of middle years, had the patience of a saint. It also helped that her own child, now grown, had been a special-needs student. “I think I’ll make this call from the office, if you don’t mind.”

      “Sure, Miss Richmond. Um, I have a better idea. We’ll take a trip to the library.”

      “Bless you,” Alexis said, flashing Kathy a smile of gratitude.

      Alexis waited until the students filed out, then closed the classroom door and pulled out her cell phone. Running her finger down the list of phone numbers, she found the one she sought and punched in J.D.’s shop number. She waited tentatively. After their first meeting, she wasn’t quite sure of the reception she’d get from the sexy Mr. Sullivan.

      Now, why in the world had she thought of him with that tag? Sexy? She didn’t usually pigeonhole people with mere skin-deep descriptions.

      Yet she couldn’t deny the label.

      “Sullivan’s Repair.”

      “Mr. Sullivan?” She jerked her thoughts back to the task at hand, activating her teacher’s voice. “This is Alexis Richmond. We need to see you as soon as possible. Can you come in this afternoon, right after the close of the school day?”

      “Middle of the afternoon? Can’t do it.”

      “Then, how about now, Mr. Sullivan? Immediately.”

      “Why? What’s the rush?”

      “Cliff’s behavior.” Calling on years of practice, she kept her tone nonjudgmental. “We need to discuss discipline.”

      “What’s he done?”

      “He hit another student. Hard. We cannot tolerate improper aggression of any degree, Mr. Sullivan. If you want your child to remain in public school, we must reach an understanding on how he is to be disciplined. There is a possibility that he could be facing an out-of-school suspension.”

      A short silence followed, then he said, “Got into a fight, did he?”

      “Not exactly.” In her opinion, a fight included participation from more than one person. Tyler, the other boy, hadn’t done much to defend himself. “Cliff over-reacted to a…verbal disagreement.”

      “Is that all? Can’t you just shake him or stand him in the corner?”

      Is that all the man could think of? To physically punish the boy? Pursing her lips, she mentally counted to ten.

      “His behavior management will be much more effective if we work as a team, Mr. Sullivan.” She put an effort into firming her tone. “Cliff needs to know we are in agreement, and I don’t really think he needs…”

      Alexis bit her tongue. She wanted to say the child needed love and hugs along with firm limitations. He needed years of parental companionship to teach him emotional balance and self-confidence. Plus a first-hand example of appropriate control of angry emotions. She suspected the child had missed out on all that.

      According to the sketchy report she’d read, perhaps the father had, too.

      Alexis changed her tactic. “Have you read your son’s paperwork, Mr. Sullivan?”

      “Haven’t had time.”

      Vexation flooded her thoughts, and she prayed for self-control. She brushed her hair behind her ear and shifted in her chair. How could a father be so uninterested? So what that he hadn’t been a part of his son’s life for years. He was the sole parent now!

      But it wouldn’t do to show less command of herself