Healing the Widower's Heart. Susan Anne Mason

      Paige held back a comment, knowing she was walking on thin ice. One wrong word and the delicate trust she’d established would collapse. “Well, while you’re here, Willy can be your pet. Would you like that?”

      “Really?” The tentative smile reappeared.

      “Sure. But he has to stay with his mother. He’s too young to leave her yet.”

      “I’ll come and visit him here then.”

      “Sounds like a plan.” She stood and brushed the straw off her shorts and shirt. “We’d better get back to the inn before your dad gets worried.”

      The scowl returned. “He won’t be worried. He hates me.”

      Paige could only stare as Zach placed the kitten down beside its siblings. “Why would you say your dad hates you?” She closed the barn door behind them and made sure the latch had caught.

      Zach shrugged, his eyes trained on the ground as he walked. “He yells at me all the time. He’s always mad.”

      Nathan Porter didn’t exactly exude a sunny disposition, but what could you expect from a man who’d just lost his wife? “Your dad’s not himself right now. Sometimes when adults seem angry, they’re really hiding how sad they are.” Her heart ached for Nathan and his son. She remembered all too well the feeling of being mired so deep in grief she thought she’d suffocate.

      “My dad’s not sad. He’s glad my mom’s dead. Except now he’s stuck with me.”

      Paige fought to keep her jaw from dropping. For a second time, Zach had stunned her into silence. She decided against saying anything else until she’d had a chance to talk to Nathan Porter. Something a lot deeper than grief was going on between father and son.

      Something she needed to figure out before she went any further.

      * * *

      By two o’clock, Paige had tidied her office in anticipation of her appointment with Nathan. She’d made arrangements with George’s wife, Catherine, to look after Zach while they talked. After the last piece of paper had been filed, Paige stood back to survey the small room with a twinge of dismay. The surplus metal desk, file cabinet, ancient laptop and scarred wooden credenza didn’t exactly portray the professional impression she’d like. But then she’d never imagined entertaining patients here.

      Still she’d done her best to cheer the place up with a couple of soft lamps, a few pieces of artwork and some pictures of her favorite moments at Wyndermere.

      A sharp knock brought her back to the present. She wiped her damp palms on her shorts and exhaled. “Come in.”

      Nathan Porter stepped inside, his larger-than-life presence making the room seem to shrink in size. He’d changed into a casual polo shirt, navy shorts and sneakers, which made him a little less intimidating than wearing a suit and tie. Still the air crackled with a subtle tension. Too bad his attitude hadn’t relaxed, as well.

      “Mr. Porter. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.” She indicated the chair across from her desk. As he folded his tall frame onto the chair, she prayed for the right words to reach him.

      “Look, Miss McFarlane,” he said curtly before she could begin, “I don’t want you to feel obligated to help my son. I’m sure George coerced you into doing this.”

      A band of heat crept up her neck, but she lifted her chin, determined to keep a professional image. “George asked me to see what I could do for Zach, and I agreed to try.”

      He let out a defeated breath that matched the tired lines around his eyes. “Are you aware that professional therapists have failed to get anywhere with him?”

      Was that a subtle jab that she wasn’t a professional yet? She pushed back the doubts creeping in and forced a calm expression. “George mentioned it. Which is why I’d like to keep this very casual. I’ll incorporate Zach’s sessions with the everyday activities, so it’s more natural.”

      Nathan nodded. “That might help.” He paused. “What about...compensation for your services?”

      She cringed. Money was an uncomfortable topic for her. Especially when she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get through to the boy. “Why don’t we leave that until I see if I can make any headway with Zach.” She gripped her hands together. “Which brings me to the reason I asked to see you. In order to help your son, I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

      She swore she could see the walls go up around Nathan, brick by brick. He shifted on the metal chair that groaned under his weight.

      “Was Zach’s behavior out of line?”

      “No. In fact, we got along pretty well, all things considered. But something he said made me wonder if I’m missing part of the picture.”

      Nathan’s piercing eyes narrowed. “What did he say?”

      She took a deep breath before continuing, hoping to untangle the knots in her stomach. “I’m sorry if this sounds cruel, but I’m only repeating what Zach told me. He said you hate him, you’re glad his mother died and you’re mad because you’re ‘stuck’ with him.” She ticked the list off on her fingers.

      His mouth tightened into an even grimmer line as the color drained from his face. “You must know none of that is true.”

      “Of course.” She kept an even tone. “What I need to know is why Zach believes it’s true.”

      He threw out his hands. “How should I know what goes on in the mind of a seven-year-old?”

      Paige fought to keep her manner sympathetic. “Mr. Porter, I understand you’re in a terrible position—trying to cope with your own loss, while helping your child deal with his overwhelming emotions.”

      When there was no response, she picked up her pen and battled the urge to tap out her nerves and frustration on the legal pad. “Zach is most likely acting out quite a bit right now—creating scenes, having tantrums. Am I close?”

      Nathan looked at her with unconcealed surprise. “Very.”

      “This type of behavior would be difficult enough to deal with in an ordinary situation. But dealing with your own issues as well must make it almost impossible.”

      “Yes.” The relief in his voice accentuated the release of tension in his broad shoulders.

      She sensed he hadn’t shared this burden with anyone—that he’d been keeping his own grief bottled up. “May I ask how your wife died?” she asked gently.

      He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, pain leaped from their blue depths. “A brain aneurysm—five months ago. Zach found her when he got home from school.”

      “Oh, no. How awful.” The thought brought the sting of tears to her eyes. “No wonder he’s having such a hard time. Did he call you right away?”

      Nathan looked away again. “He called his grandmother and she phoned for an ambulance. But it was too late. Cynthia had been dead for hours.”

      “I’m so sorry. I know how hard it is to lose a loved one...unexpectedly.” She struggled with a lump in her throat as painful memories surfaced. The flashing lights of the police car spearing the rain-soaked night. The wail of the siren that matched her own wail of grief. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed the images away. She couldn’t afford to relive her own sorrow every time she treated a patient.

      Nathan still wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. Once again, Paige sensed there was far more to the situation than he was telling her. She forged ahead to cover the awkward silence. “Right now, Zach is suffering from the classic anger associated with the grieving process. He’s also experiencing severe abandonment issues. Subconsciously, Zach is testing your limits to see if you, too, will abandon him.”

      Nathan’s focus riveted back to her, as though she held the secrets