Home Again. Joan Elliott Pickart

      “All right,” Cedar said. “I have the basic information I need to start working with Joey. I do need you to fill out this form for his file, though. I’d like to see him three times a week to start. Is he available after school?”

      “Well, no, not exactly. A van takes him up from school to a day-care center, where I pick him up just before six when they close.”

      “That’s a long day for a little boy,” Cedar said.

      “Yeah, well, I have a lot to do running Chandler Construction.”

      “We’ll get into that later,” Cedar said. “There will be times, Mr…Mark, when I’ll want to see you alone, sessions when I want to see you and Joey together and, of course, sessions with Joey on his own. I also do things a bit differently than most child psychologists.

      “I feel an office setting can be intimidating for my young clients, so I’ll come to your home, or go on an outing with Joey, perhaps join you and Joey for dinner at a pizza parlor. We’ll decide on those things further down the line.”

      “Whatever you say.”

      “Now about Joey’s appointments. To have you bring him here after you pick him up at day care isn’t workable. He’ll be tired, hungry…no, I need you to get him here three times a week right after school.”

      “Man,” Mark said, running one hand over the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

      “Good.” Cedar got to her feet holding the information form. “Let’s go look at the appointment book and set up some of those sessions.”

      “There’s one other thing I feel you should know,” Mark said, rising.

      “Yes?”

      “Joey hasn’t cried.”

      “What?”

      “He hasn’t cried through any of this.”

      “Are you certain of that?” Cedar said, joining him in front of her desk. “What about when he was at the neighbor’s while you were tending to the estate?”

      He shook his head. “Maggie, the neighbor, made a point of telling me that Joey didn’t want to talk about his parents, nor did he cry if she or her kids brought up the subject. He didn’t cry at the funeral, or when I brought him here or…no, Dr. Kennedy, Joey hasn’t cried.”

      “Cedar is fine. I like to keep things casual, but goodness, Joey must address his pain, let his emotions out instead of bottling them up. For a seven year old to not have cried when his very world was destroyed is saying a great deal about his mental state.”

      “You sound…I don’t know…like you really care about Joey and you haven’t even met him yet.”

      “He’s a child in crisis, Mark. Of course, I care.”

      “Do you have kids of your own?”

      “No,” Cedar said quietly. “I don’t. My clients are my family. Oh, and my very spoiled cat Oreo.”

      “You don’t have a husband or children, and you devote yourself to other people’s kids who are messed up. That’s admirable, but don’t you get lonely at times?”

      “Do you?” Cedar said, starting toward the office door.

      “Ah-ha,” Mark said, following her. “Now that was a slam-dunk shrinky-dink maneuver. You answered a question with a question.”

      “Of course,” Cedar said, laughing. “We’re taught that the very first week of classes in college.”

      “Whoa,” Mark said, as they entered the reception area. “I thought your smile was something else, but your laughter is…is…okay, I’m going for corny here. Your laughter is like wind chimes. Nice, very nice.”

      “Thank you,” Cedar mumbled, then glanced at her watch. “We’d better hurry. You fill out this form while I set up some appointments for Joey. You don’t want to be late picking him up at the day-care center. Do you cook dinner for Joey?”

      “Sort of. We eat a lot of scrambled eggs which is about it as far as my culinary skills go. We do the fast-food circuit and order in.”

      “Mmm,” Cedar said, shaking her head. “We’ll discuss that later, too.”

      Cedar scheduled appointments for Joey over the next two weeks while Mark filled out the form. She gave him a paper with the session dates and times, then offered him her hand.

      “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’m looking forward to speaking with Joey.”

      Mark took her hand. “I appreciate your being willing to take him on.”

      Was that heat slithering up her arm and across her breasts? Cedar thought. Good heavens, it was. Mark’s hand was strong and callused, yet so gentle. His touch had caused a strange and disturbing feeling—

      “May I have my hand back now?” she said.

      “Oh. Sure,” Mark said, releasing her hand very slowly. “Thanks again…Cedar.”

      “You’re welcome…Mark.”

      When the door to the suite closed behind Mark Chandler, Cedar sank into Bethany’s chair, propped her elbows on the desk and pressed her hands to her warm cheeks.

      That man was dangerous. He radiated sensuality by merely entering a room with that loose-hipped walk of his. Add to that his height and build and chiseled features…gracious, he must have to beat off women with a stick.

      Well, she was on guard now against the potent Mr. Chandler. He wouldn’t fluster her again. She wouldn’t allow that to happen. She’d just be more alert than she usually was against men.

      The focus had to be Joey.

      Poor, sad, devastated little Joey, who really, really needed to cry.

      Chapter Two

      As Cedar entered her house, she realized she had thought about Mark Chandler and Joey during the entire drive home. That was understandable, she decided, because Mark had been the last client she’d seen that day.

      She’d read the form Mark had filled out and learned there were no other relatives on either side of Joey’s family. It was just the two of them, uncle and nephew, and that combination was definitely not going well at the moment.

      Cedar closed the door behind her and told herself to leave her two new clients, Mark and Joey, on the porch that swept across the front of the house.

      Over a year before she had purchased the old, two-story Victorian house. It had the charm and grace of a past era and she’d been captivated, imagining the marvelous stories the stately structure would tell if its walls could whisper.

      In the year since signing the mortgage papers the charm of her home had greatly diminished. Although it had passed the initial inspection and was declared to be in excellent condition, she had spent the past fourteen months tending to one repair after another.

      She was seriously considering selling the savings-draining house and buying something newer. However, since her reputation as a child psychologist was growing in Phoenix and more and more clients came under her care, there didn’t seem to be a spare moment in her schedule to explore the market for something else.

      Plus, the thought of packing and moving again was more than she could bear. For now she would stay put, but she had mental fingers crossed that the rash of repairs was at an end for a while.

      “Oreo, I’m home. Come do your I’m-so-glad-to-see-you thing.”

      A large, black-and-white cat strolled into the room, then wove around her legs, meowing loudly.

      Was this pathetic? Cedar thought. Was she becoming a classic spinster at thirty-two, coming home to a house that held nothing