A Weaver Vow. Allison Leigh

he wasn’t close to dead.

      Unlike Murphy’s father, he reminded himself, whose loss still had to be affecting both the boy and Isabella.

      Continuing toward her, he started peeling off his ancient leather gloves. She wasn’t a widow. She and Murphy’s dad hadn’t been married. The boy had told him that. But she was still wearing an engagement ring. He could see it now, casting sparkles as she shaded her eyes with her hand, looking his way.

      “Put your eyes back in your head, dude,” Murphy muttered as he caught up to Erik and passed him by. He aimed straight for the car, not giving Isabella a single word of greeting on his way toward the passenger door. He just yanked it open and sank down on the front seat.

      He saw Isabella’s slender shoulders dip a moment as she watched Murphy, then they straightened as she continued closing the distance between her car and Erik.

      “Did it go well enough to continue again next week?” she asked bluntly, and he felt the impact of her black-brown gaze somewhere in the middle of his stomach.

      “Went fine.” A lie, but what occurred while Murphy was working for him could stay between him and the kid. For now. “How’d your dance classes go?”

      She shot the car another glance, but the smile she gave Erik seemed sincere, even revealing a faint dimple in her cheek that he hadn’t noticed before. “Great. There’s nothing like being in a studio with a bunch of little girls wearing taps on their shoes.”

      “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he said drily.

      She laughed lightly. “Trust me. There’re worse ways to earn a dollar.”

      He thought about Murphy’s outraged face when he’d dumped the kid in the tank. “Probably.” He wondered how long she’d been engaged. And knew that wondering wasn’t one of the more productive ways to spend his time. “Next time you might want to send him with a hat,” he suggested. “He didn’t want to wear one of mine, but the sun’s only gonna get brighter, and he’ll be outside most of the time.”

      “I’ll make sure he brings one.” He easily had a dozen baseball caps, most of them gifts from Jimmy that Isabella had known he would never part with.

      It was much easier looking past Erik’s big body to the land around them than at the man himself. “So what, um, what sort of chores did Murphy do?” She couldn’t even get him to make his bed in the mornings.

      “We’re tearing down that barn over there.” He gestured toward a ramshackle wooden structure that didn’t look like any barn Isabella had ever seen. It was a narrow, long building with half its roof and walls missing. But even partially torn down, it was big.

      “Looks like a huge job. You will tell me if he misbehaves, won’t you?” She’d rather deal with small insurrections along the way than an out-and-out war that might give Erik cause to cancel the entire arrangement.

      “I’ll tell you if something serious occurs,” he said.

      It wasn’t entirely the answer she was looking for, but she had to believe it meant that for now, Murphy’s method of restitution was still a go.

      “It’s pretty obvious he misses his dad.”

      Isabella couldn’t help looking back at Erik. Beneath the shade of his stained cowboy hat, his violet gaze was gentle. And it unnerved her entirely.

      “We both do.” She took a step toward the car. “So same time next week?” She couldn’t help but hold her breath.

      “Actually—”

      She felt her stomach drop.

      “You don’t have to wait until Saturday. Unless he’s busy during the week after school, he could come out here and work.”

      She felt as if her brain was scrambling to keep up. “You want him to come more often?”

      Erik shrugged. “He’ll just work off the window that much sooner.”

      If Murphy were occupied even one afternoon after school, it would be one less day she needed to worry about him during those hours. But the extra driving would cost time and money for gas. “Would you mind if I think about it? Murphy’s still settling in at school, and—”

      “Think as long as you need to,” he said easily. “You know how to reach me if you want to bring him. Otherwise, I’ll just see you next week. Maybe you’ll allow yourself enough time to get that tour,” he suggested, “if you’re interested in seeing where your boy’s gonna be spending a lot of his time.”

      She was interested. Not entirely because of Murphy. But it was only because of Murphy that she nodded. At least, that was what she told herself. “I will.” A glance told her that the boy had his feet propped on his opened door. It was lunchtime and she imagined he’d be pretty hungry after the way he’d spent the morning. “Thanks, again,” she said, turning to go.

      “It’s going to be all right, Isabella.”

      She paused. “Excuse me?”

      “You and Murph. You’re both going to be all right.”

      Murph. What Jimmy had called him. Deep behind her eyes, she felt a sudden burning. Unable to think of a response, she just nodded jerkily and hurried toward the car, almost as fast as Murphy had done.

      “I want McDonald’s,” Murphy said as soon as she got in beside him.

      “There isn’t one in Weaver.” And she had no interest in finding out where the nearest one was. “I’ll fix you a hamburger at home.”

      He made a wordless sound that clearly conveyed his disgust. “Everything here sucks. Especially El Jailer back there.”

      “Mr. Clay is not your jailer.” He’d probably go ballistic if he thought he’d have less than a week before he had to return. Cowardly or not, she decided it wasn’t the time to bring it up. “And it will continue to suck,” she added evenly, “as long as you keep thinking that way. Get your feet down, close your door and put on your seat belt.”

      He did so, slamming the door with more force than necessary before yanking his belt across his thin body.

      She was much too aware of Erik Clay standing right where she’d left them, witnessing everything. His evident agreeableness aside, he already knew too much about her less-than-stellar parenting attempts. Now he was seeing even more. She started the car. “You were cooperative with Mr. Clay, weren’t you?”

      Murphy shot her wary look. “Why you askin’ me? He prob’ly already ratted me out.”

      She turned the car around, trying not to notice Erik in the rearview mirror. “Ratted you out about what?” Then she frowned, really looking at Murphy. “Are your clothes damp?”

      He just made a face and crossed his arms, ignoring her.

      All systems normal, then.

      She hid another sigh and resolutely kept her gaze on the road. If Erik was still watching them drive away from his house, she did not want to know about it.

      So why did disappointment tug inside her when her gaze flicked to the mirror despite her resolve and she saw nothing but his house?

      Erik went over to his folks’ place for Sunday dinner the next afternoon. His dad wasn’t one much for the ranching life he’d been raised with, but they still lived on a spacious property out near the Double-C where he’d grown up. The place was crowded and boisterous. This wasn’t unusual when the Clay family got together, as it did every Sunday, what with uncles and aunts and cousins and their spouses and their kids.

      Erik sometimes showed, sometimes didn’t, depending on how busy he was at the Rocking-C. And while he was keeping a pretty close eye on those mama cows, today he was restless enough to want a change of scene. The fact that Lucy and Beck might be there as well was incidental.

      When