Whispers of the Heart (10 page)

As she thought. Not a subject to pique the interest of many people. She smoothed the sheet over her knees. It didn't matter. There was no need to feel a shaft of disappointment. She'd accepted her differences long ago.

“Say, Autumn, did you mean it when you offered to keep an eye on Timmy for me sometime?”

“Why, sure.” She scooted higher against her pillows. Maybe he wasn't so disinterested after all. “So when is Timmy likely to come for a visit?”

“Late tomorrow afternoon, if you're free. You don't have a date or anything, do you?”

“No, I'll be here then, and I have no plans for the evening.”

“Boy, that would be a big help. The thing is, my mom has an early dinner engagement and I have a late appointment out of town. I can't get back until around seven.”

“Ah, I see. Overlapping schedules.”

“Yeah, that's it. And I still haven't found another sitter I like,” he said, frustration lacing his words, “never mind someone who has the flexibility I sometimes need.”

“It's all right, Brent. I'd love to have Timmy come visit with me for a little while. By late afternoon, I'm usually really tired of my own company anyway. He can even bring Samson.”

“Autumn, that would be terrific.” His tone rose with a note of anticipation. “I'll owe you one. Can Tim and I take you out to supper afterward?”

A moment's pause gave her time to think. She took a deep breath before she said, “I have a better idea. Why don't I cook? Timmy and I can make dinner.”

“Are you sure? That's a lot to ask, to keep Tim and then cook, too.”

“I'm sure,” she said on a positive note while her mind scrambled to think of what to prepare. “I enjoy cooking, and I'm growing out of practice since
Spring left. I haven't had a friend in to a meal but once since I moved in. It will be fun.”

It would be demanding. She hadn't much in her cupboards or refrigerator. She'd have to shop.

Reaching for her radio alarm, she clamped the phone to her ear as she set the clock for 5:00 a.m. Shopping the minute the grocery store opened had become a part of her weekly schedule, and she thought there was an all-night grocery about twenty minutes' drive from her street. Perhaps she'd look for it.

Yes, she wanted to do this dinner; wanted to serve Brent and Timmy a nice meal.

“All right,” Brent responded, his voice low again. “By the way, my mom's name is Catherine and I'll give you her number. She'll drop Timmy to you around four. Is that okay?”

His mother? What would his mother think of her?

“Yes, that'll be fine. I'll watch for them.”

And she'd hear his voice in her dreams, inviting and charming. And sensual.

T
he doorbell rang a little earlier than Autumn expected the next afternoon—not even three-thirty. Yet she admitted the day had gotten away from her. She hadn't had a chance to change from her paint-smeared shirt.

She opened it to a smartly dressed, harried woman with honey-brown hair and swimming sapphire eyes. She held a wiggling Samson in one arm, clutched a plastic toy case under the other, and clasped Timmy firmly by the hand.

The woman promptly sneezed.

“I should have taken my allergy shots,” she said by way of greeting.

Timmy pulled away and rushed underneath Autumn's arm into the apartment, calling for Buttons.

“Oh, my, is there anything I can do to help you?” Autumn asked. Her first thought was that this rather tall, early fiftyish woman standing in front of her
couldn't possibly be Brent's mother. She was far too young and attractive.

“Hello. I'm Catherine Hyatt,” the woman said with the next breath. “Are you Autumn?”

“Yes, I'm Autumn.”

“Sorry to be so early—I didn't want to be caught leaving downtown in the rush hour traffic and then I promised my friend I'd be at her house before her other guests arrived, and…well, I seem to have caught you at an awkward time.” Her glance landed on the stained shirt. “I'm sorry. I should've checked.”

“No, it's all right, I'm just putting away my paints for the day. I told Brent any time after one.”

“Oh, you did? Well, that's kind of you.” Catherine looked at her carefully. “I've wanted to meet you. Timmy talks about you.”

“Oh?” Was Timmy the only one? Did his dad also talk about her? What kind of talk? What would he have to say? Catherine's curious gaze gave Autumn the feeling that something had been said.

Buttons barked and jumped, dancing on her hind legs until Catherine set Samson down. The two puppies examined each other for a moment, then raced around the room. Timmy dived after them.

“Stop chasing, Tim,” his grandmother admonished.

Catherine sneezed again, found a tissue in her purse, then blew her nose. “Excuse me, please. I'm so sorry. I'll be better as soon as I leave the dogs behind.”

“I'm sorry you are so affected. Won't you come in?”

Catherine stepped farther into the room and glanced about, taking in every carefully arranged section of the loft. Her gaze lingered momentarily on the wall that gave the bedroom a semblance of privacy. An open window gave the gauzy bed curtains a billowy life of their own, showing beckoning flutters beyond the wall.

Catherine returned her gaze to Autumn.

“The dogs are quite innocent little things,” she said “and darling as can be, but they make me miserable when I'm around them.”

Samson and Buttons barked excitedly as Timmy bounced a rubber ball across the floor.

“Tim, we don't play ball in the house,” Catherine reminded.

Timmy ignored his grandmother. The ball rolled under the sofa next to a lamp table. Crawling on his belly after it, he bumped the table. Catherine stepped hastily closer, the lamp teetered, but then settled again, unharmed. Her palm against her chest, Catherine let out her breath.

“Tim…”

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing up with a guilty frown. The child sat back on his heels, calling to the pups. In seconds, he had them jumping and barking once more. The noise level rose ten notches.

Catherine glanced at the tussling threesome and shook her head with a long-suffering sigh. “I hope you're prepared for a wild ride this afternoon.”

“I'm sure we can manage,” Autumn said. She tucked a loose strand of hair back into its ponytail.

“Hmm. Well…” Catherine set the small case
down on the floor next to the door. Autumn saw that it held miniature cars and trucks.

“Tim doesn't nap much anymore, but I think he needs one today,” Catherine stated. “Although he doesn't think so. He's been fractious all day, poor little mite, and we've been at loggerheads.”

“Is he feeling all right?” Autumn asked, casting a worried glance his way. She wouldn't know what to do if Timmy had more than a childish complaint.

“Only tired,” Catherine said. “Brent had him out too late again last night. One of his neighborhood meetings, I think. He runs the boy here and there with no thought of the child being in bed on time.”

“Brent has his fingers in lots of pies, doesn't he?”

“Yes, he certainly does. I don't mean to fuss at him so much for keeping the child out late, and I do realize child rearing is far different now from when I raised my two boys, but I do wish he'd find a permanent solution for providing proper care for Timmy.”

Catherine paused for breath, then smiled gently. “Actually, I'm quite proud of Brent. He has a true knack for leadership, like his father, and cares a great deal about social issues. I really think if Ethan hadn't died so young, he might have risen in state politics. He had a strong desire to make life better for people. He always talked of doing more, and now Brent is taking up some of those same causes. You know, better schools, better use of state money.”

“He's very impressive,” Autumn agreed. Yes, she thought Brent very impressive. So did Laureen Shore.

Now why had she thought of her? Because she
seemed a younger version of Catherine Hyatt? Yet Catherine didn't seem to have any of Laureen's haughtiness.

Autumn wondered if she should invite Catherine to sit down. She'd said she was in a hurry to leave.

“Yes, he is,” Catherine replied. “As for Timmy…Brent does the best he can, but single parenting isn't the easiest road to travel.”

“No, it isn't,” Autumn agreed, recalling how hard it had been for Uncle William to care for two little girls while maintaining a quiet, unassuming career in research medicine. She'd never known him to try for much of a social life. He'd always said he didn't need one with the two of them to raise.

“I've no idea what Brent will do once Timmy starts school full-time,” Catherine said, casting a speculative glance toward Autumn. “He'll have to keep more regular hours than he does now.”

“Would you like to sit down a few moments?” Autumn asked, thinking Catherine wasn't as much in a hurry as she was to find out more about her. “I can make some tea.”

“That does sound nice, Autumn, and I'd love to see more of your work.” Catherine tugged her coral tunic top into place over the matching pants. “I'm so pleased with the painting Brent gave me, but I do have to scoot, really. Would you invite me to come again?'

“Of course.” What painting had Brent given her? The one of Timmy, she supposed.

“I hope Timmy's not too cranky,…”

They walked to the door.

“Perhaps we can read quietly for a while,” Autumn said.

“That would do it, if you can get him to settle,” Catherine said, a quick smile showing a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth as she winked. She raised her voice. “Well, Timmy, sweetie…I'll leave you with Autumn. Be a good boy, all right?”

Timmy ran to kiss her goodbye, his hug uninhibited and warmly affectionate. Catherine's was no less.

For Autumn, faint memories rose of loving arms circling her, telling her and Spring to be good girls for Uncle William. She recalled the press of a damp kiss, of tears, of the faint scent her mother used. Of promises made to call, to write, to return…

Only a few of those promises had been fulfilled. A few of the first two. The last one had languished. She and Spring never saw their mother again. They'd never known a father at all.

Catherine left in a flurry, then. Autumn pushed her sudden choking sadness away with a hard swallow, and joined Timmy on the floor with the puppies.

Later, she let Timmy paint as she finished putting away her things, and taught him to make triangles and squares, and then paint a house using his new skills.

After that, they got out the cars, laughing over the jumps Timmy built with the furniture, Buttons and Samson helping things along by chasing this way and that. When the dogs quieted at last, she and Timmy read together from books she'd brought with her
when she moved, children's stories she and Spring had loved.

Sleep overtook them both for a little while. Autumn lay on the thick rug curled on her side, the circle of cars between her and Timmy. When she came out of her doze, she slipped a pillow under Timmy's head and let him lie with the dogs snuggled next to him.

She studied his sleeping face for long moments, wanting to but refraining from touching a finger against his long lashes and his little nose. His cheeks held a slight rose over his light tan. She thought him a handsome child, much like his father, and realized her fondness for him was growing by quantum leaps—he was such a dear little boy.

The phone rang. She picked it up, already certain it was her sister. “Hi, Spring.”

She carried it with her to the bedroom where she changed into a green top and long shorts, the first she'd worn for the spring season.

“Hi, Autumn. Did you get the package I sent you?”

“No, what package?”

“Oh, you'll see when it comes.” Spring said mysteriously. “How's it going? Is your little friend doing all right?”

“Yes, he's napping right now.” She ran a brush through her shoulder-length hair, then let it fall straight and free. She'd take time to put it up again later, she mused. Before Brent arrived. Having it up made her look more sophisticated, and she wanted to seem more so in Brent's eyes.

“We played cars and read,” she added. “How's your little friend?”

Spring launched into an account of the young girl, Honor, who she'd befriended and to whom she now acted as companion. Together, the two were exploring New York City.

Autumn headed back to the kitchen where she washed her hands. Cupping the phone to her ear, she pulled out a hand mixer and ingredients for a cream cheese mixture to fill the graham cracker crust she'd made earlier. She plugged it in, then realized it might wake Timmy.

Instead of using the noisy beater, she began peeling potatoes, glancing at the sleeping trio on her living room rug. Although Buttons raised her head to watch what she was doing, the boy slept on.

“We've been going to the church on Sunday evenings to hear a young man they call the youth pastor,” Spring told her. “He really has some neat ways of relating to the kids and I'm finding that I'm not the only adult who comes to hear him.”

“Is he cute?” Autumn asked. “And single?”

“No, he's homely as a mud fence. But it doesn't make a tad bit of difference with the kids or anyone. They flock to the church like flies when he does the program. Y'know, Honor has the keenest sense of faith I've ever seen in someone so young.”

“Really? Well, Timmy sings all the Bible school songs I've ever heard,” Autumn said, gently teasing.

Spring always could be counted on to show a little competitive reaction, and this time was no different. Autumn waited, barely keeping her mouth closed over her giggle.

“Honor can quote long Bible passages.”

“Yes, but Timmy's only four.”

“All right, you got me. Honor is fourteen.”

Spring switched subjects at the speed of light, something they'd done together since they could talk.

“So, you're seeing more of Brent. What's happening with him, anyway? How much do you like him?”

“Weelll…”

“That much, huh? Well, you'd better wrap him up before I come home to visit. I thought he was kinda yummy when we met, you know. What are you cooking for dinner? No, wait a minute. Let me guess.”

Autumn chuckled, visualizing her sister putting her hand to her forehead in dramatic action before she said, “Smothered pork chops.”

“Ah, right first try. Oh-oh, gotta go. Someone's at my door.”

Buttons and Samson rose, both barking. She shushed them, but Timmy only stirred. She laid the phone down quickly and grabbed a hand towel on her way to the door.

“Brent!” It was barely six. “I thought you couldn't make it 'til after seven.”

“Didn't think I would,” he said, stepping through the door. “But John offered to take our clients to dinner and we'd answered all their questions. Why are you whispering?”

“Timmy's asleep.” She nodded toward the boy and headed back to the kitchen triangle. “Your mom said he was tired.”

Without the need to ask, she put ice in a tall glass and filled it with tea.

“Hmm, she's right.” He pulled his tie loose, slipping it and his jacket off while he talked. He accepted the tea, tipping his head back to take long gulps.

She watched him, letting her hands rest on the counter while her gaze followed the movement of his throat, her artist's eye noting the strength of his jawline, his long fingers around the glass. He exuded a masculine physical power, something akin to those athletes of baseball and football she'd occasionally seen while watching sports on television. She'd noticed it the first time she met him, she recalled. She still thought he'd make a good model.

Like Spring, she thought him rather yummy.

Caught up in her examination, she noted how the light-copper-brown dress shirt reflected his ginger eyes. Eyes that watched her back from beneath lowered lashes, but with an intensity that commanded hers.

Her mouth went a little dry.

His glass empty, he set it on the counter saying appreciatively, “You read my mind. I needed something, ah…cold and wet.”

“Yummy.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Jerking her gaze from his, she went back to the potatoes, peeled and ready to dice. She concentrated on picking up a pan, running water into it to cook them.

He turned away and hung his jacket over the wooden chair at her small table under the window.

“It warmed up quite a lot today,” he said, glancing out, shoving his hands in his pockets.