Home Again

“Don’t you need to trust me?”

Mark looked at her for a long moment.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You’re going to be coming to my home, plus you said we’d be going on outings with Joey. We’ll also have private meetings such as this one to discuss progress. I’m referring to you trusting me as a man, not just as Joey’s guardian. Do you trust me as a man?”

“I…” Cedar stopped speaking.

Why was Mark doing this? She didn’t intend to view him as a man. No, he was Joey’s guardian, his uncle, the person who was now that little boy’s father. Their relationship had nothing to do with Cedar, the woman, trusting Mark, the man.

Mark Chandler unsettled her, made her acutely aware of her femininity and his incredible masculinity. She had no idea if she trusted him.

She was having enough trouble trusting herself whenever she was near him.

Dear Reader,

Well, it’s September, which always sounds like a fresh start to me, no matter how old I get. And evidently we have six women this month who agree. In Home Again by Joan Elliott Pickart, a woman who can’t have children has decided to work with them in a professional capacity—but when she is assigned an orphaned little boy, she fears she’s in over her head. Then she meets his gorgeous guardian—and she’s sure of it!

In the next installment of MOST LIKELY TO…, The Measure of a Man by Marie Ferrarella, a single mother attempting to help her beloved former professor joins forces with a former campus golden boy, now the college…custodian. What could have happened? Allison Leigh’s The Tycoon’s Marriage Bid pits a pregnant secretary against her ex-boss who, unbeknownst to him, has a real connection to her baby’s father. In The Other Side of Paradise by Laurie Paige, next up in her SEVEN DEVILS miniseries, a mysterious woman seeking refuge as a ranch hand learns that she may have more ties to the community than she could have ever suspected. When a beautiful nurse is assigned to care for a devastatingly handsome, if cantankerous, cowboy, the results are…well, you get the picture—but you can have it spelled out for you in Stella Bagwell’s next MEN OF THE WEST book, Taming a Dark Horse. And in Undercover Nanny by Wendy Warren, a domestically challenged female detective decides it’s necessary to penetrate the lair of single father and heir to a grocery fortune by pretending to be…his nanny. Hmm. It could work….

So enjoy, and snuggle up. Fall weather is just around the corner….

Happy reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Home Again

Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Janet Elliott and Pat Elliott Hunt.

My sisters, my friends.

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over ninety-five novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys reading, needlework, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters as well as a young daughter, Autumn, who is in elementary school. Joan, Autumn, and a three-pound poodle named Willow live in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Puncho:

I wish I could smile whole bunches like you do ’cause you look happy all the time. I don’t feel too happy ’cause my mom and dad went in the car and now they are angels and I miss them whole lots. My uncle Mark is sort of okay when he’s not grumpy and Cedar is way cool and I think they would be a good family for me but I don’t know if they want to be my family or not. Could you try real hard to make them be my family so I won’t be lonely?

Your friend,

Joey

Chapter One

Cedar Kennedy glanced at her watch and frowned. Her new client was ten minutes late for his five-o’clock appointment. Remembering that her secretary had left early for a dreaded trip to the dentist, Cedar picked up the files she’d been updating and walked to the outer office, where she placed the folders in Bethany’s in-box.

She sat down in the chair behind the desk and flipped the page in the leather-bound appointment book to see what was on the agenda for tomorrow. Just as she closed the book, the door to the suite opened and a man entered, shoving the door closed behind him.

In one quick perusal Cedar observed that her visitor was tall, with broad shoulders that stretched the material of a faded plaid shirt to the maximum, long legs clad in dusty jeans, and he was wearing heavy work boots. His features…goodness gracious…were rugged and blatantly masculine, his square jaw covered in an obvious five-o’clock shadow. He had thick black hair badly in need of a trim and extremely dark eyes that swept over the reception area before meeting her gaze as he approached the desk.

This was one very earthy, handsome man, Cedar decided. Very handsome. And, if she were correct, he was also late for his appointment, and she fully intended to make clear that being on time was of the utmost importance.

“Mr. Chandler?” Cedar asked, getting to her feet.

“Yeah, I’m Mark Chandler,” he said.

Perfect voice, Cedar thought. Deep, sort of rumbly, befitting a man of his size and physique.

Mark Chandler glanced at the open door leading to her office and lowered his voice. “I’m a little late for my appointment,” he said. “Is this doc a real stickler about people being on time?” He looked at the nameplate on the desk. “I’d hate to start out on the wrong foot, Bethany…you know what I mean? I’m a desperate man and I need this doc’s help. Big-time.”

He swiped the front of one thigh, then the other. “How does she feel about construction-site dust? I didn’t have a spare second to go home to shower and change clothes.”

Cedar snapped her head back up to meet Mark Chandler’s gaze. She’d been watching the fascinating motion of his large hand on those muscled thighs and…oh, good grief…now he was dragging that hand through his thick hair in a gesture so incredibly male it was enough to make a woman weep.

“I…” She stopped to clear her throat when she heard the strange little squeak that used to be her voice.

“I’ve never talked to a shrink before,” Mark continued. “Is she all stuffy? Does she just nod a lot and say ‘mmm’? Man, I’m so out of my league being here, but I’m at the end of my rope. What’s the best way to get on the good side of this Dr. Kennedy, make her forget I blew it by being late?”

“Mmm,” Cedar said, because she couldn’t resist, then frowned thoughtfully for good measure. “I personally don’t think that Dr. Kennedy is stuffy at all, Mr. Chandler. I’d suggest that you apologize for your tardiness and make it clear that you’ll be on time for future appointments.”

“Yeah, okay, I can handle that. Well, go for it. Tell the shrinky-dink that I’m here.”

“The shrinky-dink?” Cedar said, her eyes widening. “Dr. Kennedy is a psychologist, Mr. Chandler.”

“Whatever.” Mark sighed. “Man, I’m beat. It was a long, rough day on the job. I’m tired, hungry and need a shower, so let’s get this show on the road.”

“By all means,” Cedar said, rising from the chair. “Heaven forbid that you should be kept waiting now that you’ve graced us with your presence. Promptness is a virtue, Mr. Chandler. You’d do well to remember that.”

“You had a long day, too, huh? I mean, you’re not exactly Miss Sunshine, Bethany. You’re a very attractive woman, but I bet you’d be even prettier if you smiled.”

“Follow me, please,” Cedar said, walking past Mark toward her office.

“Anywhere,” Mark said, then cringed when the receptionist glared at him over her shoulder.

Nice, Mark thought, his gaze sweeping over Bethany as he trudged slowly behind. She had short, wavy blond hair, delicate features, and sensational blue eyes. Her navy slacks and pale-blue sweater revealed she had curves in all the right places. Oh, yeah, very nice. Except for the fact that she was a tad grumpy.

They entered the doctor’s large, comfortably furnished office and Bethany motioned for him to sit in one of the two easy chairs fronting a mahogany desk. Mark sank into one of the chairs and propped the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other.

She stared at him for a long moment, then walked slowly behind the desk to settle into a high-backed leather chair.

“Mr. Chandler,” she said, folding her hands atop a file on the desk. “I’m Dr. Cedar Kennedy. Please be on time for your appointments in the future, and if that sounds stuffy, tough.”

“Oh-h-h, hell,” Mark said, closing his eyes for a moment, before looking at her again. “You’re not the receptionist?”

“No.”

“You might have said something before I made a total jerk of myself,” he said.

“But you were doing such a terrific job of it, I hated to interrupt.”

“Okay, okay,” Mark said, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “Could we start over? I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I’m getting your plushy office dusty. That will probably happen again. Look, I need your help and Dr. Gibson, my personal doctor, said you’re the best in the business for dealing with my kind of problem. Will you help me? Please?”

Cedar sank back into her chair and smiled at Mark Chandler. “I’ll certainly try,” she said. “Now then, why don’t you tell me why you’re here. Just let the words flow and I’ll take some notes as you speak. That way I can… Is something wrong? You’re looking at me so…so intently as though I suddenly grew a second nose or something.”

“What? Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that, but…I said earlier you’d be even prettier if you smiled, but that doesn’t even begin to cut it. Your face just lit up and your eyes actually sparkled. I’ve never seen eyes sparkle before. Are you wearing contact lenses?”

“No, I’m not,” Cedar said, feeling a warm flush stain her cheeks as she digested Mark’s compliments.

This will never do, she admonished herself. This rough-hewn hunk was throwing her totally off-kilter and that wasn’t like her at all, not one little bit. She had to regain control of this situation…right now. She was reacting to Mark on a personal level rather than a professional one, and that would never do.

“Mr. Chandler,” she said coolly, “the clock is running and we’re wasting valuable time here. Shall we get down to business?”

“You’re ticked,” he said. “Is there a rule that says a guy isn’t supposed to tell the shrink she’s a beautiful woman? Like I said, I’ve never talked to a shrink—ah, excuse me—a psychologist before. Could you give me a little slack on the protocol thing?”

“Agreed,” Cedar said. “Now, tell me, why are you here?”

He sighed. It was a defeated-sounding sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. Cedar leaned forward, encouraging Mark to talk.

“I’m here because of Joey,” he said quietly. “He’s so damn sad and I can’t reach him no matter what I do. He’s got walls built around himself and he won’t let me get close to him. We can’t go on like this.”

Cedar opened the file on her desk and wrote Joey on the paper inside.

Who was Joey? she wondered, waiting for Mark to continue. From the pain in his voice it was obvious that Joey was very important to him. Dr. Gibson knew her specialty, so Cedar could hazard one guess as to who Joey was.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Chandler,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. If she were here, Bethany would have had you fill out a form as a new client but I failed to do that. Normally, I would know who Joey is by reading that information. I’ll remember to give you the form after our session. Right now, why don’t we just talk? Are you married? Is Joey your son?”

“No, I’m not married. Never have been. Joey is my nephew.”

Hooray, Mark Chandler isn’t married, Cedar thought, then swallowed heavily. Where on earth had that reaction come from? Talk about unprofessional. And talk about out of character for her to be so focused on the physical attributes and marital status of a man she’d just met. This was absurd. She was just tired, that’s all. It had been a very long, busy day. Fine. She was okay now.

“Your nephew,” she repeated, writing the fact on the sheet. “How old is he?”

“Seven.”

“Why don’t you tell me about Joey?”

Mark sighed again. “He’s my sister Mary’s son. Mary and her husband, John, were killed in an automobile accident two months ago. Joey wasn’t in the car because he was spending the night at a friend’s house.”

Cedar nodded and made more notes on the paper.

“I flew to New York for the funeral and was there about three weeks taking care of legal matters. Joey spent a lot of time at the neighbor’s house during those weeks because I was very busy. Finally, though, I was able to bring him back here to Phoenix. I’m Joey’s legal guardian, you see.”

“How did he feel about all that?”

Mark shrugged. “He didn’t really react at all. He’s like a zombie. He hardly talks to me, spends most of his time alone in his bedroom, and just seems to be operating in his own little world where no one is allowed to enter. I enrolled him in school and his teacher called me in and said Joey doesn’t participate in class. He just sits there doing nothing, she said. I took him to Dr. Gibson to be sure he wasn’t sick or something and that’s how I ended up here.”

“How well does Joey know you, Mr. Chandler?” Cedar asked.

“Call me Mark. My sister and I were close, talked on the phone at least once a week, but I couldn’t get to New York much because of work. I visited for a couple of days last Christmas, but…Joey recognizes me when he sees me, but know me? I guess I’d have to say he doesn’t really know me if that means feeling comfortable with me, or trusting me. I’m just Uncle Mark who showed up once in a while.”

“Do you feel comfortable with him?”

Mark uncrossed his legs and shifted in his chair.

“Not…really,” he said, a deep frown knitting his brow. “I don’t have a clue what to say to him about his parents, or even about something as simple as how his day went. Dinner conversation is something like ‘So, Joey, how’d school go today?’ and he’ll say ‘’kay’ and that’s it for the entire meal. Then he asks to be excused and spends the rest of the evening in his room until I tell him it’s time for a bath and bed.”

“It sounds as though Joey has his emotions under lock and key,” Cedar said.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Mark said, producing a small smile. “I’m doing a lousy job with him and I realize that. I need help here. It is November already and if Joey doesn’t start doing some work at school, he’s liable to flunk second grade. Plus there’s so much tension in our house, you could cut it with a knife.”

“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 more than a fat cat to greet her?

Don’t you get lonely at times?

The words Mark Chandler had spoken suddenly echoed in Cedar’s mind and a shiver coursed through her. She reached down and picked up Oreo.

“Hello, pretty girl,” Cedar said. “We’re a good team, aren’t we? We don’t need anyone else living here with us and, no, we don’t get lonely at times.”

Oreo wiggled in Cedar’s arms, then jumped to the floor and ran toward the kitchen.

“But the question remains,” Cedar said, pointing a finger in the air, “as to whether you love me for me, Ms. Oreo, or because I’m the one who feeds you? Do I want to know the answer to that? No, I do not.” She shook her head. “Isn’t this super? Now I’m talking to myself, for Pete’s sake.”

Cedar went upstairs to change into soft, faded jeans and an equally worn Arizona State University sweatshirt. Returning to the main floor, she went into the kitchen, fed a complaining Oreo, then opened the refrigerator to see what might tempt her for dinner.

Mark could only make scrambled eggs, she thought. Why were men so quick to decide that their gender made it acceptable to be helpless in the kitchen? It was no longer politically correct to assume the attitude that cooking was woman’s work. Mark should buy a cookbook and prepare nourishing, well-balanced meals for growing Joey. Cooking, in fact, was something the pair could tackle together, use as a bonding tool. She’d have to speak to Mark about that and—

“That’s it, Mark Chandler,” Cedar said aloud, as she took lettuce and a tomato from a shelf. “Go back to the front porch where I left you. Right now.”