weekends off, although lately he’s been here 24-7, other than a day off here and there. His mother is not in good health. Charlene takes off every other weekend. The guards have rotating schedules. I couldn’t begin to tell you all of those. You’ll have to get them from Alfred.”
“Charlene and Campbell don’t leave the estate except on their weekends off?”
“Sure, sometimes. They can go shopping, to doctors’ appointments, whatever. Campbell can pretty much come and go as he pleases. Charlene has to get someone to watch Ben.”
Natasha nodded. “Good. Thanks.”
He pushed through the door to the kitchen. She slipped through behind him.
“Daddy!” Ben’s face lit up like a star going nova. He squirmed in his toddler chair.
Dylan’s face mirrored his son’s delight. “Hey, sport,” he said, smiling. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Daddy, look! Pancakes!” Ben grinned and held up his spoon, which dripped with syrup.
Natasha chuckled. Ben’s face and hands were stickier than the plate.
Charlene, who’d been sitting beside Ben, got up and moved down a seat. Dylan nodded his thanks and sat next to his son. “Can I have a syrup kiss?”
Ben dropped his spoon onto his plate with a clatter and reached for his daddy. Dylan scooped him up and hugged him. Ben rubbed his sticky mouth against his daddy’s cheek.
“Eww—you’re all sticky!” Dylan laughed.
“Eww—you’re pricky!” Ben giggled as he rubbed his palm over Dylan’s chin and cheek. “Lotsa pricky!”
“Then I guess we’re even.” Dylan sat and propped Ben on his leg.
It was obvious this was a morning tradition for the two. Natasha felt a hollow ache inside her. She hardly remembered her parents. Certainly not any private loving rituals or jokes. And although there had been certain rituals in some of the foster homes she’d been in, those hardly qualified as loving.
As heartwarming as Dylan’s exchange with his son was, it was private—between the two of them. She felt like a voyeur.
Ben turned his sticky grin to her. “Good morning, Tasha!” he cried as Dylan handed him his spoon.
Surprised that he remembered her name, Natasha smiled. “Hi, Ben.”
“Look, Tasha, pancakes! You like pancakes?”
“Sure I do. They look good.” Above Ben’s head she caught Dylan’s eye. He smiled and nodded toward a chair.
She couldn’t get over how his smile transformed his drawn features. Even with a day’s stubble of beard, he looked like a dark-haired angel.
“I should get started,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the family quarters. “I have some printouts I can study.”
“Sit down. You’ve got to eat.”
“Got to eat, Tasha. So you’ll grow.”
She laughed. “I’m pretty much grown-up already. But I might eat one—just to keep up my strength.”
Ben stuffed a spoonful of pancake soaked in syrup into his mouth. “Daddy says I hafta keep up my strength, too.”
“You look very strong to me.” She sat just as a plump middle-aged woman appeared with two plates of steaming pancakes.
“We’re very strong,” he said. “We went through the bushes.”
“Yes we did, but we weren’t supposed to, were we?”
Ben ducked his head for an instant. “I got orders not to do that anymore.”
“Orders, eh?” She chuckled and raised her gaze to Dylan’s. He was still smiling, only now it seemed aimed at her. Something sharp and sweet shifted inside her. His beautiful smile was lethal. Her cheeks burned.
“Daddy, I want to sit with Tasha.”
Apprehension sent her heart racing and the heat in her cheeks faded. Why did Ben want her to sit with him? She’d only held a child once, and that was when she’d carried a scratched and dirty Ben to his father.
Dylan stood, lifting Ben with him, and walked around the table. As he set him in Natasha’s lap, he whispered in her ear.
“He’s just a little boy. He’s not going to hurt you.”
She cut him an exasperated glance, and tried to ignore the
“Charlene and Campbell don’t leave the estate except on their weekends off?”
“Sure, sometimes. They can go shopping, to doctors’ appointments, whatever. Campbell can pretty much come and go as he pleases. Charlene has to get someone to watch Ben.”
Natasha nodded. “Good. Thanks.”
He pushed through the door to the kitchen. She slipped through behind him.
“Daddy!” Ben’s face lit up like a star going nova. He squirmed in his toddler chair.
Dylan’s face mirrored his son’s delight. “Hey, sport,” he said, smiling. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Daddy, look! Pancakes!” Ben grinned and held up his spoon, which dripped with syrup.
Natasha chuckled. Ben’s face and hands were stickier than the plate.
Charlene, who’d been sitting beside Ben, got up and moved down a seat. Dylan nodded his thanks and sat next to his son. “Can I have a syrup kiss?”
Ben dropped his spoon onto his plate with a clatter and reached for his daddy. Dylan scooped him up and hugged him. Ben rubbed his sticky mouth against his daddy’s cheek.
“Eww—you’re all sticky!” Dylan laughed.
“Eww—you’re pricky!” Ben giggled as he rubbed his palm over Dylan’s chin and cheek. “Lotsa pricky!”
“Then I guess we’re even.” Dylan sat and propped Ben on his leg.
It was obvious this was a morning tradition for the two. Natasha felt a hollow ache inside her. She hardly remembered her parents. Certainly not any private loving rituals or jokes. And although there had been certain rituals in some of the foster homes she’d been in, those hardly qualified as loving.
As heartwarming as Dylan’s exchange with his son was, it was private—between the two of them. She felt like a voyeur.
Ben turned his sticky grin to her. “Good morning, Tasha!” he cried as Dylan handed him his spoon.
Surprised that he remembered her name, Natasha smiled. “Hi, Ben.”
“Look, Tasha, pancakes! You like pancakes?”
“Sure I do. They look good.” Above Ben’s head she caught Dylan’s eye. He smiled and nodded toward a chair.
She couldn’t get over how his smile transformed his drawn features. Even with a day’s stubble of beard, he looked like a dark-haired angel.
“I should get started,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the family quarters. “I have some printouts I can study.”
“Sit down. You’ve got to eat.”
“Got to eat, Tasha. So you’ll grow.”
She laughed. “I’m pretty much grown-up already. But I might eat one—just to keep up my strength.”
Ben stuffed a spoonful of pancake soaked in syrup into his mouth. “Daddy says I hafta keep up my strength, too.”
“You look very strong to me.” She sat just as a plump middle-aged woman appeared with two plates of steaming pancakes.
“We’re very strong,” he said. “We went through the bushes.”
“Yes we did, but we weren’t supposed to, were we?”
Ben ducked his head for an instant. “I got orders not to do that anymore.”
“Orders, eh?” She chuckled and raised her gaze to Dylan’s. He was still smiling, only now it seemed aimed at her. Something sharp and sweet shifted inside her. His beautiful smile was lethal. Her cheeks burned.
“Daddy, I want to sit with Tasha.”
Apprehension sent her heart racing and the heat in her cheeks faded. Why did Ben want her to sit with him? She’d only held a child once, and that was when she’d carried a scratched and dirty Ben to his father.
Dylan stood, lifting Ben with him, and walked around the table. As he set him in Natasha’s lap, he whispered in her ear.
“He’s just a little boy. He’s not going to hurt you.”
She cut him an exasperated glance, and tried to ignore the
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