search, Natalie pushed to her feet and smiled at Chad. “It would be a nice gesture if you helped her look, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me sweetie. I’m not a baby.”
Zeke got up to collect the glasses. Then he preceded Natalie back to the house. Most of the tomato stain was in the patio area under an overhang, Natalie was pleased to note. They wouldn’t be working in the direct sun.
“We’ve finished scrubbing away the pulp,” Zeke explained. “Now we’re to the painting stage.”
“I’m ready. Where’s a brush?”
Within minutes, everyone, including Rosie, had a paintbrush in hand. Chad stood on a stepladder, painting the siding below the eave. Natalie was happy to see that her son was doing a fine job, using plenty of paint and going back over each section to catch all the drips. She wanted to compliment him on his work, but he’d been so prickly with her over the last few weeks that she feared he might take it wrong.
Zeke solved her dilemma by stepping back to survey the house. “Are you sure you’ve never done any painting, Chad?”
“Totally sure. My dad always hires this kind of stuff done.”
“You’re doing an excellent job,” Zeke observed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were an old hand. That’s union quality.”
“What’s union quality?” Rosie asked.
Zeke explained about the nationwide painters’ union. “The members are professional painters, and they usually get paid top-scale wages. If Chad put his mind to it, he could paint with the best of them.”
Chad shrugged off the compliment, but Natalie could tell that it actually meant a great deal to him. He stood taller on the ladder rung and became even more intent on his work.
“How does my job look?” Rosie demanded.
Zeke didn’t gush and shower the child with false praise as so many adults were inclined to do with a four-year-old. Instead, he crouched at Rosie’s side and carefully examined the patch of siding that she’d painted. Rosie waited solemnly to hear his verdict. Zeke borrowed her brush to smooth out some dribbles.
Finally he said, “Not bad, young lady. Not bad at all.”
It was praise enough to make Rosie happy, yet not so lavish as to steal any of Chad’s sunshine. Kudos . Zeke Coulter was a natural with kids. He was everything Natalie wished Robert could be: firm and exacting, yet patient as well, and always ready to encourage with praise when the children did something right. Chad was blossoming right before Natalie’s eyes, seeming to gain more confidence with each stroke of the brush.
This truly was good for him, she realized. Being around Zeke was bolstering the boy’s self-esteem in ways that Natalie couldn’t.
As noon approached, the sun moved high overhead, sending down a blanket of sweltering heat. Natalie was grateful for the overhang that covered the patio. Even in the shade, she was hot. Her mouth and throat were cottony with thirst, and she yearned for another glass of punch.
She was painting the drainpipe at the edge of the patio when Zeke approached and lightly touched her shoulder. Natalie straightened from her work to give him a questioning look. He braced a hand above her head and leaned close.
“We have company, and it’s not anyone I know.”
Natalie hadn’t heard a car pull up. She peeked around the corner of the house and nearly groaned when she saw her ex-mother-in-law, Grace Patterson, climbing out of a new silver Lexus. “Great. It’s Robert’s mother.”
Zeke arched a dark eyebrow. “Not one of your favorite people, I take it.”
“Perceptive of you.”
“She come around a lot?”
“Rarely, thank goodness.” Natalie sighed. “Something must be wrong.”
Zeke held out a hand for the paintbrush. “Go see what she wants. I’ll keep the kids occupied.”
Natalie rubbed her hands clean on her shirt as she crossed the gravel parking area. Even at sixty, Grace was a tall, slender, elegant blonde who carried herself with regal grace. In the
“Don’t call me sweetie. I’m not a baby.”
Zeke got up to collect the glasses. Then he preceded Natalie back to the house. Most of the tomato stain was in the patio area under an overhang, Natalie was pleased to note. They wouldn’t be working in the direct sun.
“We’ve finished scrubbing away the pulp,” Zeke explained. “Now we’re to the painting stage.”
“I’m ready. Where’s a brush?”
Within minutes, everyone, including Rosie, had a paintbrush in hand. Chad stood on a stepladder, painting the siding below the eave. Natalie was happy to see that her son was doing a fine job, using plenty of paint and going back over each section to catch all the drips. She wanted to compliment him on his work, but he’d been so prickly with her over the last few weeks that she feared he might take it wrong.
Zeke solved her dilemma by stepping back to survey the house. “Are you sure you’ve never done any painting, Chad?”
“Totally sure. My dad always hires this kind of stuff done.”
“You’re doing an excellent job,” Zeke observed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were an old hand. That’s union quality.”
“What’s union quality?” Rosie asked.
Zeke explained about the nationwide painters’ union. “The members are professional painters, and they usually get paid top-scale wages. If Chad put his mind to it, he could paint with the best of them.”
Chad shrugged off the compliment, but Natalie could tell that it actually meant a great deal to him. He stood taller on the ladder rung and became even more intent on his work.
“How does my job look?” Rosie demanded.
Zeke didn’t gush and shower the child with false praise as so many adults were inclined to do with a four-year-old. Instead, he crouched at Rosie’s side and carefully examined the patch of siding that she’d painted. Rosie waited solemnly to hear his verdict. Zeke borrowed her brush to smooth out some dribbles.
Finally he said, “Not bad, young lady. Not bad at all.”
It was praise enough to make Rosie happy, yet not so lavish as to steal any of Chad’s sunshine. Kudos . Zeke Coulter was a natural with kids. He was everything Natalie wished Robert could be: firm and exacting, yet patient as well, and always ready to encourage with praise when the children did something right. Chad was blossoming right before Natalie’s eyes, seeming to gain more confidence with each stroke of the brush.
This truly was good for him, she realized. Being around Zeke was bolstering the boy’s self-esteem in ways that Natalie couldn’t.
As noon approached, the sun moved high overhead, sending down a blanket of sweltering heat. Natalie was grateful for the overhang that covered the patio. Even in the shade, she was hot. Her mouth and throat were cottony with thirst, and she yearned for another glass of punch.
She was painting the drainpipe at the edge of the patio when Zeke approached and lightly touched her shoulder. Natalie straightened from her work to give him a questioning look. He braced a hand above her head and leaned close.
“We have company, and it’s not anyone I know.”
Natalie hadn’t heard a car pull up. She peeked around the corner of the house and nearly groaned when she saw her ex-mother-in-law, Grace Patterson, climbing out of a new silver Lexus. “Great. It’s Robert’s mother.”
Zeke arched a dark eyebrow. “Not one of your favorite people, I take it.”
“Perceptive of you.”
“She come around a lot?”
“Rarely, thank goodness.” Natalie sighed. “Something must be wrong.”
Zeke held out a hand for the paintbrush. “Go see what she wants. I’ll keep the kids occupied.”
Natalie rubbed her hands clean on her shirt as she crossed the gravel parking area. Even at sixty, Grace was a tall, slender, elegant blonde who carried herself with regal grace. In the
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