The Guardian's Honor

Adam was looking up at Jamie, laughing at something, and the expression on Jamie’s face made Cathy’s heart stop.

A fierce longing swept through her to have that for Jamie—a strong man to carry him on his shoulder, to make him laugh, to show him how to grow up into a good man.

She pushed the thought away just as fiercely. It wasn’t likely to happen. Just look at how Adam had reacted, stepping away so quickly after he’d kissed her. That should tell her all she needed to know.

But there was more to know.

MARTA PERRY

has written everything from Sunday school curricula to travel articles to magazine stories in more than twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for the Love Inspired lines.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her six beautiful grandchildren, traveling, gardening or relaxing with a good book.

Marta loves hearing from readers, and she’ll write back with a signed bookmark and/or her brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

The Guardian’s Honor

Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bear with one another and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

—Colossians 3:13

This story is dedicated to Bill and Molly Perry,

my dear brother and sister-in-law. And, as always,

to Brian, with much love.

Contents

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“What are you doing?” The woman’s soft Georgia drawl bore a sharp edge of hostility.

Adam Bodine took a step back on the dusty lane and turned toward the woman with what he hoped was a disarming smile. “Just admiring your garden, ma’am.”

Actually, the garden was worthy of a second glance. By early September at the tail end of a hot, dry summer, most folks would find their tomato plants shriveled to a few leafless vines, but these still sported fat red tomatoes.

The woman rose from where she’d been kneeling, setting a basket of vegetables on the ground, the movement giving him a better look at her.

She was younger than he’d thought in that first quick glance. A faded ball cap covered blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, its brim shielding her eyes so that he couldn’t see what color they were. Light, he thought. Her slim shoulders were stiff under a faded, oversized plaid shirt, giving the impression that she braced herself for something unpleasant. Was that habitual, or did his appearance account for it?

“These tomatoes are about ready to give up,” she said, still guarded. “Did you want something?”

He did, but it was far better if this woman didn’t know what had brought him to the ramshackle farm deep in the Georgia mountains. At least, not until he knew for sure he was in the right place.

“Just passing by.” He glanced back down the winding lane that had brought him to what he hoped was the last stop on a long hunt. Please, Lord. “I don’t suppose you get many strangers up here.”

“No.” The tone said she didn’t want any, either. “Look, if you’re sellin’ something…”

A chuckle escaped him. “Do I look like a salesman?” He spread his hands, inviting her to assess him.

There wasn’t much he could do to make his six-foot frame less intimidating, but he tried to ease his military bearing and relax his face into the smile that his sister always said was at its most boyish when he was up to something. At least the jeans, T-shirt, and ball cap he wore were practically a uniform these days.

“Maybe not a salesman,” she conceded. “But you haven’t explained what you’re doing on a private road.” She sent a quick, maybe worried glance toward the peeling white farmhouse that seemed to doze in the afternoon heat. “Mr. Hawkins doesn’t like visitors.”

Mr. Hawkins. The formal address might mean she wasn’t a relative. A caregiver, maybe?

“Actually, I’m looking for someone. A man named Ned Bodine. Edward Bodine, to be exact.” He studied her as he said the words, looking for any sign of recognition.

The woman took the ball cap off, frowning as she wiped her forehead with the sleeve of the plaid shirt, leaving a streak of dirt she probably hadn’t intended. Her eyes were light, as he’d supposed, neither blue nor green but hazel. That heart-shaped face might have been pretty if not for whatever it was that tightened it—worry, maybe, or just plain dislike of nosy strangers.

“Sorry,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the name. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She gestured toward the garden.

“You’re sure?” Of course she might not know, even if she were a relative of his great-uncle. Ned Bodine had stayed missing for sixty-some years, which meant he probably kept his secrets well.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” She snapped the words at him, picking up the basket as if it were a shield.

So much for getting anything out of her. “In that case, I’d like to speak to Mr. Theodore Hawkins.”

She gave him a wary, suspicious stare. “Why?”

“Look, I don’t blame you for being cautious, Ms….”

“Mrs.,” she corrected. “Mrs. Norwood.” She bit off the words, as if regretting giving him that much.

The name wasn’t the same, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be related. She could be…let’s see, what was it? Second or third cousin, maybe?

“I know it seems odd, having a perfect stranger coming along and asking questions, but I do need to talk with Mr. Hawkins.”

“He’s resting right now. He always takes a rest in the afternoon. He’s not to be disturbed.”

The way she phrased that made it sound as it she took orders from the man. Probably not a relative, then, so he had to be stingy with what he told her. Gossip flew fast in country places, even though there wasn’t another house in sight.

“Look, I think he’d probably be willing to talk with me.” Doubt assailed him as he said the words. What made him think Ned Bodine wanted to be found after all these years? Still, all he could do was try. “Just tell him Adam Bodine wants to see him. Please.”

He glanced toward the house, hoping to see some sign of life. Nothing, but he noticed something he hadn’t before. A child played under the shade of a tall pine near the corner of the porch, running toy cars in the dirt.

“Your little boy?” he asked. Maybe an expression of interest in her child would ease the ice between them.

His words seemed to have the opposite effect. She moved, putting herself into position to block his view of the child.

“I told you. Mr. Hawkins is resting. He wouldn’t be able to help you, anyway.”

“We won’t know that until we ask him, will we?” He put a little steel into the words. Obviously this Mrs. Norwood wasn’t going to fall victim to the notorious Bodine charm. “When can I see him?”

She clamped her lips together for a long moment. She could either give in, or she could threaten to call the sheriff on him. Which would it be?

Finally she gave a curt nod. “All right. Come back tonight around six.” She gave a pointed look from him to his car.

Nobody would say he couldn’t take a hint. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be back at six.”

She didn’t respond, bending again to her tomato plants as if he weren’t there.

He gave the sleeping house a final glance. He’d be back. With any luck, this long search would end here.

Cathy cleared the supper dishes quickly, half her attention on the clock. Somehow she hadn’t managed to tell her grandfather yet about the visitor, and the man would be here in minutes.

She slanted a glance at her grandfather. He was whittling a soft piece of pine, turning it into a boat for her son. Six-year-old Jamie sat next to him, elbows on the table, his blue eyes fixed on the boat as it emerged from the wood.

A smile softened her lips. Grandpa had done the same for her as a child, creating fanciful animals and even small dolls. She’d been as close to him then as Jamie was now, and she’d never have dreamed that could change.

But it had. Her mind winced away from the bitter memory.

Grandpa and Jamie were the only family she had, but her willfulness had created a seemingly unbreakable wall between her and her stepgrandfather.

As for Jamie—her heart swelled with love for her son. Jamie needed so much, more than she could possibly provide unless things changed.

Her mind went round and round, back on the familiar track. She had to take care of her grandfather. She had to provide the surgery and therapy her son needed. How? How would she do that?

She suddenly realized that Jamie’s prattle about the game he’d been playing with his toy cars had turned in a new direction.

“…and he drove a silver car, and Mama said he should come back to talk to you.”

Grandpa’s gaze swiveled to hers, his bushy white brows drawing down over his eyes. “What’s all this, then, Cathleen? Who was here? Somebody selling something?”

She wiped her hands on the dish towel. “He said he was looking for information about someone. Someone he thought you might know, apparently. A man named Edward Bodine.”

Grandpa’s hand slipped on the carving, and the half-finished boat dropped to the floor. For an instant silence seemed to freeze the old farmhouse kitchen.

Then he shoved himself to his feet, grabbing his cane. “I won’t see him.” His face reddened. “You know how I feel about strangers. Tell him to go away.”

She quaked inside at the anger in his tone, but then her own temper rose. She wouldn’t let him bully her. She glanced past him, out the kitchen window.

“You can tell him yourself. He’s just pulled up.” She touched her son’s shoulder. “Jamie, you go play in your room for a bit.”

Without waiting for a response, she walked away, reaching the door as she heard the man’s footsteps on the creaky porch. She opened the door before the knock could sound.

Bodine looked a little startled, but he recovered quickly. Not the sort to be rattled easily, she’d think. Tall, with a bearing that said military and the kind of strong-boned face that would compel obedience.

For just an instant she thought she glimpsed something bleak behind the brown eyes, and then his face relaxed in an easy, open smile.

“Mrs. Norwood. I hope I’m not too early.”

“It’s fine.” At least, she hoped it was. It was hard to tell how rude her grandfather intended to be. On the other hand, this man looked capable of handling just about anything Grandpa could throw at him. “Please, come in.”

Adam Bodine stepped into the house, wiping his feet on the threadbare rug by the door. “Thank you for seeing me.”

He wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he stared over her shoulder at her grandfather with an expression in his eyes she couldn’t quite make out. It was almost a look of recognition.

“This is Theodore Hawkins,” she said.

“Adam Bodine.” He held out his hand, smiling.

Grandpa ignored it, his face tight and forbidding. “Whatever it is you want, I’m not interested. You can be on your way.”

She sucked in a breath, but Bodine didn’t seem fazed by the blunt words.

“I need to talk with you, sir. About my great-uncle, Edward Bodine.” He paused, glancing at her. “Maybe we should do this in private.”

It took an instant to realize that he must think she was just the hired help. Well, maybe that wasn’t far from the truth.

“You can talk in front of me,” she said. “This is my grandfather.”

“Stepgrandfather,” Grandpa said.

She wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt to hear it said aloud. It was true, of course. Her mother had been his stepdaughter, not his daughter. Still, he’d never referred to her that way, probably never even thought about it, before she’d gone away.

There was still a trace of hesitation in Bodine’s face, but he nodded. “Fine. As I said, I’ve come here to ask about Ned Bodine, my grandfather’s older brother. He disappeared in 1942.”

“Disappeared?” Her grandfather wasn’t responding, so apparently it was up to her. “What do you mean? Disappeared how?”

Bodine switched his focus to her. “He ran away from the family home on Sullivan’s Island. Near Charleston?” He made it a question.

“I know where Sullivan’s Island is.” One of the barrier islands off Charleston, the kind of place where people with money built summer houses, she’d guess. “Why did he run away?” He’d said 1942. “Does this have something to do with the war?”

Her grandfather never talked about the war, but he’d served then. She remembered hearing her grandmother say something to her mother about it, and then turning to her eight-or-nine-year-old self and cautioning her not to mention it.

He doesn’t want to talk about the war, so we have to respect that. Her grandmother’s soft voice had seemed very mournful. It did bad things to him.

“People said Ned ran away because he was afraid to fight in the war,” Bodine said. “We—the family, that is—we’re sure that’s not true.”

Her grandfather turned away. With one hand he gripped the back of a straight chair, his grasp so hard that the veins stood out of the back of his hand.

Tension edged along Cathy’s skin like a cold breeze. Something was wrong. Something about this man’s words affected Grandpa. She shook her head, trying to shake off the tension.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with us. Are you saying my grandfather knew this Ned Bodine?”

“No.” He looked from her to her grandfather, seeming to gauge their responses. “I’m saying that your grandfather is Ned Bodine.”

The chair Grandpa held skidded against the wood floor as he shoved it. “Get out.”

“Grandpa…”

“Stay out of it.” He turned to her a face that seemed stripped down to the bone.

“I know this is a shock,” Bodine said. “But if we can just talk it over—” He cut the words off suddenly, looking beyond her to the doorway.

She whirled. Jamie stood there, hanging on to the frame with one hand. He swung one leg forward, its brace glinting dully. “Mama, I can’t find my bear.”

“Not now, Jamie.” She moved to him, easing him protectively away from the two tense figures in the living room.

But Jamie craned his neck to see around her, smiling at Adam Bodine. Unlike his great-grandfather, Jamie loved company, and he saw very little of it.

“Hey. I’m Jamie.”

“Hey, Jamie.” Bodine’s response was all right, but his expression wasn’t.

Anger welled in her. How dare he look at her child with shock and pity in his eyes? She pulled Jamie a little closer, her arms cradling him.

“You heard my grandfather, Mr. Bodine. It’s time for you to leave.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then, without another word, he backed out the door and walked quickly away.

“Was he a bad man, Mama?” Jamie snuggled against his pillows after his good-night prayers, looking up at Cathy with wide, innocent eyes.

Cathy smoothed his blond cowlick with her palm, love tugging at her heart. “No, I’m sure he’s not.” How to explain to her son something that she didn’t understand herself? “He wanted to find out something about a…a friend of his, but Grandpa couldn’t help him.”

Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t? Her grandfather’s reactions to the Bodine man had been odd, to say the least.

After Bodine left, Grandpa had stalked to his bedroom and slammed the door. He hadn’t come out until she was putting Jamie in the tub, and then he’d ignored the subject of their visitor as if the man didn’t exist, instead talking to Jamie about his boat and promising to have it finished by bath time the next day.

“But Grandpa would’ve helped the man if he could’ve, right, Mama? ’Cause that’s what Jesus would want him to do.”

“I’m sure he would,” she said, though her heart wasn’t at all sure.

How difficult it was to teach her son about faith when her own was as weak as a willow twig. She smoothed the sheet over him and bent to kiss his soft cheek.

“Good night, little man. I love you great big bunches.”

His arms squeezed her tightly. “I love you great big bunches, too, Mama.”

She dropped another light kiss on his nose and went out, leaving the door ajar. She followed the sound of the refrigerator door opening to the kitchen.

Grandpa was pouring himself a glass of sweet tea. He lifted the pitcher toward her and raised his eyebrows in a question. Taking that as a peace offering, she nodded.

“Some tea sounds good about now. September’s turning out near as hot as August, seems like.”

He brought the glasses to the table and sank into his usual chair. “Too dry. We’d better not spare any more water for those tomato plants, I reckon, if we want the well to hold out.”

It was the sort of conversation that passed for normal now between them. Since she’d come back to the house where she was raised, destitute and with a disabled child in tow, she and Grandpa had existed in a kind of neutral zone, as if they were simply roommates.

Grandpa had been that way with Jamie at first, too, but it hadn’t taken long for love to blossom between them. She found joy every day that Jamie now had the father figure who’d been absent from his life.

She had to be content with that and not expect anything for herself. Once Grandpa had made up his mind about someone, he wouldn’t turn back.

So she had nothing to lose by pushing him a little about that odd visit. She moved her cold glass, making wet circles on the scrubbed pine tabletop. “What did you make of Adam Bodine?”

His face tightened. “Fellow was just barkin’ up the wrong tree, that’s all. Maybe he was pulling some kind of scam.”

That hadn’t occurred to her. She considered it for a moment, and then set it aside.

“He could have been mistaken, maybe, but not a con artist. The man radiated integrity, it seemed to me.”

“You’re not exactly a great judge of men, now, are you?”

She’d heard that so often that it no longer had the power to hurt. Maybe she was too easily taken in, as Grandpa believed, but she didn’t think she was wrong about Adam Bodine.

She also wasn’t wrong about her grandfather’s reaction to the Bodine name. And their visitor had seemed convinced that he had the right man. But how could Grandpa have a past identity that she knew nothing about?

“Bodine,” she said casually, as if it meant nothing at all. “Did you ever hear anything about that family?”

“Nothing,” he snapped, but his hand tensed on the glass. “You that anxious to find yourself a new family? Is that it?”

“No, of course not, Grandpa.” She reached out to pat his arm, but he pulled it away, nursing his grievance.

Not a new family. No. She’d just like to have back the family she’d once had. There’d been a time when she and Grandpa and Grandma were everything to each other, but that was gone forever. Now Jamie was the only one who loved her unconditionally.

Thinking of him made her glance at the calendar. “Jamie’s appointment with Dr. Greener is Thursday. Do you want to go along to town with us?”

“Greener.” Grandpa snorted. “Man’s no good at all. You oughta take the boy up to Atlanta or someplace where they can fix him.”

If it was possible. The spina bifida Jamie had been born with had necessitated what seemed like an endless series of visits to doctors, specialists, surgeons. After the last surgery, the doctor had been optimistic. Maybe another operation would do it. Maybe Jamie could get rid of the braces for good. But that took money—money she didn’t have and didn’t see any prospect of getting.

“I wish I could.” Her throat had tightened so much that the words came out in a whisper.

“Maybe if I sold the house…”

“Then where would we live?” They’d been over this so many times, and the answer always came out the same. She patted his hand quickly, before he could draw away. “Dr. Greener does his best. We’ll be all right.” She stood. “I’d better make sure Jamie’s not in there playing with his cars instead of sleeping.”

She went quickly back to Jamie’s bedroom, thankful that the old house had enough rooms to sleep all of them on the first floor, so she could be within easy reach of Grandpa and Jamie if they needed her in the night. She eased the door open and crossed to the bed.

Jamie slept curled up on his side, one hand still wrapped around the old metal car Grandpa had found for him in the attic. His long eyelashes made crescents against the delicate shadows under his eyes.

Did Jamie run in his dreams? Did he splash in the creek and chase fireflies in the dusk?

Such small things to be able to give a child, but she couldn’t even manage that much.

But if Grandpa was hiding the truth, if he really was one of the Charleston Bodines, what then? Hope hurt, coming at her unexpectedly. If the Bodines really were family, if they cared enough to search out a long-lost relative, maybe they’d be people who wanted to help a child like Jamie if they knew he was kin.

Or maybe there was an inheritance owed to Grandpa all these years. You heard about such things sometimes, folks coming into money they hadn’t expected.

It was a possibility she couldn’t let slip away. Adam Bodine hadn’t looked like a man who’d give up easily. She’d have to hope she was right about that.

Chapter Two

Adam lingered in the coffee shop at the motel the morning after his encounter with the Hawkins family. It was a good thirty miles from their house, but the closest he could find. Frowning, he stared at the cooling coffee in front of him.

What was his next step? His gut instinct said he was right about this. Theodore Hawkins was Ned Bodine. He had to be, or why had he reacted the way he had?

But it went beyond that. He couldn’t explain it, but when he’d seen the man, he’d known. Maybe it was true that blood called out to blood. The Bodine strain ran strong. He’d looked in that man’s eyes, and he’d seen his grandfather there.

But if Ned Bodine refused to be found…

“Mr. Bodine?”

He glanced up and then shot to his feet at the sight of Hawkins’s granddaughter. No, stepgranddaughter. She must have guessed he’d be at the only motel this small town boasted.

“Mrs. Norwood. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Especially not after the way he’d reacted when he’d seen her disabled son. He’d kicked himself all the way back to the motel, but it had been unavoidable. He’d looked at her and the boy and seen the other mother and son, felt the pain…

“I thought we should talk.” Her gaze was wary, maybe even a little antagonistic. But at least she was here. The door wasn’t entirely closed.

“Please, sit down.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

“I’m not sure what good it will do. My grandfather is a very stubborn man.”