To Find Her Place (Redemption's Light #2) - Susan Anne Mason Page 0,11

his outrageous behavior? A good spanking would be in order if one of his nephews had pulled such a stunt. Instead, Mrs. Linder intended to make him cocoa?

He followed them into the staff room, an area only slightly larger than Garrett’s so-called office, where a round table and six odd chairs occupied most of the space. Beside the narrow stove and tiny refrigerator, a tiled countertop held a kettle and some ceramic jars.

After seating Martin at the table where his juice and cookies remained, Mrs. Linder looked up. “This is Martin Smith, one of our favorite residents.” She winked at the boy. “Martin, this is Mr. Wilder. He’s working here for the next few weeks.”

“Nice to meet you, Martin.”

The boy only shrugged a shoulder in response.

Jane pulled a pot from a lower cupboard and got out a jar of milk from the small fridge. She shivered as she turned on the burner and stirred several tablespoons of cocoa powder into the milk.

“You keep the kitchen well stocked, I see,” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder. “We like to have refreshments on hand. You never know when a hot drink or a cookie will come in handy.”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup, if you have enough,” he said.

Martin glared at him. “Why are you here?”

Mrs. Linder whirled around. “Martin, mind your manners.”

“Sorry.” The boy dropped his head toward his narrow chest.

Garrett glanced over at Mrs. Linder, who shook her head, an expression of pleading in her eyes. He gave a slight nod of understanding. Martin looked to be around the age of his oldest nephew. How would his sister handle this situation with her son? Cassie was always more tactful than Garrett or his parents, doling out spankings only when absolutely necessary.

Garrett pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sounds like you’re having a rough day,” he said.

Martin speared him with a glare.

The sound of a metal utensil whisking against the pot seemed to increase. Time for a different tactic.

“Do you play baseball, Martin?”

The boy shook his head.

“How about soccer or football?”

“No. I like hockey.”

“Ice hockey?”

Martin shot him another flinty stare. “I don’t have any skates. I play on the road.”

“Ah, I see. That sounds fun.”

Mrs. Linder brought two cups over to the table. “Here you go, fellows.”

Garrett picked up one of them. “Thank you. This looks delicious.” He took a quick sip that practically scalded his tongue and sucked in a breath. “They don’t call it hot cocoa for nothing.”

Martin snorted and leaned over to blow on the surface of his cup.

Mrs. Linder turned off the stove, poured the remaining liquid from the pot into a chipped teacup, then took a seat beside Martin.

“Mr. Wilder,” she said. “Would you excuse us, please? I’d like to talk to Martin in private.”

“Certainly. Nice to meet you, Martin. Maybe we’ll throw a ball around one day.”

Why had he said that when he doubted the opportunity would ever arise?

Back in his tiny office, Garrett found it difficult to concentrate on the numbers in front of him, since his mind kept wandering to Mrs. Linder and Martin. The two seemed quite familiar with each other. What sort of history did they share?

Something about Martin tugged at Garrett, and as he mulled over the possible reason, he realized the boy reminded him of Nelson, his childhood friend. Martin bore the same haunted look Nelson had worn when he first came to live with Garrett’s neighbors on the next farm over. Gradually, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill’s patience with the boy, Nelson had learned to relax and understand that he was truly safe. The last Garrett had heard, Nelson had come back to help his adoptive father run the farm after the death of Mrs. O’Neill. Garrett hoped that Martin would be as lucky as Nelson and someday find a permanent home.

About twenty minutes passed before Garrett heard Mrs. Linder’s voice.

“Do you have a jacket, Martin?”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s all right. We’ll find one for you. Let me see if Mr. Wilder would like to accompany us.”

Footsteps sounded outside his door and Mrs. Linder peered inside. “I’m taking Martin over to the shelter now. I thought it might be a good opportunity to give you a tour.”

Garrett closed the ledger and rose. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Mrs. Linder stepped inside and lowered her voice. “Martin isn’t happy about going back. I’ll need a quick word with the matron when we get there to make sure she treats him with sensitivity.”

Garrett barely kept the surprise from his face. Surely tighter