Now, Catherine was nervously pacing the kitchen porch while they held individual interviews. They were down to the last two boys; Marcus had Gunter in the living room, and Martha was talking to Rick at the kitchen table.

Nora was terrorizing the barn cats with Cody, Nathan was doing his henhouse chores, and Peter was sitting on the front porch, his nose in a book—sighing, erasing, and occasionally cursing.

Robbie was rinsing off the last of the logging-yard mud from his truck, which Catherine had told him to face toward the garage doors so their guests wouldn’t see the bug shield. He had chuckled at her command, explaining that the shield had been a gift from the boys, but hehad turned the truck inward to wash it.

Unable to stand the suspense any longer and deciding she could pretend she needed to check on supper, Catherine finally entered the kitchen, only to run into Martha Bailey on her way out. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Miss Daniels. I was just on my way to find you.” Martha smiled sadly. “I can’t stay for supper, I’m afraid. I have my own crew to feed. And from what I’ve been told and from what I’ve been smelling all afternoon, I’m going to miss a real treat. All the boys could talk about was your cooking.”

Catherine could only nod.

“Peter said that you make a tasty barley soup.” Martha’s smile returned. “Peter said a lot of things. All the boys did. Welcome to Pine Creek, Catherine. I certainly hope you’ll be staying.” She canted her head. “Although I suspect that if you try to leave, four boys and a handsome giant will hunt you down and drag you back.”

“I think they were all starving to death,” Catherine said, relaxing for the first time today.

She shook her head. “I’ve been warned the boys might be a little hard to handle, but I haven’t seen a sign of that since I came here.”

Martha patted Catherine’s arm. “It’s amazing how good food can tame the beast. Keep it coming, and I doubt you’ll have any problems. I’ll be back next month, and maybe then I

’ll get to sample your cooking. Good-bye. And good luck.”

Okay, Catherine decided as she watched the woman get into her car and drive away, Robbie was right. Martha Bailey was one of the good guys. But Marcus Saints seemed… well, the man looked as if he picked his teeth with hardened criminals.

Nathan came dragging up the porch stairs just then, holding his hand cradled against his chest.

“What happened to you?”

“Those chickens are ferocious, Mom. They pecked me.”

Catherine reached down and inspected the boy’s wound. One of the old hens had managed to draw blood, but just barely.

“You’ll live, Nathan. Come on, I’ll clean you up and put on a Band-Aid.”

“It’s a dangerous job, and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Let me guess,” she speculated, pushing him into the house ahead of her so he wouldn’t see her smile. “You still haven’t told Mr. MacBain that you need grain.”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“No.”

“Nathan.”

“I hope they starve.”

“Nathan.”

“Why can’t you just tell him for me?”

“Because, young man, that’s your job.”

“But he’s scary,” Nathan whispered, looking up at her with huge puppy-dog eyes.

“He’s been nothing but kind to us, Nathan. He’s not like your father,” Catherine whispered, squatting down and taking hold of his shoulders. “You have nothing to fear from Mr. MacBain.” She brushed the hair away from his face. “Honey, if you tell him the hens need grain, he’ll see what a responsible young man you are and respect you for doing your chore. And Nathan, you’ll respect yourself if you approach him bravely and do your job. You’ll be one of the boys here. You don’t see them being afraid of Mr.

MacBain, do you?”

He thought about that, frowning. “No,” he finally admitted. “And Mr. MacBain will be proud of me, too.”

Catherine sighed. “Nathan, you do your chores for yourself. Not for Mr. MacBain and not for me. I want you to see that you can deal with people, especially men, and not be afraid. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone but yourself.”

“I understand,” he whispered. “I know you’re scared I’ll grow up to be like Daddy. And I’m trying not to.”

Catherine felt a sharp stab to her heart. When had her beautiful little boy realized her greatest fear? “Come on, let’s tend that vicious old hen wound.”

Peeking toward Gunter and Marcus in the living room, Catherine lifted Nathan onto the counter, got the first aid kit from the cupboard, and started cleaning his wound. Robbie came in from the yard, walked past her and Nathan to the stove, lifted the lid on the huge steaming pot, and started stirring the stew.

Catherine took the spoon away from him and shooed him upstairs to change his wet shirt. She headed back to Nathan, replacing the lid on the stew as she walked by, but turned when Nora came running into the kitchen, screaming bloody murder.

She ran to her daughter. “Nora, what is it?”

“A monster!” Nora wailed. “Daddy’s in the barn!”

Just then, Cody slammed through the door, looking frantic and hysterical himself, and Nora whimpered and tried to run away.

Catherine froze in shock, clinging to her daughter. Ron was here! He was here!

“Daddy’s in the hayloft!” Nora cried again, burying her face in Catherine’s stomach.

“It was me,” Cody said, drawing her attention. “I was just playing. I forgot. I’m sorry!”

Gunter tore past her with a deadly, feral growl and dove toward Cody before anyone had time to grasp the situation.

“You bastard!” Gunter shouted, his fist aimed at Cody’s shocked, bloodless face.

Catherine finally came out of her stupor, realizing what was happening. “Gunter!” she yelled.

As if in slow motion, Catherine could only watch as Gunter’s fist connected with Cody’s face, sending the defenseless boy reeling into the wall behind him. His head hit with a solid thunk, suspending Cody long enough for Gunter to connect again, this time with Cody’s stomach. The battered boy slid in a boneless heap to the floor.

Catherine rushed straight into the fight and stood between the enraged young man and his fallen prey.

Her eyes glaring at Gunter, she didn’t see Marcus Saints start in their direction or see Robbie grab him by the shoulder and stop him.

“You son of a bitch!” Gunter growled, trying to move around Catherine.

“Gunter! No!” she shouted when he tried to take another swing. She moved with him, blocking his way. “Enough,” she said more calmly. “You will not hit him again.”

Gunter turned his anger on her. “You heard! He scared Nora,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No, you’re not,” Catherine said firmly, flinching when he tried to shove her out of the way but managing to keep her body between him and Cody.

He grabbed her shoulders, and Catherine lifted her chin. “He made a mistake,” she whispered. “Cody would never scare Nora on purpose. He was only playing.”

“How can you know that?”

Catherine set her hand on his heaving chest. “Because I trust Cody, Gunter. He just wasn

’t thinking.”

“Then I’ll teach the son of a bitch to think!” he snapped, pushing her away, trying to get to Cody.

Catherine stepped between them again, getting a bit angry herself. “How, Gunter?” she hissed, shedding her sweater and pulling up the right sleeve of her shirt, exposing a three-year-old scar. “Is this how you’re going to teach him?” She lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose another scar, this one running from her waist up to just under her breast. “Or maybe like this!” Catherine turned her back on the stunned man and parted her hair at the nape of her neck, exposing yet another scar about two inches long.

“Maybe this would teach him to think!”

She turned back to Gunter. “Will giving Cody a beating make Nora feel safe?” she asked through clenched teeth, taking another step forward, causing the suddenly pale boy to back up. “Did spending three weeks in the hospital so my children’s father would be sent to prison solve my problems?”