“He was after he knew I’d be okay. I got a hell of a talking-to about the dangers of knives and doing what I was told. Tough lesson learned the hard way.”

“I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Paul tried not to show any reaction to that statement. He’d wondered about the boy’s father, but neither Ethan nor Hope had volunteered any information about the guy, and Paul hadn’t wanted to ask. “Neither do I.”

“Yeah, but yours died. Mine’s in jail.”

Paul felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “Oh.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” Spotting his mother on the porch of the Martinez house, Ethan took off running, calling out to her about the season’s first pumpkin.

Paul followed him, still reeling from what he’d just heard. He had so many questions. Why was Ethan’s father in jail? What had he done? Had he hurt Hope or Ethan? God, Paul hoped it wasn’t that. Why hadn’t Hope disclosed the information when they hired her? Were either of them in any danger? Did he dare broach the subject with her, or did he pretend he didn’t know?

Shit, what a dilemma.

Hope was still on the porch when Paul got there a few minutes behind Ethan, who’d gone inside to show the pumpkin to Paul’s mother. Marion adored the boy, and they shared a special bond.

“I hope he’s not driving you crazy,” Hope said, as she did just about every day. She tucked a strand of her reddish-brown hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, the pose almost defensive, as if she were always waiting for disaster to strike. He’d had the thought before, but knowing what he did now, it took on new meaning.

“I enjoy hanging out with him.”

“Still, feel free to tell him to leave you alone if you’re busy.”

“It’s fine, Hope. He’s a great kid.”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile softening her face. “He is.”

“How are things here?”

“Your mom had a tough day. She’s been more confused than usual.”

Paul ran his fingers through his hair as he absorbed that news. “Is that even possible?”

Marion came to the door. “Is that my George home from work? George! Come see what Paul brought home. The first pumpkin of the season!”

Hope sent him a sympathetic smile. After all these weeks of working for them, she certainly knew how difficult it was when his mother regularly mistook him for his late father.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me, Paul.”

Like always, he had to withstand the pain of watching her face fall with disappointment when she realized it was him and not his father. That killed him a little more every day. Sometimes he was tempted to pretend to be his father just to give her a moment’s reprieve, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to either of them.