“Just what do you think you’re doing to my mother?”

An electric volt shot through Lorna as she heard the belligerent voice of her son. Matthew stiffened, and they both jerked around to face Johnny, who was standing in the doorway to the hall.

“I wasn’t hurting your mother, Johnny,” Matthew immediately assured the boy. Lorna could not believe how calm his voice sounded. Her throat was dry and her fingers trembling, her body not at all prepared to cope with the abrupt withdrawal of Matthew’s touch.

“It sure looked to me like you were.” Johnny’s sleep-laden eyes were nevertheless furious; his chin jutted forward with all the aggression of a man twice his size. “Nobody hurts my mother, mister. You better just get out of here.”

“Johnny!” The child had his fists clenched as if ready to take on the grown man. A year later, she might remember that instant and smile; but at this precise instant she was afraid of what would happen. “He was not hurting me. Honey, go back to bed-”

“Mom, don’t lie. I can take care of him-”

If she had been looking at Matthew, she might have seen a half smile on his lips. But she was looking at her son, groping for the proper words. Her maternal instincts had never failed her before; but now she stood as if paralyzed. Her flesh was still warm from Matthew’s touch, her heart still beating wildly. She shivered violently as Matthew zipped up her dress and rested a quietly supportive hand on her shoulder.

“Johnny, I would never hurt your mother,” Matthew assured him quietly. “You have every right to be concerned about anyone who might. I’ll be leaving the house within the next five minutes. You can keep your door open when you go back to bed.”

There was a silence. “Well…” Johnny’s fists slowly unclenched, but he aimed a look of total distrust at Matthew.