Читать книгу Her Small-Town Hero - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 9

Hap sat at the end of the table in his usual chair, reading from his Bible, when Holt carried the dishes to the table. He looked up, waggling his eyebrows and jerking his head toward the kitchen, but Holt didn’t know what to make of Cara Jane Wynne yet. Shrugging, he began to deal out the plates onto the bare table. Charlotte had always kept the table covered with a fresh cloth and place mats, like their grandmother before her, but Holt and Hap had quickly found them a deal of work to maintain.

Hap crooked a finger, and Holt stopped what he was doing to lean close. “So? Tell me ’bout her.”

“Not much to tell,” Holt muttered. “She came in off the street, says she hasn’t worked since high school and grew up in Duncan but last lived in Oregon. My guess is she’s homeless and desperate.” Hap made a compassionate sound from deep in his chest, and Holt frowned. “That doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy,” he pointed out softly, then stiffened when she spoke from the doorway behind him.

“Excuse me. Are there serving dishes you’d rather I didn’t use?”

Hap smiled and shook his head. “Use what you like. She that cooks gets to make the decisions in the kitchen, I always say.”

“Okay.”

Frowning some more, Holt laid the flatware, then went back to the kitchen to fill three glasses with ice and water.

Holt toyed with the idea of calling his brother to come over and evaluate Cara Jane. The satellite cell phones that their new brother-in-law Ty had given them for Christmas made it much easier to keep in touch, but Ryan often could not be called away from whatever activity currently required his supervision. As an assistant principal, history teacher and all-around coach, Ryan wore many hats. If they saw Ryan tonight at all, it would be briefly.

Holt could have used Ryan’s input, but he understood only too well what it meant to be busy. His own drilling business and ranch and now the motel kept him tied up. Maybe, just maybe, Cara Jane was God’s answer to that dilemma. He wondered if hoping so made him selfish or if not quite trusting her made him unfair. He didn’t want to be either.

He took his time ferrying the glasses from the sink to table, making two trips of it. She never once glanced his way, but he found it difficult to take his eyes off her and the boy, who had pulled himself up and wrapped his chubby little arms around his mother’s knees. Was she the poor little widow woman she seemed or something much more dangerous?

Holt felt sure that Cara Jane and Ace Wynne were going to be around until God had accomplished whatever purpose had brought them here. If that meant Holt could soon get back to his own life, so much the better, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that all was not as it should be with her.

Cara placed the last platter on the table, Ace on her hip, and took a final survey of the meal: golden-fried okra, pan-grilled steak, buttered potatoes, green beans and carrots straight out of the can. Nothing fancy and nothing fresh.

You’re not in California anymore, Cara.

Suddenly that warm and sunny place called to her. She’d left with no regret. Nevertheless, she suddenly found herself missing certain aspects of her old life, such as the warmth and sunshine.

Cara pulled out the chair and took a seat at the table, shifting Ace onto her lap.

“Gracious Lord God.”

Hap’s gravelly voice jolted Cara. She looked around to find the Jefford men with bowed heads. To her shock, Holt and his grandfather had linked hands. More shocking still, each of their free hands rested atop the table as if they’d reached out to her. Embarrassed, she pretended not to notice, holding Ace tight against her midsection and bowing her own head as Hap prayed.

“We thank You for this food and the pretty little gal You sent to cook it up for us. And thank You for bringing our Charlotte and Ty back safe from their honeymoon. We look forward to them coming home. You know we want only their happiness and Your will. Amen.”

“Amen,” Holt said. “Let’s eat.”

The two men practically attacked the food.

“My stars!” Hap declared, sliding a piece of pan-grilled steak onto his plate. “Will you look at that.” He shot a grin at Cara, displaying a fine set of dentures. “Haven’t had a piece of cooked meat I could put a fork in since our Charlotte up and married.”

Over the course of the meal, Cara began to have doubts about her cooking, mostly because of this Charlotte of whom they spoke so glowingly. Charlotte, it seemed, was nothing less than a chef. They spoke of “good old country cooking” and such things as dumplings, chitlings and black-eyed peas.

“Speaking of black-eyed peas,” Hap said, “good thing we’re not superstitious.”

“Why is that?” Cara asked idly, pushing Ace’s hand away as he grabbed for steak and offering him a piece of carrot instead.

Holt braced both forearms against the tabletop and stared at her. “You grew up in Oklahoma and you haven’t heard of eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s for good luck?”

Cara dropped her gaze back to her son and tried not to tense, hoping the question would simply pass.

“Would that be New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day?” Hap interjected. “Never was sure myself.”

Relieved, she poked a green bean into Ace’s babbling mouth with her fingers.

Holt stabbed potatoes with his fork, saying, “Well, if you want them for tradition’s sake, I’m pretty sure there’s a bag in the freezer, and since we don’t believe in luck anyway, we might as well have them tomorrow as tonight, you ask me.”

“You don’t believe in luck?” Cara heard herself ask.

Holt looked up, eyeballing her as if she’d just beamed in from another galaxy. “As Christians, ma’am, we believe that God is in control of our lives, not random luck.”

“Oh. I—I see.” Except, of course, she didn’t. God could not have been in control of her life or it would not have turned out like this.

Hap winked at Cara. “For tradition’s sake, then. I like my black-eyed peas. Reckon if you stuck around you could rustle up a mess for us, young lady?”

Cara blinked. “Oh, I, um…”

“If you can cook beans, you can cook peas,” Holt put in impatiently. “Just throw in a ham bone and make some corn bread.”

“Now, Holt,” Hap scolded mildly, “if it was that easy, we’d be doing it our own selves, wouldn’t we? ’Sides, maybe she and the boy will be spending the holiday with family. Did you ever think of that?”

“Is that right?” Holt asked her. “You have folks around these parts?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Hap said, shaking his head. “But if you got no family around, what brung you here? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

Cara opened her mouth, but Holt supplied the information before she had a chance to speak.

“Cara’s a widow,” he announced. “Looking for more cheerful surroundings.”

Hap sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “Now, that’s a grief that I know too well.” He looked Cara in the eye. “Both my wife and my son have passed from this world. You must have some family somewhere, though. They no comfort to you?”

“My parents are both gone,” she said, which was technically the truth.

“No brothers or sisters?” Holt asked, sprawling back in his chair, which seemed too small to hold him.

She had the lie ready, but somehow it just wouldn’t slide off her tongue. Besides, what harm could there be in at least admitting to Eddie? No doubt he was trying to track her down as they spoke, but the Jeffords wouldn’t know that.

“A brother,” she said, “but we’re not close.” Cara smoothed Ace’s pale hair lovingly. “It’s just us two really.”

Hap shook his head. “It’s a powerful sorrow when a father leaves a young family behind.”

“Yes.” Cara laid her cheek against the top of her son’s head. “Ace was five weeks old when it happened.”

Holt reached out a long arm and laid his fork in his plate. “Mind if I ask how your husband died?”

While she felt the shock that always came with the truth, she carefully masked her emotions. “He fell.”

The two men traded looks, and Holt sat up straight again, looking uncomfortable now, his gaze going to Ace as he once more picked up his fork. “That’s how my father died, too. He fell off an oil derrick trying to fix a pulley.”

Cara took it that Holt’s father and Hap’s son were one in the same. “They say he didn’t suffer,” she offered softly, swallowing hard.

Both Holt and Hap nodded at that. Apparently they’d been told the same thing.

“What’d your man fall from?” Hap asked.

“A highway overpass. He stopped to help a stranded motorist and somehow fell over the railing. No one’s certain just how it happened,” she said, still puzzled, “and the funny thing is, it wasn’t like Addison to stop and help a stranger. Not like him at all.”

Hap laid a gnarled hand upon her arm. “There are mysteries to which none are privy, and greater mysteries revealed to all. We must trust God with the first and thank Him for the last.” Hap looked at Holt.

Cara sensed a certain reluctance in Holt, but she knew the moment had come to discuss business.

“The job requires long hours,” he said. “It pays a salary on the first and the fifteenth.” Holt glanced at his grandfather. “Plus room and board.”

The figure he named didn’t amount to much pay, but she wouldn’t have to worry about food and shelter. “What about Ace? I need to keep him with me. If it’s just housekeeping work, I know I could manage. He won’t be any trouble to anyone.”

“Well, there’s housekeeping and then there’s housekeeping,” Holt said, and for the next fifteen minutes he detailed all that she would be expected to do.

It seemed overwhelming: beds to be made, laundry to be done, floors, bathrooms, draperies, dusting, sanitizing, even kitchens in some of the rooms. Every room. Every day. That did not include meal preparation or registering guests from time to time. But it did include Ace.

“We could give it a try,” Hap said. “If the work and the boy together prove too much for you, we’ll figure something out. It’s not like you’d be on your own around here.”

“Except for Saturday nights,” Holt put in. “I take Granddad out for dinner on Saturday nights.”

“Every other,” Hap corrected, with another of those teasing winks at Cara. “Me and Charlotte, we always took turns with those Saturday nights. All you’d have to do is hang around here and watch the front desk.”

That sounded doable to her. “I take it Charlotte used to work for you?” Cara asked carefully.

Hap chuckled. “Not exactly. Charlotte’s my granddaughter, Holt’s baby sister. She up and married this rich fellow from Dallas.”

“Work she did, though,” Holt added. “More than I ever realized until I had to take over her job myself.”

“Then essentially I’d be replacing you?” Cara exclaimed, pointing. Ace burbled something unintelligible and copied her gesture. Cara quickly pushed both their hands under the table, cheeks heating.

“That’s the idea,” Holt said dryly. He seemed to doubt she could do it. Just the way he swept his hard gaze over her seemed to pronounce her lacking somehow.

Hap waved a hand. “Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” He pointed his fork at Cara. “You and the boy stay the night, take a good look around, think on it, and we’ll all pray this thing to a conclusion. How does that sound?”

Cara smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful for the first time in months. “That sounds fine.”

“Does that mean we get black-eyed peas tomorrow?” Holt asked, digging into his food again.

“Mmm, maybe some greens, too,” Hap said longingly. “There ought to be a can in there. I hope there’s a can in there.”

“I think I’m not used to the same kind of cooking you’re used to eating,” Cara confessed.

“Oh, it’s simple fare,” Hap said, “nothing you can’t manage, I reckon.”

“It’s sure to beat his cooking,” Holt said, wagging his fork at Hap.

Hap pretended to take offense, frowning and grinning. “My cooking’s what’s kept these skin and bones together these past weeks, son, and don’t you forget it. How many meals have you cooked since your sister married? Answer me that.”

“None,” Holt admitted. He grinned at Cara, grooves bracketing his mouth. Suddenly he looked heart-stoppingly attractive, sitting there in his faded chambray shirt that emphasized his strong, wide shoulders. “I like breathing even more than eating,” he quipped and went back to doing just that.

“There you are!” Hap declared, slapping a hand lightly against the edge of the table. He looked cajolingly to Cara. “So do we get them black-eyed peas?”

“Black-eyed peas,” Cara promised, gulping. “For tradition’s sake.”

But, oh, she thought, watching Holt chew a big bite of steak, I could use just a little luck, too.

Cara looked around the tiny, crowded bedroom with dismay. It still contained much that belonged to its previous owner: books, photos, various other keepsakes, even a yellowed set of crocheted doilies. An old-fashioned four-poster bed, dresser, domed-top trunk and wicker laundry hamper left only a narrow corridor of walking space around the bed.

She felt Holt at her back, watching her judge the room, and fought the urge to curl into a tight little ball. She’d hoped never again to live in someone else’s space, meeting their standards rather than her own, always the outsider, never truly belonging or having control of her own life.

Hitching Ace a little higher on her hip, their outer garments clutched in one hand, she bucked up enough courage to say, “I think we’ll be more comfortable renting a room for the night.”

After a moment of silence, Holt replied, “I’ll get a room key for you.”

Relieved, Cara watched him stride for the lobby. After she’d taken a look at those frozen black-eyed peas—and thankfully found the preparation a simple matter of stewing in water for an hour or so—Hap had suggested Holt show her where she could stay the night. She’d never expected to be offered a room in the apartment.

A chime sounded as Holt crossed the room. Hap, who was stacking dishes in the kitchen, having insisted on helping her clean up after the meal, exclaimed, “Tell ’em I’ll be right out!”

Just then the door opened and two elderly men appeared, their happy voices calling, “We’re here!”

One of the newcomers wore dark pants and a white shirt beneath a sweater vest. More portly than the other, he boasted glasses with heavy black frames and a luxurious head of snow-white hair. The other, dressed in denim and flannel, possessed neither. Spying Cara and Ace, they stepped forward.

“Looks like y’all started the party without us,” the flannel-shirted man said.

The other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”

“Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.

Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”

Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.

The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”

General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”

Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.

She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.

“We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”

“Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.

“I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”

“Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”

Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”

Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”

“That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.

To her surprise, Holt slid it into his pocket before grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. “I’ll just see you settled in.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”

“Hap’s guests,” he said, shrugging on the leather-trimmed canvas coat. “They’ve got enough to make up a table. They won’t miss me.” He lifted a brown cowboy hat from another peg and fitted it onto his head, suddenly seeming ten feet tall. Nodding toward the kitchen, he said, “We can go out through the back.”

Cara put on a smile and moved ahead of him, holding Ace closer to her chest to keep him warm. He babbled in a singsong voice to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement, cold enveloping them.

Shivering, Cara hurried ahead of Holt to the car parked beneath the drive-though. At least, she told herself, they’d gotten a meal out of this and would sleep warm tonight. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.