Читать книгу Their Small-Town Love - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 10

Ryan parked his hands at his waist, watching in shock as Ivy fled the park in tears. Turning back to the author of this ugly public scene, he pinned Olie Villard in place with a glare before stepping close to growl, “Good grief, man! What’s wrong with you?”

Even slightly cowed, Olie remained unrepentant, sticking out his long, narrow chin at a pugnacious angle. “She’s what’s wrong with me, Ivy and her filthy ways. Like mother, like daughter, I tell you, and if you’re smart you’ll keep your distance from her!” Swinging his lanky frame around, he stalked away, his hands fisted at his sides.

Sighing, Ryan cast a wary glance over the area, wondering who might have overheard. He saw several curious onlookers but turned aside their attention with a level gaze and pointed smile before bending to sweep up the shawl that Ivy had left behind in her haste. He shook out the thing, telling himself that he would return it. Frowning, he considered Olie’s unpleasant words and Ivy’s tearful response.

She hadn’t exactly denied her father’s accusations or, in all fairness, admitted to them. Still, at this point, Ryan could not escape the unhappy conclusion that Ivy had made some big mistakes in her life.

He was not one to judge; he’d made his own blunders. After the deaths of his parents, Ryan had figured that he had no reason to live an exemplary life. Why should he live his life, according to the godly rules and ethics taught him by his father and grandparents? What good had it done his dad?

His mother had always been rather fragile. The only child of a doting, widowed, older father, she’d been too well protected in many ways and more than a little self-centered. When her husband had died so unexpectedly in a freak accident on the job, her chief concern had been who would take care of her with him gone? No one had realized until it was too late, that in her grief and panic, she would swallow every prescription pill she could find.

As a college student separated from his remaining family by just enough distance to guarantee no interference from them, Ryan had buried his grief and anger with months of partying. He had told himself at the time that it was nothing more than a rite of passage. Only after returning home for the summer and reconnecting with his older brother, younger sister and paternal grandparents did he find enough peace to reclaim God’s purpose for his life.

The rest of the family had been struggling, too, but together they had all managed to put the dual tragedy behind them. In helping to assuage their pain, Ryan had found balm for his own. The steady, sturdy love of his family had given him strength and direction, and their wise counsel had helped him find his calling. He’d learned to value the integrity of his own soul above gold or anything else the world had to offer.

He knew too well how easily rebellion could be justified by a spirit blinded with grief or rage or the lure of worldly things, so he would not judge Ivy. Getting caught up in a public family feud made him distinctly uncomfortable, and he certainly wasn’t ready to upset the order of his life, no matter how drawn he felt to the beautiful woman Ivy had become. Still, he could not help wanting to protect Ivy from her father’s anger.

He would return the shawl, but perhaps, Ryan decided, it would be best to give Ivy some time alone. Maybe, in the meantime, he could figure out the best way to deal with this mess. Her wrap in hand, he trudged back to the motel to seek the counsel of his family. So much for his intention to keep them in the dark concerning his date, if that was the word for it, with Ivy this morning. Along the way back to the motel, he prayed for guidance, knowing that if he was not very careful he could find himself more involved than seemed wise for a man who had never been comfortable with the idea of trusting his heart to any woman.

“I admit I heard some talk about Ivy,” Hap Jefford said in his gravelly voice, “and I been concerned for some time now ’bout Olie.”

Dropping down into his usual chair at one end of the oval maple dining table in the apartment behind the lobby of the motel, Hap bent and began the process of lacing up his boots with fingers gnarled by age and arthritis.

“Carrying around that much bitterness can’t be good for a fellow,” Holt put in, turning away from the high chair where he had just deposited Ace. Going down on his haunches, he began to help his grandfather with the boots.

The two so resembled each other, despite the forty-four years between them, that old photos of Hap were often mistaken for current ones of Holt.

The family had just returned from the late service at First Church, and while Charlotte and Cara had gone into the small kitchen to get dinner on the table, the men had made themselves comfortable in the apartment dining room. For Holt, Ty and Ryan, that amounted to removing their jackets and ties and rolling up their shirtsleeves before taking their customary chairs at the table; for Hap it meant shucking his decades-old black suit and trading it for his usual flannel shirt, denim overalls and work boots. Emerging from his bedroom once more, he had picked up the conversation about Ivy where they’d left off earlier.

“Care to elaborate on just what it is that you’ve heard?” Ryan asked. Much as he disliked gossip, he wanted to know what caused Ivy’s pain and Olie’s anger.

Hap shrugged and rasped, “Mostly it was about that radio show of hers. I’ve heard the term vulgar in connection with it.”

That, unfortunately, dovetailed with what Ryan had heard at the banquet the previous night.

“I’ve listened to that show,” Ty admitted. “I’m ashamed to say it used to be one of my favorites. For what it’s worth, it was mostly her partner, FireBrand Phillips, saying and doing the risqué things, but vulgar isn’t too strong a term for what I heard. I guess the thing is that when being outrageous is your trademark, you have to find a way to constantly outdo yourself. It got to be too much for me even before I met the Lord.”

Hap made a mournful, disapproving sound deep in his throat. “Pitiful way to make a living.”

Ace growled in an attempt to copy the old man’s sound, and Hap smiled indulgently at the boy. Theirs was a mutual admiration society.

Charlotte came in from the kitchen bearing china dishes and flatware, which she carried to the table before heading over to the maple hutch to gather tablecloth, place mats and napkins. “According to what they said when they recognized her at the banquet last night,” Charlotte reminded them, “that’s all behind Ivy now. She and that Phillips have broken up the act.”

“That is what it sounded like,” Holt agreed.

“Look, for all we know, Ivy had a change of heart about the way she was making her living,” Charlotte said. “I, for one, think she should get the benefit of the doubt.”

“She did go to early service with Ryan this morning,” Holt pointed out.

“Which had nothing, I’m sure, to do with him personally,” Ty quipped, “him being such an unappealing cuss.”

Ryan pulled a face at his brother-in-law. “I don’t think she’d have gone at all if she’d known Olie would be there.”

“Shame, what he did,” Hap said.

“She ran off in tears,” Ryan recalled softly. “It was heartbreaking.”

“Even if what the gossips say about Ivy is true,” Charlotte went on, “Christians should show her the love of Christ, as I’m sure you all know.”

“Well, that settles it then,” Hap announced, slapping a knee for emphasis.

Ace smacked the tray of his high chair.

“Settles what?” Ryan asked in confusion, unaware of anything that needed to be settled.

“We’re inviting her to dinner, that’s what,” Charlotte answered briskly. Charlotte had been thirteen when their parents had died and, with both of her older brothers out on their own, she’d moved into the motel with their grandparents. At twenty-seven, having lived more than half her life with Hap Jefford, she could practically read the old man’s mind. Charlotte and their grandfather had grown especially close after the death of their grandmother a few years ago, so close that her brothers had feared she would devote herself to Hap and never marry.

“You’ve got to take her key over anyway,” Cara told Ryan from the kitchen doorway, an apron cinched around her slender waist. “That’s what she said when I let her in the room earlier, that you were holding her key for her and she’d forgotten to get it back.”

That and the shawl, Ryan reflected unhappily. Shifting in his chair, he pressed his elbows to the tabletop and spread his hands, saying, “I’m not sure I’m the one who ought to speak to her.”

“Of course you are,” Charlotte retorted dismissively. “Who else?”

“Maybe she’d rather have a woman to talk to,” he suggested hopefully.

“Instead of a strong shoulder to cry on?” Cara asked in a skeptical tone. “I don’t think so.”

Exasperated, Ryan sighed, knowing he was on the hook but still squirming. “Well, she might need a little more time to compose herself.”

“Nothing raises the hair on the back of a man’s neck like a woman’s tears,” Holt observed wisely, “because he’s either got to run or let her use his shoulder for a hanky.”

“Running would be cowardly,” Charlotte sniffed.

“And the other doesn’t sound very heroic, either, put that way,” Cara chided lightly.

Holt lifted his eyebrows. “That’s because you’re not a man, thank the sweet Lord.” That won him a warm smile and the glint of a promise from his wife’s big, worshipful eyes. He smirked at Ryan. “Coward or hero? Your choice, little brother.”

“Maybe because you’re so experienced, you should do it,” Ryan snapped.

Cara waved a hand to let them know she would be making that decision. “Uh. No.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a smugly grinning Holt behind her.

Ty cupped his hands behind his head and looked at Charlotte, who snorted and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

Ty turned to Ryan. “Sorry, pal. It’s you or Hap.”

“You took her to sunrise service,” Hap grated out.

Rolling his eyes, Ryan pushed up to his feet, snagged his coat from the back of his chair and tossed it on. Obviously, he would get no peace until he’d done what they wanted. Why had he wanted their advice, anyway?

“Just for that,” he scolded, wagging his finger between his brother and brother-in-law, “you two can set the table without my help.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jefford, sir,” Tyler quipped, winking at Holt. “He does love that mantle of authority, doesn’t he?” Holt chuckled.

Ace put back his head and laughed, not having the least idea what might be funny.

Ryan didn’t dignify their laughter with a reply, but it was clear that no one here gave one instant’s consideration to his discomfort. Didn’t they realize that a small-town assistant principal and coach lived in a fishbowl? He couldn’t be caught in the middle of a public family dispute—even if it wasn’t his family.

“I’ll get an extra place setting,” Charlotte announced as Ryan turned toward the front room, adjusting his collar. “Way this family’s growing,” she went on, “we’re going to have to buy more china soon.”

Shaking his head, Ryan gathered up the paisley shawl and went out into the lobby, pulling the door closed behind him. Once alone, however, he paused to close his eyes and send up a quick prayer. He felt mixed emotions—guilt about his reluctance to face Ivy, yet a growing excitement at seeing her again.

Lord, I’ve always liked Ivy, and I can’t help feeling sorry for her. I’ll help her if I can, but please don’t let me get sucked into something that I have no business getting involved in. I saw the hurt on her face and felt the sting of Olie’s words, and I know that she needs comfort and support. I want to be her friend, I really do. And yes, I have to admit she’s beautiful. Just show me how to help her without… He bowed his head a little lower, suddenly feeling chastised, and went on. Just show me how to do it in a way that honors You. Amen.

Couldn’t go wrong with that, he told himself, patting his pocket to be sure the key hadn’t gone missing and heading for Ivy’s room.

This had to stop, Ivy told herself, sighing. She’d put it out of her mind for fifteen or twenty minutes, then she’d think of the look of contempt on her father’s face, of the acid tone of his voice, and the pain would return. Feeling so hurt was stupid, because she’d expected him to react as he had. She wouldn’t have believed it if he’d acted any other way. Still, it felt as if her heart had been cut out and handed to her on a platter, and all she seemed able to do, besides cry, was pray for strength.

Squaring her shoulders, she faced her image in the mirror over the dresser and took several deep breaths. She was in the midst of giving herself a stern, mental talking-to when the telephone beside the bed rang.

She’d noticed as soon as she’d arrived that her cell phone didn’t have reception, and she hadn’t made any calls from the room, so she couldn’t imagine who besides her sister would be calling her. It wouldn’t have been difficult, of course, for anyone who knew that she had taken a room at Heavenly Arms to reach her. Warily, she walked across the industrial-style carpeting and lifted the old-fashioned, corded receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Rose.”