Читать книгу An Old-Fashioned Love - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 8

“They’re really not such bad boys,” Wyatt said as they walked toward her car. “They probably didn’t realize they were doing anything wrong in the beginning, then later they were afraid to admit they’d done it. They thought the place was abandoned, you know.”

“And so it was,” Traci admitted. “My grandfather left the shop to me when he died three years ago, but I was living in Dallas then. My grandmother didn’t feel she could run the business alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, so we just closed it up and let it sit.”

“And?” he prompted.

They had reached her car, a sleek, black, luxury model she really ought to get rid of in order to spare herself the monthly payments, but she wouldn’t, except as a last resort. She opened the door and turned to face him.

“And I decided I’d be happier in Duncan running Grandpa’s ice-cream shop than running the rat race in Dallas,” she said.

He lifted a skeptical brow, blue eyes twinkling. “That’s it? You just got tired of the big city and the high-powered career, so you ditched it for an icecream shop in Duncan, Oklahoma?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “The highpowered career’ was a rather demanding job as a legal secretary, and I never was really happy in the big city. My parents moved me there when I was in high school, but this has always been home to me. What about you, Lieutenant Colonel Gilley? What brought you here?”

He shrugged. “My boys were born here. I was stationed at Fort Sill then. We decided to live here because my wife—my ex-wife—was developing an aversion to anything military, including me.” He smiled when he said that, but Traci couldn’t help noticing the sadness that darkened his blue eyes. He seemed to sense her thoughts, for he suddenly switched his gaze to the boys, tussling together in the distance as they ran across the parking lot. “It seemed like a nice town, a good place to raise a couple of kids,” he said, “so when I retired last year, we moved back.”

She nodded, pretending to understand, when in truth, any number of questions were on the tip of her tongue. She settled on the one that seemed the most innocuous. “Aren’t you awfully young to be retired?”

He laughed then. “Not really. I went in right out of college. I retired last year with twenty years of service. That makes me forty-one, in case you’re wondering.”

“I was,” she admitted. “You seem younger.”

He grinned. “I always knew immaturity would prove worthwhile at some point in my life.”

She smiled. “I doubt that’s the reason. Perhaps your boys keep you young.”

“No way.” He shook his head emphatically. “Believe me, those two scamps have aged me dramatically in the last year or so. I guess we’re still adjusting. We didn’t spend much time together before they came to live with me. My career separated me from them for long periods, then when they were six, their mother and I divorced, so we didn’t even live together when I could be with them. Then a little over a year ago, she decided she’d done her share of the parenting, so she dropped them off with me and headed for Paris.”

“Paris, France?”

He nodded. “Marie is French. I met her when I was stationed in Europe.”

Traci didn’t know what to say. On one hand, she was appalled that a mother would seemingly abandon her young sons to a father they hardly knew. On the other hand, she didn’t want to judge the woman wrongly. She could have had very good reasons for turning her sons over to their father, and who was to say that it wasn’t for the best of everyone involved? Wyatt himself didn’t even sound particularly judgmental. True, his words had seemed condemnatory, but he had delivered them in a light, uninflected voice, almost as if she’d dropped them off on her way to the grocery store! Could he really be that casual about it? she wondered. Remembering how hotly he had defended his sons when she’d first approached him about what they’d done at the shop, she didn’t think his feelings toward his boys were at all casual. But then, she might be reading more into it than she ought to. Wyatt Gilley was nearly a total stranger to her, after all. That thought had her searching for a polite means by which to extricate herself from what had become an embarrassingly personal conversation. She took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll…settle into…the situation soon,” she managed before stepping behind her opened car door. “Thank you again for the way you resolved the suit. I—I’m sorry it came to that.”

He shook his head, shrugging. “My fault. I should have listened when you first tried to tell me what they’d done.”

She opened her mouth, thought better of what she was about to say, then closed it again only to smile weakly. “It’s all worked out now. That’s what counts.”

“You’re generous to say so.”

“Not really,” she refuted quickly. “I’m just happy I’ll be able to get my shop open after all. It was looking rather bleak for a while.”

“My fault again.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

He chuckled, a teasing gleam to his eye. “I know.”

For some reason she felt a thrill pulse through her at that. What was it about this man that did that to her? Suddenly she wasn’t certain she wanted to know. “I—I have to—to go,” she stammered, pushing out her hand. “My grandmother is expecting me.”

He clasped her hand in his own large, very hot one, and pumped her arm a few times. “I’ll see you soon, Miss Temple,” he said. “’Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

She got in the car and closed the door. It was broiling hot in there, but she was too aware of Wyatt Gilley, standing on the other side of the door, to open it again. The month of May was still new, and the weather was sparkling, perfect, but this black car seemed to absorb the bright sunshine and hold it. The price one paid for a bit of flash, she mused distractedly, digging in her purse for the keys. She found them, fitted them into the ignition and started the engine, immediately flipping on the air-conditioning before engaging the transmission and backing out of the parking space. Through it all, Wyatt Gilley just stood there smiling. He was there still when she glanced in her rearview mirror before turning out into the street. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit how much that pleased her, but it disturbed her even more.

Wyatt Gilley was not a friend. Perhaps he was not the adversary she had previously thought him to be, but that did not make him a friend. Neither, she told herself firmly, did that make him a prospective romantic interest, not that she knew, really, what would. She labored under the conviction that when she met the right man she would just somehow know. She imagined that this knowing would bring her a great sense of peace, a kind of settling of her soul, a quiet, steady joy. She based these assumptions on the very thing everyone else did: secondhand experience. That is, the behavior, manner and countenance, as observed by herself, of the happily coupled individuals of her acquaintance, most prominently, her parents and grandparents. Nothing about Wyatt Gilley could be equated to her father or grandfather. Nothing about Gilley inspired in her even a pretension of the serenity in which her mother and grandmother so obviously dwelled, let alone inspired joy. It was quite the opposite, in fact. He disturbed her, agitated her, set her nerves on edge and her senses reeling. He was, somehow, dangerous.

And so that was that. Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt Gilley, retired, undoubtedly had certain virtues, but all in all he was just one more thing to be endured, an added bit of discomfort, a puzzle without an answer. Eventually the relationship, such as it was, would run its course and be severed, forgotten. That being the case, she could simply put him out of her mind, at least in theory. In practice, it might not be so easy. After all, she would have to explain to her grandmother what had happened in court. Also, she ought to call the reverend and let him know how everything had turned out.

Now there was a fine man. No one would have to drag him into court in order to open his eyes to the truth. In fact, the Reverend Bolton Charles was everything a woman like her could want. Tall, dark and handsome, he was also sensitive and gentle and caring, and he possessed a deep spirituality with which she could well identify. It was obvious in the way he spoke of her that he had loved his late wife very much, and that made him all the more attractive. Yet, despite her grandmother’s obvious attempts at matchmaking, Traci could not quite see herself forming a romantic attachment to Bolton Charles. How was it that she could see such an attachment forming between Wyatt Gilley and herself?

But no, that was nonsense. Wyatt Gilley was not at all the sort of man who would suit her. Not at all. And she mustn’t allow herself to think otherwise. Once more she pushed him firmly out of mind, only to find herself having to do so time and time again.

The Reverend Bolton Charles smiled at her over the rim of his tea glass. “Sounds as if everything’s finally beginning to work out.”

She nodded. “I really didn’t even expect him to show up in court, so you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when he admitted full liability.”

Bolton shrugged, the knit fabric of his polo shirt pulling taut over his shoulders. “It’s easy to misjudge someone in an emotional situation.”

“He was just so certain that his kids were telling him the truth, and to be fair, they’re gifted little actors. They almost convinced me, and I caught them at it!”

Bolton chuckled. “Sounds like quite a pair.”

Traci sighed. “Too much for me, I’m afraid. Frankly, I’m not sure having them around is such a good idea. I mean, they’re supposed to be learning a lesson, but I’m just not certain that I’m the one to be teaching it to them. I’m best with little kids, you know, infants and creepers.”

Bolton reached across the table in her grandmother’s kitchen and covered her hand lightly with his. “You’ll do fine,” he said reassuringly. “Just be firm from the outset, and be honest about what you expect of them. Don’t pretend that they can do any and everything. Kids know they have limitations, and they can smell pretense a mile away. No one can trust deceit, even if its well-meaning. Remember that you’re the adult. You’re the one in charge.”

“I know that, but will they?” she worried aloud.

“Don’t give them an option. Believe me, in the long run everyone will be happier that way. Kids aren’t comfortable when adults abdicate their control. They may resent being told what to do—that’s normal and part of developing independence—but inside they know they aren’t capable of making all the decisions. They need the security of adult supervision, whether they realize it or not.”

Traci smiled at her handsome friend thoughtfully. “You really ought to have children of your own, you know.”

A shadow passed briefly over his face. “I hope to.”

Traci could have bitten her tongue off. How could she have been so thoughtless? She had been told that after years of hoping, Bolton’s late wife had finally believed herself pregnant, only to discover that her symptoms were those of cancer. With her had died their hope of having a child of their own. She turned her hand over beneath his and squeezed his palm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It was a compliment. I took it as such, anyway.”

“It was meant as one.”

“Well, then, for pity’s sake, don’t apologize,” he declared, laughing. “Even a minister’s ego occasionally needs nurturing, you know.”

Traci laughed at that. Bolton Charles was the least egocentric man she’d ever known. Wyatt Gilley, now there was a man with an ego. It was obvious in the pride with which he held himself, the way he dressed and moved. What had it cost him to admit his liability in open court? She couldn’t help admiring him for doing the right thing, even if he had come to it rather late. She wondered if his ego had taken a beating when his wife had divorced him. Did he still love her perhaps? Might he take her back if she wanted him to, put his family back together again?

“Traci?”

“Hm?” She looked up into Bolton’s smiling eyes.

“You got lost for a moment there.”

Lost? Thinking about Wyatt Gilley, of all things! She felt color heat her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? “Was I? I, ah, was just wondering if it wasn’t about time to start dinner. You’ll stay and join us, won’t you?”

He released his hold on her hand and’ leaned back in his chair, a knowing little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I never turn down a homecooked meal,” he said good-naturedly, “or the company of a beautiful woman.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, relieved to hear the teasing tone of his voice, and quipped, “I’ll tell Grandmother you said that. She’ll be so thrilled.”

They both laughed at that, having admitted some time ago that an obvious attempt at matchmaking had brought them together. Traci could only wonder why it wasn’t working.

Traci dropped her gloves, folded her arms and succumbed to an open stare. Why was she surprised? Wyatt Gilley was exactly the sort of man to drive a sky blue convertible sports car, when any other single parent of twins would have opted for a small, sensible station wagon. She wondered if all three could get in it with the top up and if the boys didn’t mind being squished and belted into a single seat. Well, it wasn’t any of her concern. She walked out onto the narrow front deck that essentially served as a doorstep and waited for them to unload and crunch across the gravel parking area to her. She could not resist taking a good look at Wyatt Gilley, though her throat constricted when she did.

He wore a royal blue T-shirt tucked into the waistband of soft, faded jeans, a narrow canvas belt trimmed with brown leather and expensive brown leather athletic shoes without socks. Each item seemed to have an intimate familiarity with his body, as if from long acquaintance, and yet at the same time every article looked spanking new. As he moved closer, he slid off his sunglasses, and even from a distance those blue eyes leaped out at her, shockingly vivid. Her pulse quickened. She immediately averted her gaze.

“Here we are,” Wyatt called, his smile audible. “Just as promised.”

Traci nodded and forced an impersonal smile onto her face. Her remarks she addressed to the boys, her voice studiously polite. “Hello, boys. Ready to work? A bunch of litter has accumulated around the perimeter of the building. You’ll find a couple of trash bags on the big deck. Pick up everything but the broken glass. I don’t want you cutting yourselves. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

Neither boy seemed particularly inspired by the assigned job, but they went off to do it with a minimum of grumbling and only a few pained looks. After they’d rounded the corner of the building, she addressed their father, her gaze darting around his face without managing to land anywhere. “You don’t need to hang around. The carpentry work can’t begin until the new lumber is delivered.”

“That reminds me,” he said, stepping up onto the deck with her. “The lumber the boys took has been cut into odd lengths, but it might be serviceable. Should I bring it over?”

Instinctively, Traci moved away and tried to think. Odd lengths. Floorboards to be replaced both inside and out, shelves to be built, a portion of cabinet to be framed in, the new doorway to be cased. She tried to implement the instructions given her by her grandfather over and over again during the first nineteen years of her life. She tried to see in her mind exactly what had to be done, step-by-step, but she kept getting derailed by the vision of Wyatt Gilley performing those steps. She shook her head to clear it, realized what he must think and decided to let it stand at that. “No, don’t bring it here,” she said. “You keep it. You’ve paid for it, after all, and I’ve already reordered, but thank you, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am busy.”

She started to turn into the open doorway at her back, but Wyatt stopped her with a hand clamped down on the forearm folded across her middle. A strange kind of heat flashed up both arms and across her shoulders and down into her chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gone husky. “Is there a problem? I’d like to help.”

Her own voice felt as if it had to be forced up out of her chest, past her overinflated lungs and around an enormous lump in her throat. “N-no!” The word seemed to free her breath, which came rushing out behind it. A deep draught of fresh air helped to clear her head a bit. “I—I mean, there’s nothing wrong. Wh-what could be wrong? I’m going to get my shop opened, thanks to you.” As she spoke, she managed to extricate herself from his touch by dropping her arms to her sides.

For a long moment his eyes plumbed hers, reaching, it seemed, for the inner recesses of her mind. She kept very still, so still that her heart seemed to have ceased beating. She dared not blink. She dared not think, lest he see her thoughts and read them. Finally she felt him withdraw, slowly, gently, and her heart started to beat again in careful, even measures. A slight smile lifted the corners of his finely sculpted mouth.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said apologetically.

She hoped he did not recognize the relief behind her nod. “You can pick up the boys in about an hour and a half, if that’s all right.”

He slid the sunglasses onto his face. “See you later, then.”

She managed a smile. “Later.”

He turned and stepped down onto the gravel. Only after he’d gotten into the car and driven away did she allow herself to slump against the doorjamb. She was trembling. How did he do that? What was it about him that made her every nerve ending hypersensitive? Questions without answers. She suspected that it would always be questions without answers where Wyatt Gilley was concerned.

Traci straightened and went inside. Bending, she retrieved her heavy leather gloves and slipped them on. They were too big, but a proper size was not to be found, and she absolutely must have protection as she worked the broken shards of glass from the window frame. Flexing her fingers inside their stiff leather casings, she went back to what she had been doing when she’d heard the Gilleys’ car turn onto the gravel parking lot. She walked to the west window, being careful not to step into one of the open spaces in the plank floor. She’d nearly broken a leg the first time she’d come here after the floorboards had been taken. Having seen the degree of destruction, she had sat down and cried angry tears, during which she had begun to pray for guidance.

She had been so certain that it had been within God’s will for her to return home to Duncan. It was not a decision she had made lightly or without prayer and counsel. But she’d begun to rethink the moment she’d seen the condition that the shop was in, and its disappearing piece by piece right before her very eyes. Confused and frustrated, she’d gone back to God. Had she misunderstood? Had she blinded herself to God’s will with her own selfish desires? If not, why would He allow someone to steal the very floor from beneath her feet? And what, oh what, was she going to do now?

She had begun to recall verses of Scripture.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God

All things work to the good of them that love the Lord and are called according to His purpose.

And finally: Let him who steals steal no more…

She had decided right then that she wasn’t going to give up, not yet. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, after all. Why worry when work could remedy the situation? Oh, she hadn’t been foolish enough to think she could do it all on her own, but she could exercise her faith as well as her brain and muscles. The first step, it had seemed to her, was to catch the culprits, as it turned out. A quick canvas of the neighborhood, which was primarily residential, had gained her an adequate description of the two boys stripping and demolishing the place, but no one could tell her their names. So she had spent two miserable days and nights camped out here before the brazen scamps had come to help themselves to the landscaping timbers that marked off the small parking lot.

Without doubt, she had terrified them with her sudden, stern appearance. When she’d asked what in blue blazes they thought they were doing, they’d looked at each other with undisguised apprehension, and then as if on cue, they’d turned tail and run. She had been breathless, exhausted and more than a little put out when she’d caught the first one; the other had loyally come back to stand with him. They had refused at first to tell her their names, but when she’d threatened to simply haul them down to the police and let them handle it, Max had blurted out the information, much to his brother’s chagrin. After that, they’d said hardly another word, despite her attempts to discover why they’d done what they had. Finally she’d let them go, saying she would be along shortly to speak to their parents. At that point, one of them—and she didn’t know which one—had stuck his tongue out at her and led the escape. Perhaps she should have foreseen what was to come, but she hadn’t.

Later, when she’d gone to the Gilley home to discuss the situation with a responsible adult, and the twins had pretended to be shocked by her accusations, she had been stunned. The most shocking thing of all had been the picture of innocence they had presented. She had almost believed them herself, until she’d seen the glint of satisfaction in the eyes of the one with the tiny scar in his eyebrow. Unless she was mistaken, that was Rex, but she couldn’t be certain. She had been a bit unnerved when Gilley had made the introductions at the courthouse. She was a bit unnerved now. Otherwise she’d be doing something besides staring out the window at the street. Oh, well, the worst was behind her. God had answered her prayers in a most unexpected manner. Who would have expected Wyatt Gilley to be the instrument. They say that God works in mysterious ways.

Traci shook herself out of her reverie again and began to carefully work a triangular piece of glass rom the bottom of the window frame. Having freed it, she dropped it into a bucket at her feet and began working out another piece. It broke off at the edge of the casing, requiring her to dig out the remainder with a screwdriver. That tiny sliver of glass shattered as she pried at it, spewing minuscule shards at her. She jerked back, brushing at her face and hair with her gloved hand. Great. She was going to put out an eye at this rate, but she couldn’t just quit. She had to get this done. The glazier was coming Monday, and he had given her a reduced rate because she had promised to remove the broken glass herself. Maybe if she put her left hand over the top of the channel in the casing and pried blindly with her right, she could get that last chunk free without doing damage to herself. She attempted that maneuver, only to pop the glass chunk out, feel it hit her palm, and have it drop right back into the channel. Drat. She’d have to bring some tweezers down here or maybe a vacuum. Meanwhile, she’d work on one of the larger pieces again and try very diligently not to break it.

She grasped the edges of a corner piece and began gently pulling, but to no avail. This called for yet another plan of attack. Frustrated, she backed off to think. At some point she became aware of laughter. Automatically her attention focused on the voices coming to her from outside.

“Gotcha!”

“Did not!”

“You’re it!”

“Uh-uh. You have to peg me solid first!”

“I’ll peg you then, birdbrain. How’s this?”

“Ow! My turn! Coward! I didn’t run away.”

“You can’t hit me. Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah.”

“I’ll break your head, mouth-off!”

Suddenly she knew she’d better get out there before one of them hurt the other. She burst out onto the front deck just in time to see one of them sail a sizable piece of gravel at the other. She gasped, panicked, then Bolton Charles’s astute advice from the evening before came to her.

“Be firm,” he had said, “and be honest. You’re the adult, so you’re the one in charge. Kids aren’t comfortable when adults abdicate their control, and no one can trust deceit.”

Firm it was then. She took a deep breath, saying sharply, “Stop that this minute!”

To her relief, both froze, then subsided into sulks. “We didn’t do anything.”

“You were throwing rocks at each other!”

“It was just a game.”

“A very dangerous game,” she insisted. “Why aren’t you working? You’re supposed to be picking up trash.”

“We picked up some!”

She narrowed her eyes at them, determined to be stern. “Show me.”

Reluctantly they walked to the edge of the large, side deck, their steps dragging. One of them bent and picked up a large plastic trash bag. If it contained anything, it wasn’t apparent. He handed it to his twin, who thrust it at her in turn. She took it, opened it and looked inside. The bag contained perhaps half a dozen pieces of paper of various sizes, two rusty nails, an empty soft drink bottle and a molted feather. She thrust it back at them. “That’s hardly proof of a productive afternoon. Now get busy, both of you.”

A mulish little chin went up, and above it a wide, girlishly pink mouth set in a stubborn line. “You can’t make us do anything.”

The speaker was Rex—if Rex was the one with the scar in his eyebrow. She brought her hands to her hips and glared down at him.

“Oh, no? Let’s just ask your father about that, shall we?”

The mutinous gleam in ice blue eyes died down a bit. “The judge said you couldn’t export us.”

“Exploit. The judge said I couldn’t exploit you. That means I cannot profit by your labor without suitable compensation, force you to do anything dangerous or work you more than fifteen hours a week or three hours a day. One, you haven’t been here even one hour yet. Two, I don’t think picking up litter can be deemed dangerous. Three, you’re here because you’ve already cost me plenty, not to mention the business I’m losing because I couldn’t open when I planned. In other words, you owe me, buster. Now get busy.”

Defeat turned down the corners of his mouth. He grumbled something about “the hag” but bent and scooped up a smashed paper cup, dumping it into the bag. His brother joined him, but without the grumbling. Satisfied, Traci went back inside and tackled the broken window again.

She finally removed the corner piece by carefully working her screwdriver around the edge of the glass buried in the casing, loosening it. With the treacherous piece safely deposited in the bucket, she took a moment to check on the boys. She walked to the door that opened out onto the side deck and looked around. Nothing. Suspicious, she paused to listen. Again, nothing. “Boys?” she called. “Rex? Max?”

Shaking her head, she walked out onto the deck, careful to avoid the broken and missing slats. She reached the edge before she heard the stifled giggles. So that was their game. Calmly she walked down the shallow steps, around the corner of the building and across the grass to the tiny shed resting upon skids at the back of the shop. The snickering was clearly audible at this point. She listened a moment, decided, then bent at the waist, bringing her head within inches of the ground. They were lying on their stomachs between the skids beneath the shed.

“Hey, have you guys found that snake I saw go under there?”

They practically choked her with the dust they raised getting out. She could not keep a straight face, and that gave her away.

“Very funny!” Rex cried—provided that was Rex.

“Did you really see a snake go under there?” asked the other.

“Yes, I really saw a snake go under there,” she answered, “once when I was a teenager.”

“That’s crummy!” insisted the one with the scar.

“Crummier than hiding to avoid doing what you’re supposed to?”

He made no answer to that, just challenged her with a belligerent glare. The other one had the grace to look vaguely ashamed.

“Look,” she said, laying it on the line, “I didn’t ask you two to vandalize my place. I didn’t even ask for your help in putting it to rights. You got here all on your own, but now that you are here, it’s up to me to teach you a very valuable lesson. So get with it. I want this whole place cleaned up by the time your father gets back here. No more fooling around. Understand?”

One of them nodded. Max, she assumed.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” she warned, turning away. She could hear them softly arguing as she went inside, but a quick check moments later told her that they were at least making an effort to appear to be working. She went back to her own work with a smile. Firmness and honesty. Chalk up another one for the Reverend Bolton Charles, not that it was going to be easy by any means. She wouldn’t fool herself about that. She expected to be tested and tried at every turn, but it was a small price to pay for getting the shop open at last, and if she could help those two scamps in the process…Well, she couldn’t ask for much more. Now if only she didn’t have the disturbing Wyatt Gilley to thank for it. But, no, she wouldn’t think of him. She simply wouldn’t.