Читать книгу Family Ties: Family Ties / Promise Of Grace - Bonnie Winn K. - Страница 13

Two days later, Flynn pushed aside the sage-green sheers that covered the tall conservatory windows. Tapestry drapes that puddled beyond the woodwork onto the floor were tied back with thick, silky tassels. It seemed Cindy left no detail unattended. Two pairs of aged leather wing chairs were grouped beside a small fireplace. And a Georgian library table served as a desk, covered by neat stacks of his work papers.

Like the rest of the house, this room was cozy. He was no decorator, but the furnishings she chose reminded him of older homes he’d visited in England and France. Even the landscapes and botanical prints looked as though they could be European in origin.

It was restful, snug and casual, yet he itched with discomfort. He glanced down at the candy bowl filled with sunflower and pumpkin seeds. The house and the temporary office suited him no better than the birdseed she called food.

From the window he could see the swish of a weeping willow in the gentle breeze. And across the street, an elderly gentleman handled his roses with the care usually reserved for rare orchids.

A knock, so quiet it barely penetrated the thick mahogany door, reached him. He turned. “Come in.”

Cindy, looking somewhat like a wary redheaded comet, poked her head in. “Do you need anything?”

Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know what it would be.”

“Enough paper? A snack? Maybe some coffee?”

Although he appreciated her concern, he’d never been comfortable accepting help. “Cindy, I’m not accustomed to having someone make all my decisions for me.”

She blanched for a moment. “I didn’t realize an offer of coffee constituted interfering.”

Flynn drew one hand back across his hair. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Her green eyes still looked stormy. “Then what?”

He gestured around the room, overwhelmed and embarrassed by her generosity. “This. Everything. I didn’t ask for an office, but you produced one anyway. Even after I told you I didn’t want it.”

Cindy’s fingers curled around the edge of the door. “You don’t have to use it,” she replied evenly. “After all, you’ve rented another office. If you don’t mind moving in there while they’re renovating, I certainly don’t.”

The pull and tug vibrated between them.

Suddenly half a dozen small footsteps thudded across the floor. “Cinny! Daddy!”

As the triplets approached, Cindy turned, ending the immediate need for resolution. She knelt as the girls reached her. “Why don’t we go swing in the backyard? Let Daddy work.”

“You’ve been taking care of the girls all day. Why don’t I take them outside?”

“I want Cinny!” Beth retorted.

Cindy glanced between Flynn and his daughters. “If your daddy helps you swing, I could set the table in the backyard and we could have supper there.”

“Supper?” Mandy asked.

“Veggie burgers,” Cindy replied. “They’re yummy.”

Flynn didn’t agree, but also didn’t want to snap her olive branch in half.

“Yummy,” Alice repeated.

He glanced at his daughters, more content in the last week than the last year. For that he could eat veggie burgers and granola. He could also somehow find a compromise with Cindy.

“And I’m about done with work for today,” he added, finding a second note of accord.

“Wanna make yummies,” Alice was requesting.

Cindy ran gentle fingers through her blond curls. “I can always use a good helper.”

“Good helper me,” Alice agreed.

“So you are.”

“Wanna swing with Daddy,” Beth stated more assertively.

“Me, too,” Mandy spoke up.

Flynn walked toward them, stretching his hands out toward the girls.

Beth and Mandy readily placed their small hands within his. Seeing the unsettled look that remained on Cindy’s face, Flynn relented. “Veggie burgers, huh? I don’t suppose we could have French fries with those?”

Unexpectedly her lips twitched. “To cancel out the healthy effect of the meal’s veggie portion?”

“Something like that,” he agreed. “I’m more a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”

Her smile widened. “Is that why you pick all the sprouts out of the salad?”

He winced. “I thought I was a touch more subtle.”

“Not especially.”

Surprise melted away the last of his reserve. “No kind demur?”

“No. That would have been someone else. Not me.”

Julia, he knew. Cindy wouldn’t say it in front of the girls, but it was true. Julia had always smoothed over any potential bump that could have put a ripple in any conversation. It had been the tone of their entire relationship.

Flynn walked outside with his daughters, losing himself for the moment beneath the cover of towering oaks and ivy-covered lattice work. The yard smelled of honeysuckle vines that poked fragrant blooms through the cracks of the weathered fence.

The swing set that sat on the longish grass was old, not new and shiny. But it was so sturdy, it could hold eight children; now it only needed to support his two small daughters.

Glancing back toward the house, Flynn wondered what it was about his sister-in-law that commanded such affection from his children. Alice had always clung the closest to him, never wanting to be separated. Beth might toddle off on her own, Mandy sometimes only a few feet behind. But not Alice. She was Daddy’s girl.

Only, now she seemed to be Cindy’s girl.

Inside, Cindy allowed Alice to pat and roll the burgers into shape. They were beginning to resemble small boulders.

“A Flintstones supper, Alice? Good job.” After washing the child’s hands, Cindy led her to the ancient French doors that opened to the backyard. “Why don’t you go swing for a while with Beth and Mandy?”

Happy to be with both Cindy and her father, Alice scampered contentedly away. Watching her, Cindy couldn’t help but wonder if all memories of Julia were fading from their young minds. For a moment she felt a stab of longing for her deceased sister, one more poignant than she’d felt since her untimely death. Even now, Cindy railed against the unfairness.

Colon cancer had struck silently, without warning. And Julia, in typical fashion, had persisted in acting as though nothing could go wrong with her perfect life, her perfect family. Ignoring the final, irreversible symptoms, she had died within six weeks of the diagnosis.

Julia’s little family was adrift. In Cindy’s backyard. Peering out the large windows, she saw how gentle Flynn was with his daughters. It was a side he showed only with them. Cindy couldn’t even remember seeing him treat Julia with the same tenderness. His manner toward Julia had always been filled with deep respect and devotion, but not tenderness. It was as though he’d placed Julia on a pedestal—one her sister had relished. Suddenly she wondered why.

The girls’ giggles floated through the open French doors. The low murmur of Flynn’s voice accompanied the happy sound. Even though she couldn’t understand the walls he constructed or the reasons for them, Cindy could see the joy he brought out in the girls. Although reluctant to cease her uncensored view, she gathered the charcoal lighter and matches.

Once outside, Flynn spotted her as she approached the grill. “I’ll start the fire,” he offered.

“Great. My least favorite part of eating outside.” She handed him the supplies, checking quickly to see that the girls were still safe.

Within a few minutes Flynn had a good fire going. Cindy rounded up condiments and place settings. However, when she brought out the plate containing the misshapen burgers, he raised his brows.

“Pretend we’re in Bedrock,” she told him breezily.

“I’m still getting fries, right?”

She nodded.

“Fine. We can be in Oz then for all I care.”

It was so out of character for Flynn that she paused. Musing, she returned to the kitchen to prepare his French fries.

By the time she brought them to the table, Flynn had finished grilling the burgers. The girls ran from the swings, their short legs pumping with the effort.

Once they were seated, and their burgers assembled, Flynn and Cindy concentrated on their own plates.

He stared at his burger with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Do you have something against regular food?”

“Regular food?” she repeated. “As in cholesterol-clogging, energy-draining junk food?”

He took a hefty portion of French fries. “Absolutely.” Tasting one, his expression changed. “Are these made some…uh…special way?”

“They’re made from potatoes and they’re fried,” she replied enigmatically.

“In what?”

“Olive and canola oil,” she admitted.

He sighed. “Does everything you cook have to be so…healthy?”

She took a moment’s pity on him. “We do have a fast-food joint in town. You can always get a fix there.”

He picked up another fry, his words hesitant. “You’ve been doing all the cooking and I don’t sound very grateful.”

Cindy felt the saddening, one that came from a place she could never quite conquer. “It’s not what you’re used to.” Smiling to hide the pain, she glanced down at the simple dinner. “None of it. Me, this house, the food you think suits birds and squirrels better than people. You probably feel as though you’ve landed on another planet.”

He glanced at the girls, but they were more interested in spearing pickles than the adult conversation. “It is different,” he finally admitted. “But I needed a change. And the girls wanted Aunt Cinny.”

Caution slid past logic. “They’d have forgotten me in time.”

He glanced up, catching her eyes.

“Yes,” she replied to the unspoken question there. “Like they’re forgetting much of the past year.”

In the quiet, the chirp of early-evening crickets mingled with the girls’ random giggles and murmurs.

“Are you already tired of us?” he questioned in a low tone that didn’t carry down the table.

She could say so much, so very much. Her gaze flew to the girls, cheerfully smearing Cindy’s homemade mayonnaise on the table. Correction, she couldn’t say anything at all. “No. It’s great having the girls here.” She paused. “And you, of course. The house is full of noise and smiles and laughter. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” She wouldn’t, Cindy realized, despite the heartache. It wasn’t simply an empty assurance for Flynn.

“Veggie burgers are probably good for us,” he offered finally.

Cindy’s laugh spilled between them. “Then you’ll love the carob-chip cookies.”

“I don’t suppose you have any genuine chocolate in the house.”

She tried to resist the pull of his eyes. “Well, I’m not a fanatic!”

“So you can be tempted?”

Oh, so tempted. She scrambled for a reasonable reply. “I eat the way I do because I like it, not to prove a point.”

“Do you ever eat out?”

“Of course. I’m willing to try most anything.”

His expression was reflective.

When he didn’t reply, she prodded him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing really. Just that Julia never wanted to try anything new.”

Of course not. Steady, dependable Julia never made Flynn grimace in displeased surprise. “That must have been a comfort.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

His reply took away her words, her desire to keep the conversation flowing. She was so everything Julia wasn’t. So everything Flynn despised.

The following day Flynn examined the progress on the office space he had rented. The renovations weren’t coming along as quickly as he’d hoped. Although they were only weeks from completion, he wished it were mere days. He needed to get his office out of Cindy’s house.

Never having had to wrestle with a woman over the issue of control, he found himself uncertain how to deal with Cindy.

Julia had never questioned his opinions, in fact preferring to let him assume all the responsibility and worry of their decisions. It had become their custom for him to decide and for her to comply. It irritated him that Cindy had him wondering if that had always been for the best.

A knock sounded on the outer door. “Hello, anyone here?” a man called out.

“In here,” Flynn responded, rounding the corner.

A tall, dark-haired man approached, extending his hand. “I’m Michael Carlson.”

“Flynn Mallory,” he responded automatically.

“Katherine’s Carlson’s husband,” the man continued.

Flynn searched his memory.

But Michael began to grin. “I see that my wife and her friend didn’t tell you about this visit.”

Flynn shook his head.

“Katherine and Cindy are friends.”

“Oh, the pastor,” Flynn remembered.

Michael’s grin spread. “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first, too.”

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay. Most people aren’t used to women ministers. Actually, Cindy asked me if I could stop by, take a look at your renovations. She said your contractor’s behind on the job.”

“Oh.” Flynn issued the solitary word.

“I see she didn’t tell you. Listen, if you’d rather call someone else, fine by me.”

“I need to get this place operational as soon as possible. But you’ve probably got a lot of important jobs to be overseeing rather than looking at this dinky office.”

Michael shook his head. “I work on all kinds of jobs. I do a lot of remodeling as well as building stores, offices, the new headquarters for Adair Petroleum. And like I said, Cindy asked.”

“And that’s all it took?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Flynn couldn’t hide his surprise. “Guess things work differently in a small town than a place like Houston.”

“I imagine so. All I’ve known are small towns. I didn’t grow up in Rosewood, but a place pretty close in size.” Michael looked around at the partially demolished space. “So, what’s this going to be?”

Flynn smiled. “Software Development.”

Michael nodded. “And you can run that kind of business from anywhere. Rosewood’s as perfect as Silicon Valley.”

Flynn studied the other man with new respect. “My thoughts exactly.”

“You’ve picked a good town, lots of good people here.”

“That’s what Cindy’s been telling me.”

Michael studied him. “But you’re not sure yet. That’s okay. I don’t judge an orange by its peel, either. Get to know us first.”

Flynn wasn’t accustomed to this much directness, but it struck a chord. “Good advice.”

Michael’s gaze roamed around the building. “Now, let’s see if you like the rest of it.”

Hours later, Flynn headed back to Cindy’s house. Michael Carlson had carefully examined the office structure. Then he’d offered to have a word with the contractor Flynn had hired. But Flynn wasn’t comfortable accepting help from strangers. Or friends for that matter.

Even though he hadn’t appreciated Cindy’s interference, Flynn liked Michael. Instinctively Flynn believed he was honest, capable.

Still, that brought him round to why Cindy had asked Michael to stop by. Why she felt a need for control, one he hated to admit equalled his own.

Entering the house, he didn’t hear anyone; in fact it seemed deadly still. The panic that had struck him once as a child and never fully disappeared now crawled into his throat.

His walk a near run, he traveled through the front rooms, finally jogging into the kitchen. He was ready to turn back and tear up the stairs, when he heard the hum of voices from the backyard. The French doors were closed. Only one kitchen window was slightly ajar, dimming the sounds.

Pulling open the doors, he searched for and saw his daughters. Relieved, he watched for a moment as they played with three children he hadn’t seen before.

And in the background Cindy’s distinctive, upbeat voice blended with that of another woman’s. Flynn took a few steps forward.

It was bright in the yard, the warming spring sunshine pushing past overhanging branches, muted only by the slats of the faded white lattice arbors. And Cindy sat in the sunshine and shadow.

There was something different about her, he realized, walking farther into the yard. Fully animated, unreserved, she was as brilliant as the deep fuchsia azaleas blooming around her.

Glancing up, she spotted him, and some of her vivacity faded. Still, she smiled in welcome.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted them.

Her friend tossed back long dark hair and extended her hand. “I’m Katherine Carlson. I’ve heard so much about you and your daughters. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

He hesitated for a moment, amazed that this attractive woman was the “female preacher.”

She noticed and her grin widened. “Yep. It’s true. I’m the woman minister.”

He collected his manners, shaking her proffered hand. “No wonder your husband looks like such a happy man.”

Confident, unflappable Katherine blushed.

Cindy, to his surprise, winked at him with an equally wide grin. “Then I guess that means Michael found you this morning.”

Katherine recovered a trace of her composure. “I hope he was able to help. Michael subcontracts out a lot of the smaller jobs. If your contractor’s one of those, he would probably listen to Michael.”

Flynn met Cindy’s eyes. “I do want to get things going quickly. I’m not comfortable working from Cindy’s house.”

Katherine shrugged. “Beats me why anyone would rather work in an office building than this charming place, but I’m sure Michael could help if you ask him.”

“That’s great,” Cindy concurred, not relinquishing Flynn’s gaze. “I’ll be needing the conservatory for one of my groups soon anyway.”

Katherine glanced between them, but didn’t comment on the visible tension. “Looks like the kids are getting along well.”

Belatedly Flynn and Cindy pulled their gazes from each other.

“So it does,” Flynn agreed, wishing Cindy wouldn’t look at him that way. There was no reason to feel guilty about telling the truth. Then he really looked at the kids. “How old are your children?”

Katherine’s face softened. “David’s the oldest. He’s eight. Annie’s six. And baby Danny’s fourteen months.”

Flynn watched them for a few more minutes. “The older ones are good with your youngest and my girls, as well.”

“They’ve always treated Danny as though they found him under the tree on Christmas morning,” Katherine replied with a winsome laugh. “But then, since he was a gift from God, that’s not so bad.”

Flynn swallowed the comment that sprang to mind. He didn’t have to agree with people to remain polite. “Still, you should be proud of them. Older children aren’t always so gentle with toddlers.”

Surprisingly Katherine’s eyes brightened with an unexpected sheen of tears. “I’m so proud of them I could burst. Annie, David, Danny and their father are the best things that ever happened to me.”

Cindy’s gaze suddenly held red-hot warning. So he chose his words carefully. “My girls mean the world to me, too.”

Katherine recovered her composure. “I know. Cindy’s told me about your late wife, and all the sacrifices you made to move to Rosewood.”

Startled, Flynn stared at Cindy.

However, her expression didn’t lighten. In fact, if he could identify the emotion lurking there, it would be suspicion. And for the life of him, he didn’t know what caused that.

“Mommy!” Annie hollered, running up to them, all dark hair and huge blue eyes. Seeing Flynn, she turned suddenly shy.

“Hi,” he said first. “I’m Flynn. You must be Annie.”

She bobbed her head up and down. “Uh-huh. Can the girls swing with me?”

Katherine stood. “How about if I supervise?” she asked Flynn.

He agreed and in moments he was alone with Cindy. “Is something wrong?”

She studied him. How could she tell him she still had doubts about his uncharacteristic move to Rosewood? She felt a desperate need to safeguard the life she’d built, afraid that her heart would outweigh her caution. Knowing none of it could be said, instead she shook her head. “No. I just didn’t expect you home so soon. I thought you wanted to work in your new office space.”

“About that…Why did you ask Michael Carlson to come by, without telling me?”

Exasperated, she all but snorted. “Are we back to that again? Are you a total control freak?”

“Not any more than you apparently.”

She counted inwardly to ten. “I know I’m not like Julia. I’m sure she deferred to your every comment and dictate. But I don’t operate that way. I do have opinions. And while I don’t always insist they’re right, I intend to express them.” Cindy paused. “Well, unless they hurt someone’s feelings, of course. But I’m not retiring and complacent. I have ideas. I make my own decisions.” She met his gaze, feeling her chest tighten. “And I’m not going to try to be someone I’m not.”

“I don’t recall asking you to,” he replied mildly. “But I would appreciate a heads-up when you send someone like Michael over.”

She frowned. “Didn’t you like him?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Everybody likes Michael,” she responded in instant defense, never forgetting how happy he had made her once-lonely best friend.

“Are you being deliberately obtuse?” Flynn asked. “I’m only asking that you not blindside me.”

“Then you did like Michael?” she asked hopefully. She knew Flynn needed to broaden his circle of acquaintances. And Michael was one of the nicest people she knew.

“He was all right,” Flynn replied.

Cindy took a deep breath, remembering that men didn’t verbalize their feelings, that Flynn had probably revealed all that was masculinely possible. “He and Katherine have been my anchors since I came to Rosewood. They’re good friends to have.”

“Hmmm.”

She sighed inwardly. “I mean they could be good friends for you, too, Flynn.”

“I’m not especially looking for a wild social whirl.”

For a moment the past hung between them, the gregarious, fun-loving social circle they’d once traveled in, the one that had brought the Thompson sisters together with Flynn. Cindy fiddled with a bluebonnet she’d plucked from the grass. “No, but everyone needs friends.”

“I don’t need to borrow yours.”

She wondered if it was Julia’s death alone that had created such intense barriers. “They’re not trinkets to be lent. One of the best things about a small town is getting to truly know people.”

“But it seems most of the ones you know are connected with the church.”

She frowned. “And that’s so bad?”

“It’s not for me.”

“Have you considered getting to know them before judging their value as friends?”

The negative motion of his head was reluctant. “Cindy, I appreciate all you’ve done for the girls…for me. But like the office, or sending Michael Carlson, it’s not necessary. You’re doing too much already. I’m used to calling my own shots.”

Unwanted compassion shadowed her thoughts and her voice. “But isn’t that a lonely way to live?”

He raised his brows. “Seems I could ask you the same thing. After all, you moved to a town where you knew only one person, and you live alone in a house big enough for a huge family. Doesn’t that seem a bit lonely to you?”

Pain, both past and present, assaulted her. He would never know just how lonely she’d been. How difficult her life had been since he’d pilfered her heart. And meeting his eyes, she wondered how she could continue hiding that from him.