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Chapter 5

5

Shayla scooted the little vanity bench back, lifted the hem of her long skirt, and bent to slather lotion on her ashy ankles and feet before slipping into the new sandals she’d found at the Goodwill. Six dollars, which had meant leaving behind a little dress Portia had begged for. But the dress was raggedy, and Portia truly didn’t need more clothes. Besides—Shayla finished fastening the strap—she’d wanted these sandals. Especially when she’d seen the exact pair in a store downtown for almost a hundred dollars.

Sometimes she resented that her budget dictated shopping at secondhand stores, but if she could get past the embarrassment of living on the verge of being a poverty statistic, she rather enjoyed the challenge of finding something the original owner had paid a pretty penny for and worn twice—and likely taken a healthy tax credit for as she dropped it off at a donation center in her fifty-thousand-dollar SUV, all proud and smug because she’d helped the poor.

Cut it out, Shayla Jean. She was thinking like Jeremiah. Jerry had let the chip on his shoulder drag him down. Down and under.

She pushed the memories away. Her brother was a topic sure to elicit tears if she pondered too long on it. And she wasn’t going to let anything ruin this date with Link Whitman.

A date. When was the last time she’d been on a real, live date? She couldn’t remember. Probably Danny Sherwood. That loser was enough to make any woman swear off dating. The man had what Mama had called Roman hands and Russian fingers. Mercy! Somehow she didn’t think she’d have that problem with Link Whitman. He was the very definition of a gentleman.

“What’s so funny, Shay?”

Shayla looked up to see her own smiling face in the mirror, and Portia’s reflection behind her. “Nothing, sweetie. Now go get your shoes on. Mr. Link will be here in a few minutes and we don’t want to make him wait.”

“Hows come Mr. Link is takin’ us to a movie?”

“How come?” She pushed off the bench and inspected her niece’s hair. “Well, I guess because he wants to. He likes us. And he thinks you’re a cutie.” She licked her forefinger and thumb and smoothed a wayward wisp of Portia’s hair. With her fawn-colored hair and blue eyes, this child was going to be a stunner when she grew up.

Portia tilted her head and gave a knowing grin. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Mr. Link? No. And don’t you go saying that in front of him either. He’s a friend. Just a friend.”

“Yeah, but he’s a boy.”

“Go get your shoes on.”

“And he’s your friend. So that’s boy friend.”

“Hush, girl.”

“Can I wear my sandals?”

“No, it’s too cold.”

“No fair! You’re wearin’ sandals.” Portia put her hands where her hips would have been if she had any meat on her bones.

“When you’re a big girl, then you can wear sandals in November.”

“I am a big girl. Big Daddy said so.”

Shayla knelt and got on eye level with the child, making her voice stern. “You do not sass. Do you understand me? You’re a big girl, but you’re not a grown-up yet.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I most certainly am the boss of you.” Shayla grabbed Portia by her bony shoulder—a little harder than necessary.

“Ouch!”

“Do you want to go to the movie with me and Link or not?” Portia loved movies, but Shayla wouldn’t put it past the little snot to refuse, just to be obstinate. And if she did, Shayla would have no recourse but to tell Link she was sorry, but they’d be staying home.

But apparently the movie won out. Portia only pouted and hung her head.

Shayla sighed and rose. If she’d learned anything from her sweet mama, it was that you couldn’t let a child win when it came to minding. Portia was a sweet girl, but she could push the limits with the best of them. She was what Mama had called a strong-willed child. Portia took after her dad that way. Except Shayla felt sure Mama would have worked the will out of Jeremiah if she’d lived long enough. But Daddy had gone easy on Jerry—on both of them—after Mama died. Shayla had been old enough and meek enough that Mama’s discipline had already “took.”

But her brother was a different story. And look where it landed him. Impulsively, she pulled Portia into her arms. Poor baby. At least Shayla had known a mother’s loving care until she was grown. This baby was growing up without mother or father in her life.

Sometimes it terrified Shayla that she was trying to fill not just Tara’s shoes for Portia, but Jerry’s and Mama’s too. She sighed. If she thought about it too long, she felt every one of her thirty-three years.

“Come on, girlie. Mr. Link will be here any minute. We don’t want to make him wait.” She checked her hair in the mirror. She’d spent half the afternoon straightening it, oiling and blow-drying, and flat-ironing it to within an inch of its life. But the humidity was already winning, and she could almost see her hair frizz before her eyes. Why couldn’t she have inherited her mother’s hair? Straight blonde hair that hung almost to her waist. Until she’d lost it all to the chemo.

“Is Mr. Link gonna kiss you?” Portia looked up at her with a sly grin.

She froze. “Girl! What would make you even think such a thing?”

“That’s what people do on dates.”

“Who told you that?”

Portia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know it.”

“You know no such thing!” She felt her heart race. This whole evening could be a disaster in the making. “Get your jacket on. And don’t you say one word about that to Mr. Link. In fact, you just keep your lip buttoned tonight.”

Portia giggled. “My lip don’t have buttons. You’re funny.”

“It’s doesn’t. Your lip doesn’t have buttons.”

“I know it doesn’t. That’s what I said!”

She gave a little growl. “Never mind. Just go get your jacket.”

She heard a car outside and her heart accelerated. “Lord, what have I done?” she whispered.

***

Link wiped his palms on his jeans and reached to open the door. Finding it locked, he knocked on the wood framing the paned glass.

A light came on at the back of the bakery, and he saw movement near the open staircase at the rear of the store. A minute later, Shayla, with Portia trailing behind, unlocked the door and peeked out. “Hi there. We’re ready.” She held up a car booster seat. “Do we need this?”

He looked at Portia. “If she’s big enough for a booster seat, I’ve got them in the backseat of my truck—for my nieces and nephews,” he explained. “I wasn’t sure if she still needed a regular car seat.”

“No. She’s big enough for a booster. Thanks.” Shayla stepped outside and locked the door behind her.

“You look nice.” Link grinned at her, then peeked around her shoulder at Portia. “You look nice too, young lady.”

Portia stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Shay won’t let me wear sandals.”

“Well, it’s kind of cold for sandals, don’t you think?”

“Careful, there.” Shayla looked down at her own feet, which were shod in a pair of strappy open-toed shoes that his sisters would have declared “darling.”

“Oops,” he said, feigning a wince. “Double standard?”

“Always,” she said.

He looked at her again. “You look really nice.”

“So you said.” She dipped her head, looking embarrassed by his compliment.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down.”

She smoothed a hand self-consciously over the shiny, dark brown hair that framed her heart-shaped face. “The inspector kind of frowns on that during business hours.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I can see that. Well, it looks great.” The truth was, he preferred her hair curly and a little wild. But she would have looked good bald, so he wasn’t lying. “You look great. Really great.”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.”

“What? You don’t like a compliment?” This woman was a puzzle. His sisters ate up stuff like that.

“Sorry. No, I like a compliment fine. Thank you.” She tapped her niece’s shoulder. “Portia, what do you tell Mr. Link? He said you look nice.”

She smiled up at him. “I know. Big Daddy says I’m bee-yu-ti-ful.”

“Portia Beth!” Laughing, Shayla shook her head. “We’re working on manners.”

“That means please and thank-yous,” the little girl told him.

“That’s right.” Shayla gave her a stern look. “Now would you please tell Mr. Link thank you for the compliment?”

“Thank you.” Portia suddenly turned shy.

“You’re welcome.” He opened the passenger-side door of his truck, tipped back the seat, and put down the built-in booster. “Hop in, young lady.” He lifted her into the back. She couldn’t have weighed twenty-five pounds.

She scrambled into the booster. He stepped back and let Shayla buckle her in. She waited for Link to put the seat back in place before climbing into the passenger seat. “Wow, it’s roomy in here.”

“I’ve had four rug rats back there at a time. My nieces and nephews,” he explained. “Not sure that was even legal, but we did get ’em all buckled into car seats. Even if a couple of them had to share a seatbelt.”

She gave him a look that made him regret bringing that up. Added to him almost running over Portia, Shayla was going to think he was an accident waiting to happen.

“How many do you have?”

“Six nieces, two nephews. So far.”

“Wow. That’s a houseful. Or a truck full.”

“You all in?” When he was sure she was clear of the door, he closed it and jogged around to the driver’s side.

“Everybody ready?” He caught Portia’s eyes in the rearview mirror and wriggled his eyebrows at her. She giggled but quickly looked away.

“Ready.” Shayla shifted in her seat to angle toward him. Probably to make sure he didn’t run over somebody.

Checking the street, he pulled out and drove slowly through town toward the highway.

“So. You like living in Langhorne?”

Shayla shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“You guys moved here because of the bakery?”

Another shrug. “I guess you could say that. Sort of . . .”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad wanted to get us out of Cape Girardeau. Get my brother into a smaller school. So my parents bought the bakery.”

“Oh, so did you go to high school in Langhorne?” He didn’t remember her.

“No. It was after I’d graduated.” She eyed him as though trying to decide if she wanted to continue. “Are you just making small talk, or are you asking because you really want to know?”

He laughed, even though he sensed she wasn’t exactly making a joke. “A little of both, I guess. I really want to know. But yes, I’m making small talk. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on a first date?”

“How would I know?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been on a date before.”

“I won’t tell you that because it wouldn’t be true. But . . . it’s been a long time. I’m talking a really long time.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She glanced behind them to the backseat. “It may come as a surprise to you, but not every guy is thrilled about having a five-year-old along on dates.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.”

“So you’re not thrilled either.” It wasn’t a question.

He grinned. “Maybe thrilled isn’t the exact word I’d use, but I don’t mind. Not at all. She’s a sweetie.”

“You’re a good man, Link Whitman.”

“Well, let me back up a little.”

She tilted her head, looking extremely cute.

“I reserve the right to have you to myself once in a while. One of these days.”

“You’re assuming I’d say yes to a second date.” Her topaz eyes flashed. “Let’s get through this one first.”

He laughed out loud. “Point taken. Let’s concentrate on making this one something you’d like to repeat.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Link couldn’t quite read her smug expression. But he had to admit that her air of mystery was one of the things he liked most about her.