Читать книгу Finding A Family - Judy Christenberry, Judy Christenberry - Страница 11

It took effort for Hank to pry his eyes open the next morning. He’d barely undressed before he hit the bed and fell asleep last night. This morning, he noticed the clean sheets and the tidiness of his room.

Somehow, instead of feeling good about the changes, he felt violated. He felt as if she had invaded his space. He hadn’t asked for anyone to take care of his room. He had hired her to cook and look after his dad, not to invade his privacy and to mess with his things.

He’d make sure that she knew her duties this morning. As soon as she got up he’d set things straight. She probably slept late every morning. He’d probably still have to fix his own breakfast.

He rolled out of bed and groped on the floor for the clothes he’d taken off the night before. Everything else was even dirtier because he hadn’t had time to do laundry before he left. With his eyes only half open, he continued to feel around on the floor for his clothes.

They weren’t there!

Okay, maybe his dad had come in and picked them up and put them on the only chair in his room. They weren’t there, either.

He whirled around, scanning the room. Everything was neat and tidy, no dust on the chest of drawers, no dirty clothes piled in the corner. Crossing to the dresser, he pulled open a drawer. Stacks of clean underwear and T-shirts met his gaze.

He sheepishly took out a pair of briefs and a T-shirt. Then he opened another drawer and found a stack of clean jeans. In the closet he found numerous shirts hanging neatly in a row.

When he was dressed, he headed for the kitchen. He’d overslept this morning. It was already eight-thirty. He assumed that he would have the kitchen to himself, but he found his father, Timmy and Maggie sitting at the table.

As soon as Maggie saw him standing at the door, she jumped to her feet. “Good morning, Hank. Come have a seat.”

Before he could move, she’d filled a mug of fragrant coffee and put it at his place. With a scowl he moved to his chair and pulled it out. He hadn’t looked at his father.

Maggie didn’t return to the table. Instead, she began cooking pancakes. Once she had the batter on the grill, she moved to the microwave oven and turned it on. In no time, he had a plateful of pancakes and bacon.

His father passed the butter and syrup. “Here you go, son. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Maggie’s pancakes.”

Before Hank could taste the pancakes, which he was sure would be run-of-the-mill, he had to clear up last night’s fracas.

“Dad, I’m sorry about last night, but—”

“Don’t worry about it, son. You were overtired from the round-up. Many a time your mother would say she didn’t want to see me after a round-up until I’d showered and slept for a day or two.”

Hank couldn’t believe how casually his father had spoken of his mother. They’d avoided talking about her ever since she’d died. His father had turned into a zombie and he’d held back his own grief so as not to burden his father.

“Go ahead, boy, eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

Hank gave his dad a nod, not sure he could speak without letting everyone know how upset he was. But even though it was painful to talk about his mother’s death, it made him feel good to know his father hadn’t forgotten his mother.

When he put the first bite of pancake in his mouth, he realized there was nothing run-of-the-mill about these pancakes. They tasted as good as a regular cake.

“Are you sure these aren’t dessert?” he asked without thinking.

“Told you they were good,” Carl said with great glee.

Hank continued to eat, refusing to look at Maggie or his father. When he’d gobbled down the stack of pancakes on his plate, Maggie calmly asked him, “Do you want some more?”

“No! I mean, no thank you.”

“Are you sure? I have leftover batter that will just go to waste.”

“Fine. I can eat some more if you have the batter,” Hank agreed. He kept his head down until Tim slid out of his chair and patted Hank on the knee.

“Yes, Timmy? What is it?”

“Do you have a headache? That’s what Mommy has when she won’t talk.”

Hank looked at Maggie before he answered the little boy. “Uh, yeah, maybe I do have a headache. Which, uh, reminds me. I couldn’t find the clothes that I took off last night.”

His father started to answer, but Maggie beat him to it. “Your father was concerned about you. When he checked on you, he picked up your dirty clothes and took them to the laundry room to save me a trip,” she said and smiled.

“I don’t need you to do my laundry or clean my room or…whatever else you do. I can take care of myself. I hired you to take care of my dad.”

“But—” Maggie began.

“There’s no need for discussion! I have to get to the barn and see about my men.”

“Uh, boy, I gave them the day off,” Carl said, knowing this would further upset his already agitated son.

Hank stared at his father. “You did what? Damn it to hell! Dad, you turned the ranch over to me a year ago. I thought I was supposed to be in charge!”

“I was trying to help. They’re all exhausted, just like you. I thought they deserved the day off.”

Hank didn’t speak. He got up and strode out of the kitchen as if he were being chased.

Maggie watched him go, grateful that he’d eaten a good breakfast. She’d noticed when he’d cataloged what she shouldn’t do for him that he hadn’t mentioned her cooking. She’d thought his dad had been a hard case! Carl was a walk in the park compared to Hank.

“Maggie, I hope Hank didn’t offend you. I don’t know what’s got into that boy.”

“I think he’s working through his grief, Carl. He’s glad that you’ve overcome yours, but he needs the chance to work through his feelings.”

Carl frowned. “Do you think so? He sure gave me a funny look when I talked about Linda this morning.”

“Yes, but I still think you should continue. He’s buried his grief for too long. At least he didn’t object to eating my cooking.”

Carl laughed. “He’d have to be dead to refuse your cooking.”

“Mommy, is Hank mad at me?” Timmy asked.

“No, sweetie. He’s upset that his mother died, that’s all. You know, we felt really sad when your dad died.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said slowly, his little face screwed up, as if he were thinking very hard. “I could give him one of my cars. That would make him happy.”

Carl held his arms out to Timmy. “Come give me a hug, Timmy.”

With a nod from his mother, Timmy did as Carl suggested. Afterwards, Carl said, “That’s a real generous offer, giving Hank one of your cars, but adults are different. We will have to be really patient with him.”

“Okay,” Timmy said, but he didn’t look particularly enlightened.

“It’s all right, Timmy,” Maggie said softly. “Why don’t you take Carl outside while I clean the table.”

After the duo had disappeared to the back porch, Maggie cleared the table and thought about Hank. Not that she was interested in him. No, she didn’t intend to remarry. The pain was too great when the marriage ended, whatever the reason. She wasn’t willing to risk that again.

But Hank, like his father, was suffering from burying pain deep inside him. She would’ve done the same when her husband died if she hadn’t had Kate to prod her out of her depression, reminding her that Timmy needed her.

If she could do the same for Hank, it would be like passing on the serenity Kate had helped her find.

After she’d loaded the dishwasher, Maggie thought about what she could do. Almost as if she were guided by Linda’s hand, she reached for the cookbook Carl had loaned her. Slowly turning the pages, she came upon a well-worn recipe. Somehow she just knew that it was the recipe for Hank’s favorite cookies.

With a smile, she took down a mixing bowl. Soon she put a batch of cookies into the oven. Oatmeal raisin were Timmy’s favorite, too.

Hank didn’t come in for lunch. But he wanted to. It seemed he could smell the enticing aroma of Maggie’s good cooking all the way in the barn. Larry didn’t demonstrate any of his reluctance. He went in for lunch without a qualm.

Of course, Larry had also backed his dad’s decision to give the men a day off. Not that Hank thought the decision was wrong. It was just that he should’ve had the opportunity to…he was being foolish.

Hank ran his hand through his hair. Why was he acting this way? He’d hired Maggie to make things right in the house. Then he’d forbidden her to do his laundry or clean his room. Was he crazy?

Maybe so.

An hour or so later, Larry came back into the barn. “What are you doing, Hank?”

Hank sat down on a bale of hay, staring glumly into the distance. “Nothing.”

“Why didn’t you come in for lunch?”

“Because I couldn’t face Dad or Maggie.”

Larry looked alarmed. “Uh-oh, what did you do?”

“I acted like a fool. Dad was praising Maggie to the skies, like he’d completely forgotten Mom. Then he casually mentioned her in the next breath.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed him talking about Linda a lot nowadays. I think that’s good for him.” After pausing, Larry said slowly, “I’ve never heard you talk about your mom.”

“Damn it! I don’t spill my guts every other minute, Larry. I’m a man!”

Larry shrugged and walked away, muttering under his breath, “Just a thought.”

Not one Hank wanted to consider. But, as if a dam had burst inside of him, images of his mother ran through his mind. When she’d decorated the house for Christmas, or made him a special snack when he’d come home from school. Or when she tended him when he had the measles, or had hurt himself playing football.

And then there were all the times she’d read him stories before he went to sleep each night when he was a little boy.

He loved his dad, and they’d spent many hours working together. But he and his mom had shared a special bond.

Tears filled his eyes, and he was glad Larry had gone off somewhere else. He hastily wiped the tears away. He missed his mom, his best friend.

He stood and paced the aisle in the barn. He had to get control of himself. He couldn’t let anyone see him as weak as he felt right now.

When Hank came in for dinner, he avoided looking at Maggie. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. With Carl’s help she’d worked extra hard to make Hank’s favorite meal. Since he had missed lunch, Maggie figured Hank wouldn’t refuse to eat dinner.

As she put the dishes on the table, she covertly studied Hank. He looked at each dish and then stared at his father. He said nothing. Carl asked him what he’d done all day.

“I worked,” Hank said.

“Everything okay?” Carl asked.

“Fine!” Hank snapped.

“Carl, could you fill Timmy’s plate for him?” Maggie hurriedly asked. If she didn’t do something, Hank would leave the table without eating anything.

“Mrs. Washburn came over this afternoon,” she added. “She had heard that you hired a housekeeper. She wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be any competition for Carl’s heart. You didn’t tell me you had a secret admirer, Carl.”

That should change the subject.

“Who? Me?” Carl roared. “Sue Washburn is interested in me? Not a chance. Her husband was the most miserable man I’ve ever met. We all figured when he died it was because he couldn’t stand living with Sue any longer.”

“Dad! You shouldn’t say such things.”

“Well, it’s true. The woman can’t even cook.”

“She might learn for you, Carl,” Maggie teased.

“Don’t need her to. We’ve got you, Maggie. You’re as good a cook as Linda.” Carl didn’t notice his son’s frown, but Maggie did.

“You should meet my Aunt Kate. She’s an even better cook than I am, and she’s charming, too.”

“I love Aunt Kate!” Timmy said with a chuckle. “She’s fun.”

“Yes, she is,” Maggie said, hoping the men wouldn’t notice her wistful expression.

“Well, why don’t we invite her for a visit?” Carl asked.

“Let’s wait until I get my new bed set up. I don’t think Kate, Timmy and I could manage on the single bed I have now.”

“I thought you said it was coming right away,” Carl said.

“I thought it was. But they called and told me delivery had been delayed for a week.”

Hank cleared his throat. “If I drove into town to pick it up, could it be ready for tomorrow?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t ask that question.”

“Call them in the morning. If it can be picked up, I’ll go after I get the men started on their jobs.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, but it’s not necessary.”

“I feel guilty enough for not cleaning the room. Maybe this will make up for it.”

“Thank you, Hank. That would be nice.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, son,” Carl added.

“Let’s not overdo it, Dad,” Hank growled.

“Okay. What’s for dessert, Maggie?”

Maggie wished she could hide the cookies, but she had nothing else to offer them for dessert. And Carl expected dessert. “Uh, I baked cookies today. Will that be okay?”

“Of course it will,” Carl said with enthusiasm.

Hank stared at her. “What kind of cookies?” he asked.

“Um, well, I wanted a healthy treat for Timmy, and I found a recipe in your mother’s cookbook that looked—”

That was as far as she got before Hank bolted out the back door.

“You made the oatmeal cookie recipe, didn’t you?” Carl asked. “I should’ve warned you.”