Читать книгу Lakeside Sweetheart - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Vanessa strolled around the big rambling backyard at Caldwell House, her mind on everything she had to get done during the next few weeks.

“Tea?”

Rory handed her a refill while they watched Gabby, with Roxie right on her heels, searching for Easter eggs in the many dish gardens and potted palms displayed all around the colorful yard.

“Thank you.” Vanessa took the goblet of dark tea flavored with lemon. Not knowing what else to say, she smiled. “What a meal.”

She’d enjoyed listening to the easy banter, the tiny bits of good-natured gossip and the news of the week. Millbrook Lake was growing now that the local economy had finally improved. She knew Alec had a lot to do with that since he’d returned home. She hadn’t kept up much with Millbrook Lake. Mainly because she’d never planned to return here.

“I’ll say.” Rory rubbed his flat stomach. “I shouldn’t have had pie and cupcakes, but the cooking around here is so good I always double up when I get invited for Sunday dinner.”

She had to laugh. Watching him eat had been an event in itself. “Do you get invited to lunch and dinner a lot?”

“Sure. And breakfast, too. A perk of the job. People love to feed the preacher. Especially since this preacher lives alone.”

She glanced over at him and saw a darkness moving through his eyes like a cloud over a clear sky. She wanted to ask him about that, but he looked straight ahead and watched Gabby with a quiet intensity that belied his cheerful nature.

“The meal was amazing,” she said, suddenly unsure around him. Suddenly remembering that she had not wanted to be around him. And yet, here she stood. But she also thought about Marla’s words to her earlier about him not always being so sunny, happy and goofy.

She could handle cheerful and friendly. Those were easy emotions. But imagining Rory Sanderson sad made her concerned and curious. Though wary around men of the cloth, she didn’t want to think of this man as anything other than what he seemed. His carefree nature didn’t appear at all threatening.

But then, she shouldn’t be thinking of him anyway. He was the preacher. A man of God. Certainly not her type. Not that she was looking. She’d sworn off any long-term relationships, and she certainly wasn’t ready for anything else. She thought of the tiny church up the road and willed herself to push away the memories of another church that had been located on the outskirts of town. Gone now. Torn down for new commercial real estate.

“I don’t normally eat so much,” she continued in the small-talk vein. “But Aunt Hattie is famous for her meals, and Marla is amazing with sugar and flour and butter.”

“A dynamic duo,” he said, the smile bright on his face again. “I need a long Sunday-afternoon nap.”

She could picture him kicked back in a recliner, snoring softly. That did make her smile.

“I’d think you don’t get to rest much,” she blurted to get rid of that warm, fuzzy feeling. “I mean, being a minister.”

“I get eight hours of sleep most nights, but things happen. A death, a birth, a trip to the ER, a hospital visit now and then.” He gave her a quick but concise glance. “Sometimes people need to talk, even in the middle of the night.”

Vanessa got that image in her head, too. Her reaching for the phone, calling him. Telling him her worst fears.

She tried again with the small talk. “And you have to be there for all of those things.”

“Spoken like someone who might know.”

“I don’t know much,” she said, her tone sharp in her own ears. She didn’t like the direction this conversation seemed to be heading—toward her. “But it’s obvious enough.”

“I guess it is,” he said, his words somber now. “My reputation precedes me.”

He’d misunderstood. Most people did whenever she made disparaging remarks regarding church. But she never explained her reasons for staying away from organized religion.

She wanted to say it wasn’t his reputation she based her assumption on, but those of other people. Only, she wasn’t ready to get that personal with him. She didn’t plan on being around this man after today anyway. She had plenty to keep her busy.

“You seem to be popular with your people,” she said.

“God’s people,” he corrected with a smile. “I try to help them along.”

They came to a big swing centered underneath an arbor covered with jasmine. The fragrant scent of the tiny yellow-and-white flowers and the droning hum of bees made Vanessa wish for something she couldn’t even define.

“Want to sit and watch the egg hunt?” he asked.

She glanced at the swing and then back at him. “I don’t know. I mean, I should be going. I have a lot to do tomorrow.” Needing to explain, she added, “I’m here to clean out my mother’s house. She died a few weeks ago.”

His expression turned compassionate. “I’m sorry. Did she live here?”

“She used to. She moved to a retirement and nursing facility in Alabama. She hadn’t lived here in years.”

He nodded, his expressive face couched in a calm that made him change from boyish to good-looking. “I get a day off tomorrow. If you need any help.”

“I don’t think so. This is one of your busy weekends. You need to rest after your big day.”

“Yes. But then, I consider every Sunday a big day.”

Vanessa gave him a hesitant smile. “I think I’ll go and tell the others I’m leaving. It was nice to meet you—”

“Rory,” he said. “Call me Rory.”

She nodded and headed back to where Marla and her parents were helping Gabby find the colorful eggs. The little girl giggled and showed off her treasures while Roxie squeaked out excited barks and ran circles around the adults.

Angus watched the whole show from a warm spot on the brick terrace near the porch. The older Border collie didn’t have a care in the world.

Aunt Hattie met her near the house. “We’re so glad you came today, Vanessa. I hope you’ll visit again.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Vanessa said. “The food was so good, Aunt Hattie.”

“Nothing like a home-cooked meal to nourish us, even if it does require a few extra calories.”

Vanessa hadn’t had many home-cooked meals growing up. “I can’t argue with that.” She hugged Aunt Hattie, the scent of sweet almond surrounding her. “I have to go, but I wanted to thank you again. Let me tell Marla I’m leaving.”

“Oh, she wrapped you a plate,” Aunt Hattie said. “I’ll go fetch it.”

Vanessa didn’t need a plate full of leftovers, but she wouldn’t be impolite by turning it down. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wished she’d had this kind of family growing up. But in that other place, the dark spot that colored her world in grays and browns, she figured she didn’t deserve this kind of family.

She wished someone had trained her in proper manners or on how to actually conduct small talk. She wished she’d been happy in any of the many places her mother had dragged her. She wished she’d had nice clothes and pretty things.

And she really wished she’d had someone to truly love her.

But she couldn’t change any of that now. Vanessa had learned about all of these things mostly on her own by studying people and reading books and watching television and movies. She’d learned how to dress by working in retail and devouring fashion magazines and with the help of her mother’s last husband, Richard Tucker, who’d taken them on shopping trips. And she’d learned how to stay on her budget by shopping vintage and reworking second-hand clothes.

She still had to learn the truly-loving-her part. She didn’t always love herself very much.

She sent Rory a brief glance and then dropped her gaze to her sandals.

“Hey, I’ll come by next week and help you out with getting ready for the estate sale,” Marla said as she hurried up to Vanessa. “I’ll even find some able-bodied helpers to do the heavy lifting.” She cast a glance toward Rory. “An estate sale is a big job.”

A job Vanessa dreaded. “Yes. But...it has to be done.”

“Are you gonna be okay, doing this?” Marla asked, her green eyes full of understanding and sympathy.

“I’ll be fine.” Vanessa glanced over to where Alec sat at a round wrought iron table with Rory. Were they actually having more cupcakes? “I have to get the house ready to sell, and I can’t do that until I empty it out.”

“Your mother was a pack rat from what I hear,” Marla said with a smile. “I know this has been hard, Vanessa.”

Vanessa nodded. “Yep. Especially since she and I never got along.” She stared at the swing, where she could be sitting right now with Rory. “I guess I’ll get to know her a little more now that she’s dead, at least. I never could figure her out when she was alive.”

“You did your best.”

“I left.”

It was that simple. She’d left after one divorce too many and after one particular stepfather’s bad behavior. It didn’t matter that her mother had tried to make amends to Vanessa after Cora had married Richard, her final husband. At least Richard had been kind to Vanessa during the short time she’d lived here with her mother and him. A good man, a very wealthy man, he’d paid off her mother’s house and shown both mother and daughter a world they’d only dreamed about. He’d died five years after marrying her mother.

None of it mattered now. She couldn’t live in her mother’s house.

She heard the preacher’s hearty laughter and stole another glance at him. “What’s with him, Marla? I asked you about his story, and I’d like to know more.”

Marla followed her gaze. “What makes you think he has a story?”

“We all do. You said he wasn’t always this happy.”

Marla shrugged. “I don’t know much other than he joined the army after attending seminary, served as a chaplain and then came home to become a minister. And I don’t ask beyond that. I’m not even sure Alec knows, but they have this buddy system that holds them all together and they don’t press each other about what they went through while serving. I can allow that, given how I held everything inside when Alec and I started seeing each other.”

“And now?”

Marla’s smile was serene and sure. “And now I tell Alec everything and he shares a lot with me. We’re good.”

“But he doesn’t talk about the preacher’s past?”

“Nope. It’s not his to talk about. But then, they were all over there serving our country in one capacity or another. It’s a bond they share.”

A bond that might not be broken, Vanessa decided. “I have to get going,” she said. “I had a great time.”

“I’m glad you came,” Marla said. She hugged Vanessa close.

“And if you ever need to talk—”

“I’ll call you,” Vanessa replied. She didn’t want to get emotional in front of everyone.

“Of course,” Marla said. Then she inclined her chin toward Rory. “But you should call him, too. No matter what you’ve been through, he’s the best person to listen and help you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vanessa replied, remembering how he’d mentioned late-night calls from his congregation members. But she said it with a smile...and a shred of hope.

* * *

A few days later, Rory worked his way around the church yard, clearing away broken limbs and picking up palm fronds. A storm had moved over the area the night before, leaving debris in its wake. He didn’t mind the busywork, though. Not on a nice morning with a cool breeze pushing over the nearby waters of the lake. A few seagulls cawed at him as they came in for a low flight, probably hoping to find some morsels for breakfast.

After dropping some twigs and leaves into a nearby trash can, he stopped to look over the grounds. The little clapboard chapel had survived worse storms than this one. It was over a century old and not much bigger than a shotgun house, but the people of Millbrook Lake loved their church.

He loved it, too. Once he would have gone on by this place, but that Rory was long gone. This Rory loved this place. He stared out over the moss-draped live oaks that edged the old cemetery behind the church and prayed that he’d never have to be anywhere else.

Purple wisteria blossoms rained down each time the wind blew through the trees, their old vines wrapped like necklaces around the billowing oaks. The sound of the palms swaying in the breeze sang a comforting, serene tune. Blue jays and cardinals fussed at each other near the bird feeders one of the church members had built and hung near the pergola where people liked to hold picnics. And the ever-present, pesky squirrels chased each other through the trees with all the precision of drag-racing champions.

What a view.

“You’re not working.”

He whirled to find Mrs. Fitzgerald standing with her flower-encased walker near the sidewalk, her hat today black straw with red cherries around the rim.

“I’m taking a thankful break,” he explained with a grin.

“Can I come and take it with you?” she asked. “I’m thankful and I have corn fritters.”

Rory brushed his hands against his old jeans. “Bring yourself on over to this picnic table,” he said. “How did you know I had a hankering for corn fritters this morning?”

She gave him a mock scowl, her wrinkles folding against each other, her gray hair as straw-like as her hat. “Since when have you not been hankering for something to eat? I declare, I don’t know how you stay so fit.”

“I pick up limbs and trash all the time,” he said with a deadpan expression.

“Yes, you do. And you ride that bicycle and carry that board thing out to the water.” She moseyed over to the table and fluffed her yellow muumuu. “You swim and fish and surf and jog all over the place. When do you rest, Preacher?”

“I’ll rest when I die.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that. The Lord will put you straight to work when you reach the Pearly Gates.”

They both laughed at that notion. Then she pulled out the still-warm corn fritters that were her specialty. Part hush puppy and part corn bread, the fat mushy balls were filled with real corn nuggets and tasted like nectar to Rory.

“So good,” he said. “I think I’ll be able to finish this mess before lunch, thanks to you.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald chewed on her food and studied the water. “Nice sermon yesterday. I think you impressed that newcomer.”

Miss Fanny, as she liked to be called, took impish pleasure in stirring the pot.

Rory played coy. “We had a newcomer?”

The older woman playfully slapped his arm. “I saw you looking at her. And I’m pretty sure she was looking back.”

“Don’t you have cataracts?”

“Not since that fancy eye doctor up on 98 did some sort of surgery on me. I can see a feather caught in a limb up in that tree yonder.”

He glanced at the tree and squinted. “Feathers are a bit different from watching me and making assumptions.”

“I know what I see,” she replied on a prim note. “It’s springtime. Love is in the air.”

“Well, aren’t you the poet.”

“I used to be, you know.”

“You? A poet?” Miss Fanny was full of surprises.

“Me.” She pointed to the houses lining the lake. “See that Craftsman cottage with the blue shutters?”

He nodded and grabbed another fritter. “The one near your house that’s in need of serious repair?”

She lived in a small Cape Cod style two-storied house across from the church.

“That’s the one. I used to run around with the woman who lived there. We were artists. She dabbled in mixed media and men. I dabbled in poetry and one long and loving marriage.”

“You don’t say?” He’d heard about how much Miss Fanny loved her husband, but she was already a widow when he met her. “So what happened to your friend? That house has been vacant since I’ve been here.”

“That was her home at one time, but after she remarried, it became a vacation home. The last man she married also had a home in Birmingham, Alabama, and they used to travel back and forth. But...she died recently.” Fanny took off her hat and gave him a direct stare. “That woman you’re pretending you didn’t notice in church yesterday, that’s her daughter. She’s come back here to fix up and sell the house.” Putting her hat back on, she added, “Vanessa hated her mother. And I might as well tell you she’s not too fond of preachers either.”