Читать книгу The Wedding Garden - Linda Goodnight - Страница 12

Annie rubbed at the headache starting between her eyebrows. “Okay, Mom, I’ll talk to him again. But you know how Daddy is about his diet. He’s never listened to me before.”

Her dad had suffered with ulcers for years, but getting him to lay off coffee and fried foods was like asking him to cut off a limb. Her mother assumed because Annie was a registered nurse, her father would abide by her advice. The day Dooley Crawford listened to his daughter’s advice or even his doctor’s would be one for the record books.

“When he retires from the police force and can spend all the time he wants out at the farm with his cows and tractor and fishing ponds, he’ll get better. He’s under too much stress.”

“You’re right about that, honey,” her mother said. “He’s been especially agitated the last couple of weeks. The mayor wants to cut the police budget again.”

Annie twisted her finger through the old-fashioned stretchy telephone cord. Lydia hadn’t updated in years. “Has he said anything about Sloan Hawkins?”

She knew for a fact her father had given Sloan several speeding tickets. Which Sloan probably deserved.

“He’s worried about you, Annie, as always.”

Annie vacillated between exasperation and love. No wonder Dad’s ulcer was acting up. “That was a long time ago, Mom. Dad needs to let it go. Sloan is here for Lydia.”

“So he says.”

“He is. He’s really good to her. Right now, he’s out back working in the flowers, determined to restore the Wedding Garden to its former grandeur because he knows how important it is to Lydia. You should see the truckloads of supplies he’s bought and how hard he works.”

She’d resisted staring out the windows, but every time he came inside for a glass of water or to take a break, she’d noticed.

Oh, yes, she noticed Sloan Hawkins.

“You sound as if you’ve forgiven him.”

The unstated question gave her pause. Had she? “Time heals all wounds.”

“What about Justin?”

Annie froze. “What about him?”

“Well, honey, now don’t get upset, but I always wondered.”

A lot of people did. “Leave Justin out of this, Mother. The subject is Daddy and his ulcer. He can relieve some of his stress by forgetting about things that happened years ago.”

“He’s still protective of you. Always was when it came to boys.”

No, not all boys. Just Sloan. “Tell him I’m over the past and he should be, too.”

“Okay, honey. I hear that tone so I’ll hush up. Why don’t you come to the Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting Saturday? We need to decide on a fundraiser for the orphan ministry.”

Annie stifled an inward sigh. Before the divorce, she’d had more time for church and community activities. Now every waking moment was work, kids, or taking care of a million and one household chores of her own.

“I’d like to, Mom, but Delaney is taking swim lessons in the mornings and Zoey Bowman invited her to a birthday party that afternoon. Plus, I need to shop for groceries and get Justin some new pants for Cheyenne’s wedding. His legs are growing again.” She squinted toward the clock above the stove. “Mom, I need to go. I’m still at Lydia’s house. Tell Delaney I’ll be late picking her up.”

Following the usual goodbyes, she rang off and pushed a thumb and forefinger against her eye sockets. The headache was worse.

Sloan’s hard-as-steel voice jolted her. “Don’t you ever go home?”

Annie looked up to find him lounging against the entry to the kitchen. He wore frayed blue jeans with a giant hole in one knee and a sweaty green T-shirt minus any sleeves.

“Do you always have to look disreputable?”

“Clothes make the man.” He flashed a set of white teeth and shoved off the door frame to indicate the fresh garden vegetables piled on the butcher-block counter. “Where did the squash come from?”

“Neighbors with bounty.” She swept a hand toward the fridge. “You should look in there.”

“Nice of them.” He sauntered to the counter and picked up a yellow crook-necked squash. “I haven’t had any fried squash since—well, in a long time.”

“Now you can have all you want.”

“Only if I can talk you into cooking it. I never quite got the hang of frying anything. Do you know how?”

“This is Oklahoma, Sloan. Of course I know how, except I don’t because Lydia loves fried foods and she can’t have them.”

He frowned. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” He put the squash back on the counter. “Why are you still here?”

“Lydia had too many visitors today.” In spite of herself Annie got out a bowl and knife, took the squash and began slicing. “I fell behind.”

Sloan leaned a hip on the counter, standing too close for comfort. “What are you doing with that squash?”

“Frying it.”

“Yeah? For me?” He sounded pleased. Surprised, too. Well, he should be. She certainly was.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. Lydia’s asleep already. There are a few cucumbers and new potatoes. Want some of those, too?”

She didn’t know why she felt compelled to prepare a meal for Sloan, but when he’d put Lydia’s interests first without argument, some of the ice around her heart had melted. He loved Lydia even if he hadn’t been around.

Sloan’s face erupted in a smile. Annie’s pulse skidded like tires on hot pavement. She reined in the forbidden reaction with a vicious whack at the innocent squash.

“Got any corn on the cob?” he asked.

“Sorry.”

“Too bad.” He brushed past her to the refrigerator, took out a cucumber and a red, ripe tomato. “I could see how tired she was, but she loves company. Always did.”

Annie stopped slicing and rested the heel of her hand against the bowl. “Remember when we were kids, how Lydia would invite everyone over on summer nights to roast wieners and marshmallows?”

“I must have sharpened a million hickory sticks with my pocket knife.” A dish rattled as he placed it on the counter next to her and began slicing the cucumber. The fresh, green scent rose between them.

“And after dark, we’d chase lightning bugs.”

Sloan pumped his eyebrows. “And each other.”

She laughed and pointed the knife at him, surprised to be able to relax this much. “That was when we were older.”

“Really old, like thirteen or something.” His twinkling eyes captured hers and she knew they were sharing the same memory. They were barely teens the first time he’d kissed her. Playing tag, she’d chased him around the big house into the dark area between the porch and gardens. He’d hidden, catching her by the arm as she’d raced by, yelling his name. The kiss had been short, sweet and innocent. Unlike their later relationship. And it was that later relationship—fueled by her father’s objection to her dating “that Hawkins boy”—that remained between them unresolved.

She turned away from those dazzling blue eyes to reach for the flour canister. Thinking about a first kiss or any kiss with Sloan was dangerous ground.

After battering the thin yellow slices, she poured oil in a skillet and set it to heat. As she moved around the country kitchen, Sloan seemed always in the way. They bumped and jostled until she told him to sit down and let her do the cooking.

He didn’t. Typical Sloan. Tell him he couldn’t do something and he would die trying. He sliced the vegetables, scrubbed the potatoes, set the table with two plates, and when she protested, he just shrugged. Sloan Hawkins was pretty handy in the kitchen, which meant he’d done his own cooking. Was there not a woman in the picture?

“Your dinner is ready,” she said, setting the golden squash and a plate of cold ham slices on the table.

“Yours, too.” He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, waiting for her to be seated.

Fighting an unwelcome rush of attraction, she said, “I really should go.”

“Come on, Annie. It’s only a meal. I know you haven’t eaten.”

When he put it that way, she felt foolish for refusing. It was only a meal and she was an adult, not some silly teenager. Justin had ball practice until dark and Mother was thrilled to have Delaney. Eating alone at home was depressing anyway. “Well, all right.”

After an uncomfortable moment when she’d said grace and felt him staring at her the whole time, they began to eat.

“When did you get religious, Annie?” he asked, forking one of the crispy squash.

She didn’t consider herself religious, per se. The word made her think of the scribes and Pharisees who’d condemned Christ. “I committed to Christ a few years ago, if that’s what you mean. I was trying to make sense out of life, and God offered a hope I didn’t have.”

“Simple as that?”

“Faith is simple. God is good and loving, and without Him we’re a mess.” She laughed softly. “Sometimes I’m still a mess.”

“Human nature is a mess,” he said and popped a buttery new potato in his mouth. “Man, that’s good. You can’t buy that flavor in a store.”

“Lydia has good friends. This time of year, the gardeners keep us all in great-tasting produce.”

“I don’t remember Redemption as being that generous.”

“Because your view is skewed. Redemption is a wonderful town, filled with decent, honorable people.”

He scowled at a tomato slice. “Not everyone.”

“No, but most. When Joey left, I was devastated and humiliated. I’m sure a few gossips had a field day, but for the most part this little town wrapped its arms around me and helped me keep going when I wanted to give up.”

“What happened? With Joey, I mean?”

Her heart lurched. Sloan didn’t know it, but he was treading on dangerous ground. “Half the marriages in this country end in divorce.”

“That’s an excuse, not an answer.”

“I could say it’s none of your business.”

“You could.” He didn’t seem the least bit offended, which was likely the reason she told him.

“Joey got tired of me, tired of the kids, tired of being married. We fought a lot after Delaney was born.” She dropped her gaze to the pretty gold-rimmed china. “He started seeing other women.”

Sloan’s dark fingers closed over hers. “Creep. Want me to hunt him down and hurt him for you?”

The juvenile statement made her smile.

“The marriage was bumpy from the beginning. I probably shouldn’t have married him at all.” That was an understatement, but Joey had been eager and she had been desperate.

“Did you love him?”

“Maybe at one point.” But not in the beginning, nor in the end.

She didn’t say that, of course, though she experienced an interesting sense of relief, an absolution of sorts, at sharing her disastrous marriage with Sloan. She’d felt so guilty about marrying Joey while still aching for her first love. “What about you? Did you ever marry?”

She wasn’t sure why she’d ventured there.

Sloan withdrew his hand and went back to his meal. “Too busy.”

Annie sipped at her water, mouth suddenly dry. “Where have you been, Sloan? What have you been doing? Where did you go?”

The questions came out unbidden, but she’d wondered for so long. Why not ask now when they were both feeling comfortable and nostalgic?

Sloan chewed and swallowed, his expression bland. “I joined the army.”

The answer was not what she expected. Sloan had never once mentioned a desire to enlist. The old hurt swelled inside her. “What a weird thing to do.”

His laugh was a bark. “Wasn’t it?”

“Why?”

Some odd emotion flashed through his eyes but was shuttered so quickly, she could have imagined it. “A man’s gotta do something with his life.”

They’d had plans. Had he forgotten those? “My father said you ran away the same way your mother did.”

He pretended interest in a cucumber dripping vinegar. “Is that right?”

“You tell me.”

“What else did he say?” The cucumber slid off the fork and plunked onto his plate.

“He said you were in trouble with the law and ran to avoid prosecution.”

“There you are, then. Just like your daddy says.”

Annie heard an undertone of anger in the flip answer and wondered if there was more to the story than either her father or Sloan was willing to tell. Something in the tense set of his jaw warned her not to press the subject.

“What have you been doing since the army?”

He took a deep breath and let it out, the tension dissipating with the change in topics. “Living in Virginia. Started my own security business.”

Sloan went on to describe a thriving company that protected dignitaries, heads of state, and others in need of security all over the world. Stunned, she realized Sloan Hawkins was not some thug on a motorcycle. He was a businessman, and from the sound of things, a very successful businessman.

“Wow, impressive.” She couldn’t quite reconcile this new Sloan with the old one.

The telephone rang.

Sloan reached over her head and took the receiver from the wall phone. “Hawkins’s residence.”

His face, alive and passionate about his company moments before, went flat and hard. “She is.”

He handed the phone to her. “Our favorite police chief.”

“Daddy?” she said into the mouthpiece.

“I tried your house. What are you still doing over there with Hawkins?”

She wasn’t sixteen anymore, but her father made her feel that way sometimes. Especially since Sloan had come home. “Having dinner. Why? Do you need me for something?”

“Justin’s in trouble again.”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh, Dad.”

Sloan came around in front of her, head tilted to one side, expression questioning. She held up one finger.

“What happened this time?”

“Deputy Risenhower caught him breaking out windows with rocks.”

“Breaking windows?” She ran an exasperated hand over the top of her head. “But he’s supposed to be at ball practice.”

“He got kicked off the team, Annie.” Her father’s voice was tired. “I guess he took out his anger on the first place he encountered—Staley’s drugstore. All the windows on the third floor were broken and a few on the second.”