Читать книгу Falling For The Hometown Hero - Mindy Obenhaus - Страница 14

Chapter Four

Grace would love nothing more than to go back to her campsite and lick her wounds. Next time, she needed to think twice before inviting someone else to her pity party.

In one swift, stealthy strike, her boss had put an end to her sulking. And yes, despite her strong desire to turn tail and run, Kaleb was still her boss. Despite their disagreements, she felt as though she could make a difference at Mountain View Tours.

Of course, that also meant she’d still be working with Roger, so she supposed she should put aside her preconceived notions and, at least, give the guy a chance.

Now here she stood in Mama and Roger’s cottage-style kitchen, feeling like a bit of a jerk. She hadn’t realized he’d lost his wife of thirty-five years. Probably because she never took the time to listen to anything her mother—or anyone else—had to say about him.

“What can I do to help, Mama?” She pushed up the long sleeves of her purple T-shirt and headed toward the farmhouse sink under the window to wash her hands.

“Why don’t you set the table while I finish with this salad.” Her mother rested the knife on the marble-topped island and wiped her hands on a dish towel before opening one of the white cupboards behind her.

“Silverware?”

“First drawer on the right.” Mama pointed with her elbow while pulling out a stack of plates. She set them on the counter. “We’ll eat in the dining room tonight.”

“Okay.” Eating utensils clasped in one hand, Grace reached for plain white plates with her other. “I think you gave me one too many.”

“No, I didn’t. The fourth one is for Kaleb. Roger thought it would be nice to invite him for dinner, too.”

Grace simply stood there, uncertain what to make of her mother’s sudden announcement. After all the head-butting she and Kaleb had done today.

“Oh, and place mats and napkins are in the drawer in the hutch.” Mama picked up her knife and continued slicing tomatoes. “Let’s go with the turquoise ones. Add a little color.”

Good thing Grace’s workday had ended on a positive note. Otherwise, seeing Kaleb tonight could prove to be even more awkward.

She moved into the dining room and set the plates and silverware on the table before searching for the linens. Not that it would be difficult. Mama always kept them in the right-hand drawer.

Turning toward the wall at the far end of the room, she vaguely recognized the tall piece of furniture whose glass case held Mama’s collection of pastel-colored Depression glass. The style of the piece was similar to the one Grace remembered growing up, except instead of the honey oak finish, this one was white.

She pulled the crystal knob to open the drawer on the right and gasped. It was the same piece. While the outside of the hutch had been painted, the inside of the drawer still bore hers and Lucy’s names. Names they’d written in permanent marker along the inside of the drawer. A move that had earned them both a stern scolding and a lengthy time-out.

Stepping back, she stared at the furniture piece, a bittersweet feeling leaching into her heart. She remembered the look of pure delight on her mother’s face the Christmas Daddy presented it to her. “You need a special place to display your collection,” he’d told her.

Grace thought it was the most beautiful, if not ginormous, thing she’d ever seen. Yet as she stared at it now, the hutch looked prettier than ever. Like a better version of itself.

A noise in the kitchen interrupted her reverie and stole her attention.

“Smells delicious.” Roger closed the door behind him, wiping his booted feet on the rug before making his way into the room. His arm snaked around her mother’s waist as he set a plastic grocery sack on the counter. He said something, though the words were too soft for Grace to hear. Whatever it was, though, made her mother giggle and had a blush creeping into her cheeks.

“Love words” were what she and Lucy used to call it when Daddy would whisper sweet nothings into Mama’s ear. Sometimes she would blush, sometimes not, but either way, Grace and Lucy knew it was an intimate conversation, meant only for Mama and Daddy.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Grace grabbed the place mats and napkins and returned her focus to the table.

“Hello, Grace.” Roger stood just on the other side of the doorway between the two rooms. “Glad you could make it.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, he seemed to look everywhere but at her.

Just like she did when she was uncomfortable.

Could it be that Roger was as nervous about tonight as she was?

“Thank you for having me.” Hands shaking, she finished laying out the silverware, realizing she’d forgotten to grab another set. “You have a lovely home.”

“Yeah.” He moved closer, just enough to admire the dining room and adjoining living room. Both had that same cottage feel, lots of white furniture against dark hardwood floors and pale blue-gray walls. “Your mother’s quite the decorator.”

He’d let her mother redecorate? But this was his house.

“She managed to fuse our former lives and our new life into something fresh and different.”

Much like the old hutch.

All of Lucy’s words about Roger being a good guy flooded her memory. Grace had chosen to ignore her sister. Now her emotions warred within.

Perhaps her mother wasn’t quite so eager to forget the past after all.

The doorbell rang then.

“That would be Kaleb.” Moving along the opposite side of the table, Roger headed toward the door.

Feeling as though she still had egg on her face when it came to her boss, Grace took the opportunity to retrieve that fourth set of utensils.

Inside the kitchen, her mother was removing a large baking dish from the oven. The aromas of meat, cheeses and whatever other secret ingredients made up Nonna Gigi’s famous lasagna wafted throughout the room, reminding Grace of simpler times.

She inhaled deeply, wishing she could find a way to capture the scent for those times when life got rough. “That smells amazing.”

“Always does.” Mama set the pan atop the stainless-steel stove, then grabbed a sheet pan that held a split loaf of French bread spread with garlic butter and sprinkled with cheese. “Now all I have to do is get this garlic bread baked.” She set the pan in the oven and adjusted the heat.

Hearing Kaleb’s voice in the other room, Grace opened the drawer and took out another knife, fork and spoon. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby.” Leaning her hip against the island, she gave Grace her full attention.

Grace pushed the drawer closed. “Did you know Kaleb was injured in the army?” His revelation had stunned, if not shamed, her. Sure she’d noticed that something was a little off in his gait on occasion, but she thought maybe he had a bad knee. Boy, was she wrong.

“Oh, yes. He doesn’t hide it. In fact, he’s an inspiration to everyone here, sharing his story at area schools and churches. He’s our own real-life hero.”

A hero whose title had come at a great price. Yet he didn’t seem bitter or angry, and she wondered how that could be.

“Good evening, ladies.”

Both Grace and her mother turned at the sound of Kaleb’s deep voice.

“Hello there, Kaleb.” Mama tossed her potholders on the island. “We’re so happy you could join us.”

“Are you kidding? After hearing Grace talk about her grandmother’s lasagna all afternoon, I was thrilled when Roger extended the invitation.”

His attention shifted to Grace then, his smile reaching across the room, wrapping around her heart like a warm blanket on a cold night.

She couldn’t help noticing that while she’d come directly from work, he’d changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a tailored red-and-white button-down that hugged his muscular torso. His hair was also damp, indicating he’d likely showered.

Nothing like being shown up by a guy. Especially one who’d suddenly garnered a great deal of her respect.

Making dinner with Mama and Roger seem like a cakewalk compared to spending the evening with a guy whose character and outlook on life had her taking a long, hard look at herself...and not liking what she saw.

* * *

Kaleb had hoped for a relaxing evening and, so far, it had been just that. While there was no question that he wanted to support Roger by being here for him, he feared things could be a little tense. After the way he shut Grace down today... And even though they’d patched things up, one never knew how well that patch might hold.

Sitting in Roger and Donna’s dining room, next to Grace, no less, Kaleb finished his last bite of lasagna. “Donna, your grandmother’s lasagna has a new fan.” He set his fork atop his empty plate. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” It was the perfect balance of meat, cheese and pasta. And those seasonings. Just the right kick, without overpowering the other flavors.

Grace’s mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “That’s the response this recipe usually gets.”

“I only wish she’d make it more often.” Roger nudged his wife’s elbow with his own, sending her a playful grin.

Donna blushed, returning her napkin to her lap. “Kaleb, I can’t tell you how excited I am about the Hometown Heroes exhibit at the museum.”

His chest tightened. The way it always did when his name and the word hero were used in the same sentence. He was no hero.

“Hometown heroes? Museum?” Grace spooned another small portion of lasagna onto her plate. Her third helping, if he wasn’t mistaken. Where did she put it?

Donna addressed her daughter. “I volunteer at the historical museum here in town. We’re planning to have a whole room dedicated to those men and women from Ouray who have served our country. We’ve received a few items—everything from photos to uniforms to ration cards—dating back to the First and Second World Wars, the Korean War and Vietnam.” She smiled at Kaleb. “However, our most recent hero is going to round things out for us. Make the exhibit more personal and real by bringing it into the twenty-first century.”

Eager to deflect the unwanted attention, Kaleb motioned toward Roger. “What about Roger? I’m sure he’s got lots of items.”

“Are you kidding?” Roger draped an arm across the back of his wife’s chair. “Donna had me pulling boxes from my Vietnam days out of the attic weeks ago.”

“We’ll have the ribbon cutting on June twenty-third, a day we’re calling Hometown Heroes Day, and Kaleb here has volunteered to give a short speech, along with our other donors.”

Volunteered? More like coerced. A bunch of women ganging up on him like that, plying him with all kinds of baked goods. A fellow didn’t stand a chance.

Now he was committed.

“When do you think you’ll have your items ready for us?” Donna smiled sweetly.

“I need to finish sorting through everything.” Of course, before he could finish, he needed to actually start the process. For now, the untouched boxes were still stacked in one of his spare bedrooms, right where his parents had left them a month ago. He knew he needed to move a lever. Yet every time he thought about it, a sense of dread seemed to settle over him. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

“I can imagine.” Leaning back, Donna folded her hands in her lap. “You were in the army how many years?”

“Eight.”

Grace rested her elbow on the table, perched her chin on her palm and stared at him. “How many tours of duty?”

“Three. All in the Middle East.”

Donna gasped. “I just had an idea.”

Kaleb and Grace collectively turned to her mother.

“Grace, why don’t you help Kaleb sort through his things?”

A look of horror flashed across Grace’s face. She straightened, lowering her arm. “Mama, I don’t think that’s really appropriate. There may be some things that Kaleb doesn’t want anyone else to see.”

Donna laid a hand at the base of her neck. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She met Kaleb’s gaze. “I apologize if I was out of line, Kaleb.”

“No worries, Donna.”

“Well, so long as we have everything by June ninth, we should be okay.” Donna pushed away from the table. “Who’s interested in dessert?”

Despite his stomach being twisted in knots with guilt, Kaleb managed to down a slice of chocolate cake, another of Grace’s purported favorites, before bidding Roger and Donna farewell.

“I’m going to say good-night, too.” Grace grabbed her jacket and pack from the closet near the front door. “Thank you for dinner, Mama.” She hugged her mother, the gesture appearing more heartfelt than the one they’d shared earlier that day. “The lasagna was even better than I remembered.”

Outside, the last vestiges of daylight faded in the western sky. The night air was cool, something he was used to, but he was glad Grace had a jacket.

They strolled along Fifth Street, silent. Was she feeling as sheepish in the wake of this afternoon’s events as he was? He struggled to think of something to say, but couldn’t.

Finally, “I, uh—” Grace stepped into the void. “I’m sorry for what my mother said. About me helping you. Obviously she’s a little out of touch.”

“Ah, she’s harmless. I know there was no ill intent.”

After another pause, Grace continued. “You haven’t begun to sort through your stuff, have you?”

Wow. He wasn’t expecting that. “You figured that out, huh?”

“Yep.” Her gaze remained straight ahead.

For some odd reason, he felt relieved. As if his secret was finally out in the open. “I have every intention of meeting that deadline, you know.”

“I know.” Hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, she forged on. “But delving into your past makes you uneasy.”

“How did you know?” He’d known this woman barely twenty-four hours and yet she was able to read him so well.

She shrugged. “We all have pasts.”

He followed her around the corner at Seventh Avenue. “It’s not like I’m hiding anything.”

“I understand. You’d just prefer the past remain in the past.”

“Sort of. It’s just—”

She stopped in the middle of the street. Looked at him with eyes that seemed to cut right through him. “Just what?”

“Um— My prosthetic. Challenges. You know.” Now it was his turn to shrug.

“Memories.”

One innocuous word but, boy, did it pack a punch. “Yeah.”

Her weak smile said she understood. “They have a way of sneaking up on us, don’t they?”

Us? What memories did Grace not want to unearth?

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Kaleb. But your sacrifice deserves to be honored. People want to honor it. Why not let them?”

Because they might see that I’m a fraud. That I’m not worthy of their honor.

They crossed Main Street, the sound of the river growing louder as they approached. Much like the turmoil cutting a swath through him. Why couldn’t he go through those boxes? What was he so afraid of?

Perhaps Grace’s mother was right. Maybe he did need help. Someone to give him direction and keep him on task. After all, he had a deadline and he was a man of his word.

But who would he ask? His mother would want him to donate everything. His father was too close to the situation, too. Maybe Roger. He was military and knew how to cut to the chase. Though Kaleb hated to take him away from Donna.

Why his gaze drifted to the woman walking beside him was beyond comprehension. He barely knew her. Still, she was military. So, in a practical sense, she would know what might be best for the museum. And, now that he thought about it, not having any personal attachment to him or anyone else might actually make her the best person for the job.

But there was a lot of stuff in those boxes. Stuff that spanned his life from boyhood to manhood. Did he really want her sifting through every photo and newspaper article? From basic training to the IED that ended his career.

They rounded onto Oak Street and Kaleb realized they were almost to the RV park. He’d been so lost in thought that he not only lost track of time, but location, as well. He hadn’t intended to walk Grace home, though he supposed it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

Unfortunately, he didn’t believe in accidents. God wanted him to walk Grace home for a reason. And as he continued to ponder the boxes in his spare room, he had a pretty good idea what that reason was.

“Grace?” He stopped in front of the empty campsite just down from hers and turned to look at her. “Would you be interested in helping me dig through my military memorabilia? I realize I’m asking a lot—I mean, you barely even know me—but I need help.”

She watched him, seemingly intrigued. “How much stuff are we talking about?”

“At least a dozen boxes.”

Her eyes widened. “No wonder you’re overwhelmed.”

He lifted a shoulder. “My mom insisted I share everything with her, and since I didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t, I had an ongoing box that I’d toss stuff into. When one got full, I’d send it to her and start on another.”

Grace smiled then. “That’s actually pretty sweet. Not many guys would be that considerate.”

“You obviously haven’t met my mother.”

Grace snickered.

“So what do you say, Grace? Would you be willing to forfeit your free time to help a poor soul?”

“Give up my free time? Boy, you really know how to sell this.”

“What if I throw in dinner?”

“Okay, now you’re speaking my language.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze narrowing. “So why do you want me to help you?”

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. I guess for the same reasons I hired you as my office manager. Military background, attention to detail...”

She nodded, yet remained silent for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Lowering her arms, she turned and took two steps toward her campsite before twisting back around. “And just so you’ll know, steak is my favorite meal.”