Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  He knew the feeling well. Each summer he had been dutifully shipped off to live with Grandmother Gertie and Grandfather Matt, and each August he was torn away from the fun-filled, healthy, and warm environment of Hickory Valley and sent back to Texas. Fond memories were often painful ones as well.

  Then, in his sophomore year, when it was evident his parents’ marriage was headed for the rocks, Gertie had insisted Rich be transferred to Hickory Valley to finish his last two years of high school in a stable environment. The fighting between his parents had escalated and had become unbearable. Harboring a bucketful of anger, he grudgingly agreed, and it later turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. His grandmother had redirected his anger, insisted he play soccer, and signed him up for a local church youth group. Because he always spent summers in Pennsylvania, he quickly realized it wasn’t as difficult to fit in and be accepted as he had expected. Graduating at the top of his class was a gift he gave back to his grandmother alone for all her patience and hard work. She was more proud of his achievement than he was. She was more proud than even his own mother and father were.

  “You know I begged your mother not to make me send you back to Texas after each summer you spent here with me,” a voice said from the rocking chair behind him. “Joyce was adamant it would never happen. If your father hadn’t insisted you come here each summer, she would have packed you up and sent you to some dude ranch or camp for rich kids instead. Luckily, once the divorce proceeding got underway, she was outvoted; and when high school rolled around, I finally got you for good—along with your stubborn Redman attitude.”

  Rich flinched and the hair at the back of his neck felt like bugs were crawling up it. “You know, Grandmother, you really have to give me some sort of signal when you want to start a chat with me. Popping up unannounced scares the hair right off my head. Don’t they give specters some sort of warning bell to use?”

  “Ding dong! Listen up, Richard Lee Junior. You think it’s fun to fade in and out of your life like I’m a fuzzy radio signal?” The rocking chair began to move. “I see you and Torrie resolved your little differences.”

  Rich refused to take the bait. He wasn’t going to talk about Torrie Larson with anyone. He needed time to figure her out. “What do you know about Great Uncle Walt?”

  “He went to New York to seek his fortune. He didn’t keep in touch with the family.” She snorted derisively.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” The rocker creaked. “I see you’re contemplating refinishing the floor in the living room and having the room repapered. Have Torrie help you pick out new furniture, or get those wingback chairs reupholstered. I’d stick with a gold color.”

  Rich’s voice rose an octave. “You’re serious? You’re dead and you’re worried about the color of upholstery I’m going to be sitting on?”

  “Phfftt. There you go, Richard Lee, being impertinent again.” The rocker rocked more vigorously. “Here’s a tip. Look at any old ledgers and bills. There must be something I missed when I went looking for those jewels.” The rocker slowed. “And get yourself a decent SUV to take those kids to the lake to fish and camp. You could use a pair of decent shoes like normal people wear, too.”

  “Camping? Surely you’re jesting?” Rich pushed his fingers through his hair and glared at the rocking chair. He’d had enough of camping on the trip up with Estella when rains flooded their tent and all their belongings. There was no way he was subjecting himself to a repeat performance.

  “What’s wrong with my boots?” He looked down at his feet and inspected his alligator cowboy boots, then looked accusingly at the rocker.

  But it had stopped. A warm breeze swirled around him, and he could swear a soft hand lightly caressed his cheek.

  Chapter Ten

  The house was silent and the kitchen was empty on Tuesday morning when Rich pulled on a pair of jeans and entered the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and found a batch of warm cinnamon rolls under a tea towel on the counter.

  “God love you, Lulu,” he said aloud and carried his coffee and roll onto the back porch. In the rose garden beside the shed he spotted Estella, still wearing her pajamas along with his grandmother’s too-large rubber boots as she peered at a rose bush with Torrie, who looked like she was explaining something to the girl in very intricate detail. The child wore huge leather garden gloves on her little hands, held upward and bent at the elbows, to keep them from falling off. She inched closer, almost head to head with Torrie, and listened attentively, then nodded and smiled brightly. The sight brought a twinge of guilt and sadness. Estella needed a woman’s touch. Estella needed a mother. As soon as the little girl spied him, she came tearing across the yard, hands still in the air with the oversized gloves flapping.

  “I’m learning to graft roses.” She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps and said in a breathless voice, “Torrie’s here, but she didn’t bring Iris.” Her little lips bunched into a pout.

  “So this is garden day?” Rich asked, leaning against the post, as Torrie picked up a flat of flowers by the shed and carried it to the flower pots sitting below the porch steps on the walk.

  She looked up at him. “Yes, I needed to check the beds, water the roses, and collect some different ornamental grasses to put in a summer bouquet for a customer.”

  From around the corner of the shed, Lulu appeared toting garden tools in a plastic tote. “Well, hello, Sunshine,” Lulu said. “I see you found the rolls and coffee, but you still seem to have trouble locating shirts and shoes in the morning. It looks like you’re beyond trainable.”

  Estella knelt down and fingered the colorful flower petals in the flats scattered on the walk. “Daddy always has trouble finding things when he just wakes up. He’s grouchy sometimes, too.” She poked at a pink petunia and scowled. “Torrie said she didn’t bring Iris because it’s not Lulu’s job to watch her.” She looked up at him, her lips now bowed into an exaggerated frown.

  Rich spoke with staid calmness he hardly felt, “Is that so?” His eyes and Torrie’s met, and he lazily appraised her, forcing spots of red to color her cheeks. Her olive green tank top over her camouflage cargo shorts made her fit perfectly in with the flora and fauna surrounding her—except for those exquisite aquamarine eyes framed by long dark eyelashes. “Well, I’m not opposed to having Iris come and play when Torrie checks the beds or helps me on Wednesdays. But it’s entirely a decision for Torrie to make with Lulu and Iris.”

  Lulu peered up at Rich with her wizened face. “I’d be delighted to watch the girls. And I’m hoping there’d be some of those extra Redman points in it for me.”

  “You already earned some points for the cinnamon rolls.” His mouth twitched with amusement.

  “I did?” She grinned. “I need to start keeping track. I’m going to hold you to your word. I heard cowboys are men of their word.” Lulu pulled out two trowels and set them on the pavement.

  This time Rich threw back his head and laughed. “I’m not a cowboy, Lulu, but you are one plucky farm gal. Why is my daughter tearing around the backyard in her pajamas like a runaway waif?”

  Lulu nudged Estella toward the steps. “Because she’s a precocious child with a curious and stubborn streak like someone I know.” She glared at him. “Estella was afraid she wouldn’t see what Torrie was doing with the roses if she had to waste time getting dressed.” She gave him another once-over glance and grunted. She nudged Estella again. “Let’s get you dressed properly and fed before we tackle these pots and plants.”

  Estella clomped up the steps, the too-large rubber boots squeaking. “Daddy, can Iris come Wednesday and stay overnight? We could have a sleepover.” She looked from Rich to Lulu to Torrie with hopeful eyes. Her gaze finally came to rest on Torrie. “Please?” she pleaded.

  “I’d have to ask Iris first before we make any plans,” Torrie said. “And your dad and I need to discuss it.”

  “I already called her yesterday at her Aunt Elsa’s.”
Estella wiggled a hand in a glove and smiled. “I found Elsa Bergman’s name in the phone book. Iris said yes.”

  Rich watched as Torrie’s eyes widened in surprise when she realized she had been undermined and flat out bested by an eight-year-old.

  “You’re going to have to get up even earlier to keep up with Estella,” he said, enjoying her dumbfounded look. He ruffled the top of his daughter’s messy head as she passed by. “Do as Lulu says. Torrie and I need to talk. Ahora. Now.”

  Estella’s lip jutted out into a pout again and she crossed her arms at her chest still holding on to the sloppy gloves on her hands. “But I need to be here. I want to talk to Torrie and explain the sleepover and what we’re going to do.”

  “I’ll talk to Torrie.”

  “That’s a conflict of interest!”

  “Heaven help us,” Lulu interrupted. “Come, child, let’s go inside before you get yourself into more conflict than Dwight D. Eisenhower did in World War II.”

  “Who’s he?” Estella asked, immediately distracted. She looked up at the elderly woman with a curious squint.

  “A five-star general. A very important man. President of the United States. He was born in Texas and lived here in Pennsylvania. Come, I’ll tell you all about him while I braid that mop of hair. In a way, he was something like you—a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Okay.” Estella acquiesced begrudgingly. “But I want some blue nail polish like Iris and Torrie are wearing.”

  “Well, we can have a discussion about that, too,” Lulu said in a placating tone, “but first you must get dressed and be presentable.”

  Rich held the door for them and mouthed thank you as Lulu passed by, then said out loud, “When you get a moment, could you please get Torrie a cup of coffee and one of your cinnamon rolls? No, make it two, I could eat another one.”

  Torrie interrupted. “Thanks, but I can’t stay.” She placed a booted foot on the bottom step and peered up at him. Her aquamarine eyes now shone like sea-colored jewels in the bright sunlight.

  “I insist you sit down while we discuss this sleepover or you’re going to get a crick in your neck staring up at me.” His smooth courtroom voice indicated there would be no dissent or further discussion.

  ****

  Torrie took her usual place on the rocking chair and nodded her thanks to Lulu who brought out a tray with coffee cups and rolls. The one thing she could say for Rich Redman was that he was unaware of his charm and charisma, even when wearing tight jeans and nothing else. And his lead-colored gaze was unpredictable. His eyes could be dark and dangerous if angered, but sexy and calm when the storm blew over.

  Rich slumped down into the rocking chair and blew out a breath of air. “Does it ever get easier? I swear, that child has perfected the ability to be quite annoying.”

  Torrie laughed. “Conflict of interest? Is she enrolled in a law class for eight-year-olds?” She picked up a cinnamon roll and took a bite. “No, it doesn’t get easier. Remember what we were like as teenagers? I noticed she doesn’t seem to give Lulu any trouble.”

  “Of course not, even I’m afraid of Lulu.” Rich leaned his head back against the rocker. “Some days I can’t figure out whether I’m Lulu Smith’s employer or employee.”

  “She raised five kids just like my parents.”

  “How did they do it?’

  “Lulu, like my mother, loves to create order out of chaos. They love to organize and keep others on track and in line. It’s a real skill set.” Torrie poured some milk into her coffee.

  “Speaking of organization, can you come over tomorrow and help? And what do you think of this sleepover thing they have cooked up?” He looked at her, picked up a cinnamon roll, and took a bite.

  “To be honest,” Torrie said, “it would give Elsa a day off from babysitting Iris.” And it would give her a chance to focus on her own two boys. “Iris needs a girl her age for a friend. I bet Estella does, too.”

  Rich held up his hands. “She does, but I know nothing about sleepovers. This is new uncharted territory. I’m going to need some help. Lulu leaves after dinner.”

  Torrie laughed. “I can stay and help them get ready for bed. You buy some microwave popcorn to make, and I’ll rent a movie. Let’s give Lulu a break from cooking and take them to Webster’s Burgers and Fries for dinner. The milkshakes are fabulous. Come on, Rich, you remember what sleepovers were like.” She looked at him and saw a pained silent sadness cross his face, and she realized he had never experienced one. She touched his arm gently. “Don’t worry. I can take care of everything. I can teach you all you need to know about sleepovers.”

  “Now, there is something I can get excited about.” He brightened and looked at her. His innuendo was obvious. “Can I book a private lesson?”

  “In your dreams, cowboy,” she said, rising. She tried to ignore the sexual sparks passing between them. “I have to go to work.”

  He rose with her.

  “Don’t bother showing me out. I still have work out back here. I want to check one more bed and spray the old rose bush by the shed with fungus spray to deter leaf mold.” She moved to the steps and was certain his gaze was still fixed on her. She turned around. “Don’t you have some important legal matters to take care of? Or some poor soul who needs your expert advice?” His seductive gaze made her stomach do a lazy somersault.

  “I do, but I’d rather watch you.” He smiled his charming Redman smile.

  “Oh, brother.” She walked down the steps, throwing an exit line over her shoulder. “You’re hopeless, Rich Redman, you know that?”

  ****

  The sun was high in the sky when Rich pulled Gertie’s car into the parking lot of Henry’s Garage at the other end of town, and a big caramel-colored dog trotted up to him looking for some affection. “You must be Ratchet,” Rich said and scratched the dog behind his ears. Ratchet did a little dance, tail wagging, then followed him into a bay leading to the office.

  Henry’s Garage originally had started in a small red brick building before it outgrew its meager beginnings. To accommodate growth, Henry Jordan had merely added on more additions and bays until the building was now a series of mazes connected by arches and open doorways. Henry himself still preferred to stay in his tiny office in the old part, away from the noise of the engines and clanking of tools. He looked up and grunted when Rich entered with Ratchet. “I figured you’d be around sometime. Did you get the message my granddaughter, Denise, wants your SUV? She’s working down at Webster’s Burgers and Fries until she starts school. She’s positive she knows someone who can get the parts and will fix it up so she and her sister can commute to the community college this fall.”

  Rich grinned. “I wonder who she enlisted as the crack mechanic to piece the blasted thing together?” He selected a stool next to the counter covered in red vinyl and patched with duct tape. Ratchet plopped down on the floor by his feet. “She can have it. Free and clear. I’m having the title sent up. I’m not throwing more money into a hunk of steel that abandoned me.”

  Henry laughed. A tall, thin man with steel gray hair, he always had a ready smile for everyone, but Rich noticed he now had a tired, almost gaunt look about him.

  “I suppose you’re going over to see Lars Larson at the dealership?” Henry shuffled a pile of papers on his overflowing desk to clear a spot on the corner.

  “That’s the plan.” Rich picked up a pair of locking pliers lying on the counter and played with the adjustment on the bottom. “I need to pick your brain, Henry. Did you ever hear my Grandmother Gertie talk about Matthew’s brother in New York?”

  “Walt? Maybe once or twice, but not with any warmth.”

  “Do you know if he’s still living?”

  Henry shook his head. “Gosh, I really don’t know.”

  “My father…” Rich paused and looked at the ceiling, trying to find a way to ask a delicate, personal question. “My father, when he came to Hickory Valley in the summer, who did he spend time with?” Rich remembe
red back to the summers when his dad dropped him off at his grandmother’s, but never left town until he made sure Rich was settled in for the summer vacation. Or at least it seemed to be his plausible excuse for staying longer. When he thought back on it, his dad’s visits during his junior and senior years in Hickory Valley also involved a few extra days as well.

  “To be honest, I don’t know.” Henry said. “He knew most of the people in town. He grew up here.”

  “Were there any lady friends?”

  Henry’s face flushed, and he looked at Rich with a quizzical expression. “If I think we’re talking about the same subject, most men around Hickory Valley go out of town for that kind of business.”

  Rich hopped off the stool and Ratchet jumped up. He replaced the pliers on the counter and scratched Ratchet behind the ears again. “Well, I guess I’d better go buy a new SUV and see if Lars Larson remembers I can blackmail him if he doesn’t give me a good deal. He pulled some outlandish stunts when we were in high school. I hear he’s engaged and finally tying the knot this fall. Is Gus around?” Earlier when he talked with Lulu about finding someone to do some outside handy work for a few hours on weekends, she had told him Torrie’s brother, Gus, often moonlighted doing both inside and outside handyman jobs in construction and landscaping.

  Henry cleared his throat. A flicker of apprehensiveness crossed his weathered face. “I gave him a couple of days off. I hate to admit it, but I’m losing Gus come September. He got a new job offer to work as a mechanic at one of those big sports tracks in North Carolina. Things these days sure are different. It’s not like it used to be. The big box stores with their own garages are now changing tires and oil, and doing inspections. There’s no room for the mom and pop businesses any longer. There’s just not enough work anymore.”