by Laura Drake
“What’s wrong? Who is that man?” Momma’s voice is high and whiny. She gets worse in the evenings, but she’s even more confused when she’s upset.
I whirl, and almost bump into Reese. He takes a startled step back. “Thanks. Now Momma’s upset.” I know I’m being mean and unfair. And I don’t care. I march to the kitchen, push the screen door, and hold it open. “Please, can you just go?”
He steps past me, onto the porch, then turns, brows drawn over fire in his dark eyes. “I didn’t come here to cause problems for you. I came here to see my niece. I’m staying a week, and I hope to be back tomorrow…if it’s okay.”
“You’ve seen her all day today.” Which is more than I get. I cross my arms over my vulnerable chest. Underneath the anger, his face is so sad, reminding me that he’s lost a lot, too. My soft heart is starting to regret my snit-fit.
“I have. And she’s amazing. Perfect, really.” Some of the fight goes out of his eyes. “Look, you’re seeing me as a stereotype, and I don’t deserve that. I’m not judging you, or your family.”
I lift my chin. “We may not have money, but we have something all your money can’t buy. Love.”
He glances away, and this vulnerable little-boy look comes over his face. “You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”
He turns, shoves his hands in his pockets, steps off the porch, and walks to his truck.
God, how could someone as coldhearted as me ever hope to be a good mother? I wish I could take it all back; I know I’ve hurt him. “Hey,” I call after him.
He is at his car and glares back at me over his shoulder. Then he climbs up into the massive interior.
“I’m sorry.”
But he’s already slammed the door and fired the engine.
Chapter 6
Lorelei
The next morning, I find any excuse to be in the dining room: coffee patrol, refilling sugar on the tables, chatting up the customers. When Sassy asks if I want to trade jobs with her, I head back to my office. It’s ten, and Reese is obviously not coming in. I wanted to apologize the proper way, the hard way, face-to-face.
I close my door and pull his card from my purse. It’s like him: crisp, clean, and consequential. Reese St. James, Manager. Probably hasn’t had a chance to replace Manager with Owner.
That’s mean-spirited and rude. So not me, but this guy seems to irritate me just by breathing. I don’t know him well enough for my code-red animosity. Yes, he’s rich and a bit high-horsed, but he’s human, and I hurt him last night. And I’m worried about him wanting Sawyer, but I have court papers; I have custody. He’d have to prove legal grounds to take her from us, and there aren’t any.
And on the porch last night, I saw through him, to the sadness. He lost his mother, his father, and now his brother. He looked so all alone. It’s pulled at me, ever since.
Besides, Sawyer deserves better. If a friend told me this story, I’d tell her to be happy that Sawyer has more than just me and Momma. So why am I so mad?
After my fit last night, I have to admit—I’m jealous. Not of his money. Well, not mostly. It’s the time his money affords him. He can walk away from his life and spend a week playing with his niece, not worrying a minute about the expense, or if he’ll have a job when he gets back. He’s so entitled that he has no idea that he is. I know he has a right to be in Sawyer’s life. I just don’t know how to fit him into our lives. He’s like a spring in an old couch, pushing and uncomfortable. And as long as I’m admitting…he’s charming and good-looking, and when he looks at me with those melted-chocolate eyes, he reminds me of dreams I tucked away years ago. Silly, young-woman dreams of romance and love and babies.
Maybe that’s part of why this guy irritates me. Better to let sleeping dreams lie.
I eye the computer. Maybe I can research somewhere to buy the organic cornmeal that Nevada wants for her fry bread. “No. Your Momma taught you to do the hard stuff first. Quit frittering and get it done.”
I plop into my chair and dial. Maybe he’ll be on the phone. Maybe it’ll just go to voice—
“Hello?” His voice is warm as liquid sunshine, and it isn’t a recording.
“Yes. Um. Reese? This is Lorelei.”
“Yes.”
Chilly and abrupt, but he hasn’t hung up yet. Better than I expected. Better than I’d have done in his place. “I looked for you this morning, but you didn’t come in for breakfast.”
“I thought you’d be more comfortable if I didn’t. I went to the Lunch Box Diner, down the street.”
“Oh no. You didn’t eat the chili, did you? It’ll give you the runs.”
“At eight in the morning?” He chuckles, and I’m glad he can’t see me blush. “No, I had eggs.”
“Oh, good. I don’t know how Dusty could ruin eggs. Listen. I just called to tell you I’m sorry. About last night. I was rude, and you did nothing to deserve it. That’s not like me, though you probably think it is, from the impression I’ve given you, and—”
“You sound like me, the first time we met.”
I smile, remembering his stuttered apology. “I kinda do, don’t I?”
He sighs. “Let’s agree that neither of us is at our best right now. We’ve lost family, and Sawyer was a surprise to us both. I feel like my life stopped and I’ve been thrown into a new, strange one.”
It’s as if he looked inside my head and described what he saw. “Yes, it feels just like that.”
“Okay then…” I hear him take a breath to say goodbye.
“I’m not done. It’s not a good apology until I give a reason for my actions. I came home last night and saw Sawyer rolling over for you and…I was jealous. I’m sorry I’m that petty, but apparently, I am. You’re more than welcome to visit.” A flush climbs my neck, and I have to admit that I’m looking forward to learning more about him. If he’s still there when I get home, that is.
“You don’t need to fall on your sword, but thank you. I accept your apology.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I’m heading out there now. Oh, and I’m cooking dinner.”
Click.
I sit staring at the phone. He’s presumptuous and bossy, but for once I’m not complaining. I go through my days doing what needs to be done. He has no idea what a treat it is for me not to do this one chore, for one night.
And I’m sure not telling him.
But it’s sweet of him just the same.
* * *
Reese
The attorney emailed me the background check on Lorelei West early this morning while I was working in my hotel room. She’s just what she appears to be: honest, hardworking, broke. Her bank account balance explains part of why she’s so snippy about money. She’s one appliance breakdown from bankruptcy.
I pull up the drive, shut the truck down, and watch the wind dance with the long grass of the yard. I can’t claim that Sawyer isn’t being taken care of. I sure can’t claim she’s not loved.
If only I’d found out about Sawyer first. Once I had her, a court would be crazy to take her away from me.
I glance to the back door of the house. Would I have been as open and free with visitation as Lorelei has been? I open the car door and slide the long step to the ground. Moot point—Lorelei couldn’t afford the trip to Texas. Maybe I’ll try to give her some money to help with Sawyer’s expenses. Just until I can work out joint custody.
“Come on in,” Sarah calls when I knock on the screen door.
“Who’s there?” Mary’s tremulous voice comes from the parlor.
I drop the grocery sacks on the table and step to the doorway. “It’s me, Mary.”
“What is that man doing in the house?” Mary’s voice spirals just short of panic.
“It’s all right, hon. I invited him.” Sarah pats Mary’s hands, and mouths Bad day. Poor Mary. Poor Lorelei.
“Why don’t I get Sawyer up?” I say.
“I’ll do the diaper. You can do the bath.” Sarah scoots to the edge of the couch.
“No. You k
eep Mary company. I’ll handle it.” Like Bo always told us, fake it ’til you make it. “I’d like to help.”
She raises one eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Oh yeah. It’ll be easier today.”
Turns out, I’m an optimist. The smell hits me at the doorway—the stench rolls over me. Still, Sawyer smiles to see me and waves her arms. I didn’t know it was possible to gag and smile at the same time.
I lift her and, holding her at arm’s length in front of me, trot for the bathroom, lay her on the dresser, and flip the light switch. Nothing happens. I tap it but don’t hear the jingle of a blown bulb. No time to deal with it now—I’ve got to get her out of that diaper. Good thing there’s enough light from the frosted window over the tub to see by. I break my personal best getting her cleaned up. Once the nuclear waste is tied in a plastic bag, the air clears and my stomach settles.
I tickle her belly, and she chortles at me.
“Oh yeah, you think it’s funny now. Wait until I tell this story to your first boyfriend. Who will be laughing then, huh?” Keeping a hand on Sawyer to be sure she doesn’t roll off the dresser, I unbutton my shirt. I learned yesterday that there’s no way to do bath time without getting wet myself, and this is my last clean shirt. I check behind the door for somewhere to hang it. There’s a hook with a small pink bra hanging from it that I doubt is Mary’s. I imagine it on Lorelei’s long torso. I finger the lacy edge. When I realize I must look like a pervert, I rip off my shirt and hang it on the hook. “Okay, button, let’s do this.”
We both enjoy the bath, though I end up almost as wet as her. Every once in a while, she lets out “mmmmmmm” or “iiiiiii,” which must be the beginning of words. While I’m getting her dressed, I make a mental note to look up when babies start talking and how to help them learn.
Whoever created snaps on baby clothes didn’t consider man-size hands. Have they not heard of Velcro?
Eventually we’re both presentable, and I carry her to where Mary and Sarah are working on a puzzle. Well, Sarah is. Mary is playing with a piece, turning it this way and that as if trying to understand what it’s for.
“Ah, here’s our girl, Mary.” Sarah reaches up to take Sawyer from me.
“Why is that man here, again?”
“I’ll go to put away the groceries. I’m cooking dinner tonight, Mary.”
“Oh, you’re from the Meals on Wheels.”
I walk to the kitchen and leave it to Sarah to explain…or not.
Once I put away the steaks and other perishables, I glance around, thinking about the conversation with Lorelei this morning. Not surprising she feels overwhelmed; she has so much on her shoulders. Maybe there’s some way I can make myself useful. It might go a ways to making up for my bumbling yesterday. I need to forge some kind of relationship here. “Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know where the electrical breaker is and where tools are kept?”
“Check in the pantry for the breaker box, and I think the tools are under the kitchen sink.”
“Thanks.” I find the circuit box in the back corner of the sparsely populated pantry. I flip the breaker for that part of the house, then wander back to the sink and pull open the cabinet door beneath it. There’s a worn cardboard box full of screws, washers, nails, wood glue, zip ties, a hammer, and a screwdriver with multiple size attachments. I pull it out and head for the bathroom.
I was right—the bulb is fine. I check the switch, and it’s fine, too. I unscrew the switch plate, trace the wires a few inches, to find the break. Simple fix. I put it back together and flip the switch. The light comes on. I dust my hands, feeling pretty smug.
I have all day, and Sawyer naps through a lot of it. Might as well be useful. “I’ll be outside for a bit,” I call to the ladies, then head out the door and stroll to the rickety barn. Dust-mote-filtered sunlight streams through the gaps between the boards. I peer through the doorway to the shadowed interior. The hayloft collapsed at some point, and ancient hay bales are scattered like a giant’s Legos across the dirt floor. The support beams have given way at the very back, and who knows where else. If tools are in there, they’re staying here.
From here I can see into the backyard. The grass is a sickly straw color, shin-high. Only the weeds seem to be thriving. There’s a metal shed near the barbed-wire boundary at the back of the property. Here’s something I can do; I’ll see if there’s a mower in there. Not that it would help the weeds, but at least the yard would look more presentable.
The door squeals when I pull it open to reveal an ancient push lawn mower. I pull it out, knowing my shoulders are going to ache tonight. How in the heck does Lorelei wrangle this dinosaur?
Looking from the outside, her burdens are too many and too heavy for her delicate shoulders. The mower’s tank is empty, so I rig a siphon to pull gas out of my truck’s. I take off my shirt and hang it on the outside mirror. Lorelei seems to be as genuine, honest, and loving as she appears. The women I’ve known aren’t anything like that. In fact, they’re the opposite: high-maintenance, cliquish, and shallow. I’m jaded and a bit…crispy when it comes to women.
But I have to admit, I admire this one.
The mower fires on the tenth pull, and I start pushing, imagining Lorelei in that pink bra.
* * *
Lorelei
I pull up and park in the driveway, but something’s niggling. Something’s different. I step out of Einstein and look around. The crickets’ night song is the same. The driveway is the same. The yard…the yard. It’s neatly mowed, and the smoke drifting from the back of the house makes my stomach growl. Meat—steak, if I don’t miss my guess. I walk around to where the light over the back door spotlights the small cement porch. The Weber grill is smoking, but no one is around. The backyard’s shaggy grass is shorn short as well. Where did Sarah find house elves in Unforgiven?
I turn at the sound of water hissing from the hose. On the far side of the house, a shirtless Reese is bending over, dousing his head. His biceps flex, and the drips down his broad back glisten in the yellow porch light.
“I-yiy-yiy!” He drops the hose and tosses his head back like a wild horse. Water flies in a fan. “Man, that’s cold.”
Water rolls down to the two small dimples in his lower back. I know I should announce myself, but it’s been too long since I’ve been this close to a young, good-looking male body.
Besides, I don’t trust my voice.
He runs his hands down his torso, squeegeeing water, then turns. “Oh. Hi.” He reaches for his shirt on the plastic chair as if it’s the most natural thing to be half-naked in front of a woman he hardly knows.
He’s got one of those epic chests: almost hairless except the line of dark hair running down the front of his water-spotted Wranglers. Shut up, Lorelei and say something. “Um. Hi.” I’m hoping he can’t see my flaming cheeks. “I’ll see you inside.” And I flee. Well, I don’t actually run, but it’s a near thing.
I’m in the kitchen when he steps in, this time wearing a shirt—and Momma’s apron, a plate in one hand, a set of tongs in the other. “Welcome home.” He smiles that all-American-boy smile my way. “Dinner is in ten minutes.”
You just have to respect a man who is secure enough in himself to wear a ruffled pink-flowered apron.
I run up the stairs to my room, grab my holey jean shorts and a ratty T-shirt, but stop at the closet on my way out. We don’t often have company. Or meat that isn’t ground, for that matter. Wouldn’t hurt me to dress one step up from grubby. I pull out a sleeveless yellow-and-white gingham blouse, yellow shorts, and sandals. Clean and summery, but not special. I can live with it. I head downstairs to wash up.
I close the bathroom door and, out of old habit, flip the light switch. The lamp over the sink comes on, and I stare at it for a minute. It’s been out so long, I’d almost forgotten what the room looked like lit. I notice the towel from Sawyer’s bath is tossed over the towel rod instead of hanging in its usual place, on the peg beh
ind the…Oh hell. My pink bra is dangling from the hook like a whorehouse invitation.
Hot blood throbs in my cheeks. Him imagining me with no clothes on is mortifying. And kinda…hot.
Wow, Lorelei, that’s flat pathetic. The next time a guy asks you out, you need to accept.
I turn on the water in the sink and wash the smell of fryer oil off my skin. It could have been worse; it could easily have been the ratty bra I have on. I’m going to hope Reese has forgotten about this. In five minutes, I’ve changed and go in search of Sawyer.
She’s lying on her back in her crib, sleeping in a onesie I’ve never seen before, with a cartoon lion on the breast. Her eyelashes are feathery shadows against her pink cheeks, her thumb an inch from her mouth.
My heart swells, pushing almost painfully against my breastbone. How can love be this fierce, when three weeks ago I didn’t know this baby existed? I don’t know, but I don’t care. The love is just there, beating in my chest along with my heart—just as strong, just as essential.
She’s a part of me now.
Funny how I didn’t feel I was missing anything before. But now it’s like my life has gone from black-and-white to color. It’s so much richer, so much fuller. Details I hadn’t noticed stand out in bold relief.
The responsibility for this tiny life weighs heavy some days. Did Patsy feel that way? Sawyer is so little and delicate. And the world is hard.
I run my finger over the silk of her superfine hair, then make myself step away. It isn’t easy. It’s probably good that I have to work. I think I’d just end up staring at her all day.
In the kitchen, Momma is buttering corn on the cob at the table. Mrs. Wheelwright is at the sink, draining green beans.
“How you doing, Momma?”
“That boy from Meals on Wheels is so nice. I didn’t know they cook and everything.”
I manage to hold back a snort of laughter. “Yeah, county services are stepping up, huh?”