“The riding mower.” He spied a tool shed that looked to be as good a place to search as any. Sure enough, when he’d hiked over there with Sessa trailing him, he found an ancient push mower and a riding lawnmower that had seen better days. There was little more than fumes in the gas tank, but he spied a bright red can marked gasoline in the shadows. With any luck, it would be full.
“What in the world are you doing?”
Ignoring the question, he stepped around her to snatch up the gas can. Empty. Of course.
Setting the can aside, he pushed the riding mower out into the sunshine. To his surprise, it started on the first try. Trey turned the key, and the engine sputtered to a stall. The spark plugs were passable but probably ought to be changed. Other than that, it looked in decent shape.
The blonde beauty stepped in front of the mower, hands on her hips. “I repeat,” she said with some measure of insistence, “what in the world are you doing?”
Trey nodded toward the field where they’d just walked. “You need grass cut, and I need something to do this morning.” Because if he left now, he’d face the empty house and empty life back in Houston.
He climbed off the mower. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a tractor hidden in that barn that I somehow missed?”
“Not anymore. Daddy sold the John Deere about five years ago when he wasn’t able to drive it anymore.”
“All right, then.” He grabbed the gas can and fixed her with a look that he hoped would convey the idea he didn’t intend to argue. “You just go on about your day, and I’ll be back soon as I can.”
Before she could protest, he set off across the yard toward his truck. Trey got all the way to the driveway before she caught him.
“You can’t do this.”
Trey ignored her as he secured the gas can in the bed of the truck and then walked around her to climb into the pickup and stab his keys into the ignition. As he turned the key, the truck’s engine roared to life, and a George Strait tune blared through the radio’s speakers. He switched off the music and rolled down the window.
“You simply cannot do this,” she repeated.
“Sessa,” he said in his best bedside manner tone, “I’m not doing this for you.”
She shook her head. “Who are you doing it for? Ross?”
“No.” He shifted the truck into reverse. “I’m doing it for me. Do you need anything else while I’m in town getting gas and spark plugs?”
“Town?” Now she looked truly worried. “You don’t need to go into town.”
“I do if I’m going to get this mower running like it ought to.” He paused. “But don’t worry, Sessa. I’ll keep this between the two of us.”
Her laugh held little humor. “Apparently you’ve never lived in a small town. Nothing is just between anyone in Sugar Pine, especially if my mother or any of her friends have anything to do with it.”
Trey eased his foot off the brake. “Then I’ll tell them I turned out to be the right man for the job.”
“Mowing grass is not the job I posted in the paper.” The truck rolled down the driveway. “Everyone in Sugar Pine knows by now that I needed someone to help me with the Smithsonian order, not the field.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to show me how to help you with the Smithsonian order.” He hit the road and shifted into drive. “After I mow the field.”
“Not today. I have book club tonight.” Sessa’s voice faded as he sped away.
“Book club,” he said under his breath. “I’ll be long gone before then.”
In the meantime, however, he could do something about that field. If there was a child in the house—which he figured there must be given the stroller and various plastic riding toys he’d spied through the open garage door—then allowing that grass to grow up like that was dangerous. No telling the critters that had made a home out there.
He couldn’t put words to the rock that still sat low in his gut, but that rock was what refused to let him tuck tail and go home. He’d apologized, all right, but didn’t feel lighter. And Sessa Chambers had some support system—if her mention of her mama and her nosy friend were any indication—but this was something he could do for her.
Trey switched the radio back on and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as George Strait sang. There was plenty to do at the Chambers place.
But he’d be gone before that book club meeting started. The last thing he needed was to explain himself to a gaggle of gals who probably spent as much time talking about their shoes and their men as they did talking about books.
At least that had been his experience the last time he’d had the misfortune to visit his mama on book club night. Mama. He hadn’t thought of how much he missed her in awhile. Something about being around a strong Southern woman like Sessa Chambers sent his mind to places he’d rather not go.
Like home. And family. And what it had been like to just be Trey and not that doctor who went to prison.
The song finished and the next one began, another George. Another song about life and what was important. A song about the heartland. About home. About hard working men who toiled until the daylight was gone.
Trey pressed the button to silence the music. And wished one more time that that could be him again.
Sessa half-expected the doctor would come to his senses and keep driving past Sugar Pine and back to Houston where he belonged. Instead, he returned and headed straight to the back of the property to tinker with Daddy’s old riding mower.
She tried not to let him catch her watching, but if she stood in just the right spot in the kitchen, she could see Trey bent over the mower with his hands busy working on the engine. Every once in awhile, he would stand and straighten the kinks out of his spine or swipe at his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he’d resume his task.
Never had she been so glad that Mama was making the pies for tonight’s meeting. Just knowing Trey Brown was out there tinkering with the mower had her jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
Deciding she could use her restless energy in a productive way, Sessa snatched up the broom and tackled the kitchen floor. When Trey fired up the engine on the mower, she nearly jammed the broom handle into the oven door.
“Sessa, girl, you have got to calm down,” she muttered as she put the broom away and opted for the dust rag before she caused any serious damage.
By the time the living and dining rooms had been vacuumed and dusted and the sofa cushions fluffed, Sessa had almost forgotten about the disaster waiting to happen in the back field. Almost but not quite.
Because as soon as Mama or one of her cronies figured out just who was toiling away on Daddy’s lawnmower …
She shook off the thought with a roll of her shoulders. No sense borrowing trouble. Another one of Daddy’s pearls. And worrying about what a bunch of old women might say tonight while the sun was still shining didn’t make much sense at all.
She looked at the clock over the stove and found it was blinking again. So was the one on the microwave. One of these days she was going to have to learn how to set those clocks.
Sessa retrieved her phone from her pocket and found she’d somehow missed a call from an out-of-state number she didn’t recognize, probably while she was vacuuming. She looked to see if there was a message and, finding none, went back to the home screen to check the time.
It was a quarter past noon. No wonder her stomach was growling.
When had the noise from the mower died?
She returned to the back window thinking she’d spy the doctor out in the field. Instead, she found the field had been mowed, and Trey Brown was nowhere to be seen. She hurried down the hall to the front bedroom to peer out of the blinds. His truck was still right where he’d parked it, so he was around somewhere.
Though the last thing she wanted to do was spend any time with him, the least she could do was make him a sandwich and bring him some sweet tea. After all, he’d been working on that field—and who knew what
else—for hours.
It didn’t take her long to slice up some ham for sandwiches and put together a tray to take to him. What did take awhile was building up her courage to actually open the screen door and walk outside.
That this man would not only tell her she had no reason to apologize but also would ask for forgiveness of his own humbled her deeply. The fact that she’d been praying for the opportunity to make things right with this innocent man only to have the Lord hear her and arrange for it just flat undid her. She was grateful that he’d come, grateful for the kinship she felt. He’d loved Ross, too. He hadn’t said as much, but she’d sensed it.
She spied the doctor by the paddock. Before cowardice could send her skittering back inside, Sessa squared her shoulders and carried the tray all the way across the yard, past the workshop, and over the freshly cut field to where he stood with his back to her. Only when she got within a few feet of him did Sessa realize he was talking on his cell phone.
“No, our relationship was over long before that,” she heard him say as she stuttered to a halt. “I don’t care what you can do for me.”
She’d obviously stumbled onto a very private conversation, but there was nowhere to hide and certainly no way to retreat without the risk of Trey turning around to see her.
She should say something. Should let him know she was behind him.
“Find someone who cares. You won’t blackmail me.”
Oh no. Sessa’s heart sunk.
Whatever was being said on the other end of the line must have appeased him, because he hung up and dialed another number. “Charlie, yeah, this is Trey.” A pause. “Good. Great, actually. Yeah, I went to see your guy. Took his advice, actually, and you’ll never guess where I am.”
The tray was getting heavy, and Sessa could see that the pitcher of sweet tea was now situated dangerously close to the edge. With nowhere to put it down and no desire to intrude on yet another private conversation, Sessa willed her shaking hands to be still.
Perspiration dotted her forehead. She let out a silent breath and prayed he would hang up soon. Men didn’t make long phone calls, did they? Maybe she should back away, but she’d lugged this tray all the way out here …
“Am I that predictable? Yeah, that’s where I am. Did what he said, yeah. Wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”
Sessa’s nose began to itch. She distracted herself by looking at the wisps of clouds just beyond the barn.
At the pair of cardinals—one male and the other female—that flitted around the branches of the old magnolia that shaded the north end of the paddock.
At the way the sun glinted and shimmered off the ice floating in the tea pitcher.
And finally at the breadth of the doctor’s shoulders and the muscled and tanned arm that held the phone. The wisps of damp curls just behind his ear, and the way the midday sunshine turned his sandy hair a shade of cinnamon.
He was taller than he’d looked in that video of him leaving the courtroom. Wider at the shoulders and narrower at the waist and hip.
Pleasant distractions, all of them, but her nose still itched with a vengeance. Sessa decided to try and appease the itch by moving her arm just enough to allow her shoulder to reach the spot on her nose that needed attention.
Her first attempt caused the tea pitcher to move closer to the edge of the tray. Her second attempt ended when the pitcher slid to the middle of the tray and the sandwiches nearly pitched over the other side.
A trickle of sweat traced a path down her spine, and she could feel the dampness on her neck. She should say something. Should announce her presence.
Something.
Anything.
“Yeah, drove here twice before I had the courage to—yeah, twice. I know …” He left the statement hanging and began to chuckle. “Yeah, well, she’s prettier than I expected and a whole lot nicer to me than she ought to be.”
Much as she was enjoying this part of the conversation, Sessa’s itch was turning into the beginning of a sneeze.
Worse, she was hot. And sweating. Neither made for a good grip on the tray.
“Blue eyed blonde, pretty ….yeah, I said pretty. C’mon, Charlie, I’m human. I notice things. Doesn’t mean that I’m interested in … Okay, yes, it’s possible, but Charlie, seriously. I’m a doctor. Yeah, I’m helping her out a little today, but I don’t need to think about anything as complicated as …”
He paused. She tried not to sneeze. Her eyes began to water. Heat shimmered on the horizon. She swayed and then caught herself.
“Just cutting a field that needed some attention. Yeah, the mower needed some work. And I’m looking at a paddock and barn that could … No. Just helping. Nothing else. Yes, I’m sure.”
Achoo!
The pitcher of tea toppled forward and landed on a clump of freshly mowed grass, but its contents splashed up the back of Trey Brown’s Wranglers. Too late, the striped cotton napkin fluttered to the ground at her feet.
The plate of ham sandwiches was safe from falling but not from the sneeze. She dared not think of the fact she had neither handkerchief, nor tissue.
Mortified, Sessa knelt to retrieve the pitcher and napkin and returned them to the tray. With the remaining shreds of her dignity, she dabbed at her nose with the tea-soaked napkin and tried not to think of the man whose work-scarred boots were so close she could touch them.
“I’ve got to go, Charlie.” There was a soft beep as he ended the call.
Embarrassment heated her worse than the sun beating down on her head. Pretty. He’d called her pretty.
She swiped at her sweaty forehead. Her damp neck.
Oh, but she was a mess.
“Hi,” he said when she finally dared a look up in his direction. Where she might’ve expected him to be angry at her eavesdropping—they both knew she’d overheard him—his eyes danced instead. “You brought lunch.”
She continued to hide behind the napkin though its use was long over. “I made the attempt anyway.”
Trey reached down to offer her his hand, and she allowed him to help her up. His hand was warm. Strong. Work-roughened. She looked down at his fingers, still curled around hers, and tried to think of something witty to say. Failing that, she just tried to think of a way to get out of the situation without looking any more like a fool than she already had.
“Thank you.”
The statement took her by surprise. She jolted her attention to his face. To those eyes.
“Thank you,” he repeated. “For the attempt at lunch.” He held her gaze in a way that conveyed more. Things she couldn’t really fathom. Like, thank you for treating me like a human being.
The reminder of where he’d been the past two years—and why—unnerved her.
“Oh.” She slid her hand from his grasp and buried her fingers in the front pockets of her jeans. Started babbling again. “I’ve got more ham. And sweet tea. Inside. In the kitchen, I mean. I could …”
“That would be nice,” he said. “Ham. And sweet tea.”
His smile eased her nerves.
“Or we could drive into town. I saw on the sign that it’s meatloaf and potatoes day at the diner.”
“No!” she said a bit too quickly. “I’ll go make another round of sandwiches. This time I probably ought to serve them indoors. At the kitchen table. Or out on the patio.”
Yes, outdoors was preferable to the close quarters inside. She scrambled to retrieve the tray.
Trey glanced down at the ruins of her first attempt. “Probably a good idea if I just grab a sandwich and a glass of tea and get back to work.”
“You’ve done enough, Trey.”
His reluctance to sit down to a meal was a relief and a disappointment all wrapped up together. That smile of his nearly felled her where she stood.
“There’s plenty more to do,” he said in a tone that told her it would be pointless to argue. “Give me a couple of minutes to wash up, and I’ll gladly take whatever you leave me on the patio.”
He
moved toward the pump at the edge of the paddock with a long stride as Sessa set off in the opposite direction. A glance over her shoulder, and she spied him peel off his T-shirt to stick his head under the water now flowing from the pump.
Her heart fluttered and she stumbled and pitched forward. This time the pitcher didn’t fall but she almost did.
Righting herself, Sessa gave up all pretense of dignity and studied her guest openly, albeit from a distance. She’d seen Ben wash up after a day working the fields or the horses and never felt like she did at this moment.
What was wrong with her?
This was Trey Brown. The man she’d tried to hate. Until she saw those eyes on her television. Until she met him.
And she was a grown woman on the far side of forty and well beyond the time when she should be feeling—and acting—like a ridiculous teenager. And yet there he was. And here she was.
And oh, but now he had his shoulders under the water and he was scrubbing at the back of his neck. His tanned shoulders. His tanned neck. And those muscles, now wet from the pump water and …
Oh my. This absolutely would not do.
Resolutely she turned her back on the glorious and appealing sight and marched toward the back door. She would not look. She would not turn and see what he was doing now. These sentences created a cadence that somehow moved her forward and kept her from stumbling.
Much.
Or looking back.
Much.
A new worry, very real and yet slightly intriguing, chased her back to the house. What if this man, this doctor who was present when her child left this life, was more than just a passing acquaintance? What if her prayers for making things right with the doctor that had been so very wronged involved him spending more than just one afternoon in Sugar Pine, Texas?
“Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be so,” she muttered as she picked up her pace.
And yet at the same time, a tiny voice buried almost too deep to be heard whispered the opposite.
It wasn’t the best ham sandwich Trey had ever eaten, but he’d never forget it as long as he lived. Sessa Lee Chambers was a dangerous woman. Dangerous because she made him forget who he was and why he was there.
Firefly Summer Page 9