Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  He shook his head. “Paul’s the poetry buff, not me.”

  “Hope is the thing with feathers, it perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops, at all,” Roxie recited. “There’s more to it but those are the most famous lines.”

  “But you didn’t choose it because it’s famous.” She loved how he looked at her, as if everything she said was fascinating. It was probably why he was stuck in the boardroom making deals. Nobody could refuse those eyes.

  “The poem is short, but there’s a gale wind, a strange sea, a chilled land, a storm.” The poem had perfectly described her life before she’d left for Philadelphia. All she’d had was Mamere and hope.

  His gaze dropped to the little wheel charm and she clapped a hand over it. “Nope. That’s all you get for now.”

  He grinned down at her and Roxie couldn’t help but smile back. Another good skill of his. She was fairly sure nobody would ever describe her as charming and delightful, but he made her feel that way.

  “So, dinner. Can you give me fifteen minutes?” It was abrupt but she had to get out of that aisle before she launched herself at him and begged to be loved in return.

  “Andy,” a little voice called and Aurora ran around the corner. She was going so fast she ricocheted off the shelves, into Andy’s knees, then went down on her bottom with a thump.

  “There’s my girl,” he said, scooping her up. She laughed into his shirt and kicked her legs.

  “Sorry about that,” Alice said, arriving just about as fast as Aurora. “I thought I had her occupied over at the desk and then I turned around and she was gone. Let me just―”

  Aurora let out a grunt of irritation as Alice tried to pry her loose.

  “Oh, she’s fine. No bother at all.” Andy tried to hand her over, but Aurora was stuck to him like gum.

  “But aren’t you asking her― I mean, are you all done talking?” Alice’s cheeks went pink and Roxie wondered what Alice was thinking. The dinner was simply Andy’s way of smoothing the way for her to help keep an eye on Mark. He didn’t need to go to all that trouble. She was happy to help. The Ethiopian meal was just a wonderful bonus to a long and dreary week.

  “We’re all done. So, see you in fifteen?”

  Andy nodded, and Aurora waved over his shoulder as they left the aisle. Roxie had never been more thankful that heartbeats were usually heard only by the owner of the heart.

  Roxie turned to replace the book in its spot, her stomach curling up with anxiety. How was she going to sit across from Andy and eat Ethiopian finger food, while pretending she was simply his neighbor and nothing more? Her acting skills had always been dismal. She could only hope he wasn’t very observant.

  Touching the charms at her wrist, she let out a long breath. She would never be “done with the compass, done with the chart” like the boat in the poem so she might as well do the best she could. Andy was way out of her league, as far out as a guy could be when dealing with a nerdy, fat girl who didn’t currently have a paying job.

  Chapter Eleven

  Home is, I suppose just a child's idea.

  A house at night, and a lamp in the house. A place to feel safe. ―V. S. Naipaul

  Andy scooted the chair toward the edge of the table, then changed his mind and scooted it to the side. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, worse than before an important meeting. Everything would be fine if he managed to keep his mouth from saying random words and phrases, like tall.

  “Watcha doin’?” Mark stood in the doorway, watching.

  “Just setting the table.” He surveyed the round platter with layers of injera bread. As soon as Roxie arrived, he’d serve the small dishes in spoonful sized amounts, like a clock made out of Ethiopian food.

  “Table is set. Come watch Willy.”

  “I should have gotten some flowers,” Andy said.

  “Flowers are pretty,” he agreed. “Girls like flowers. She your girlfriend, Andy?”

  He let out a long breath. Roxie wasn’t, and wouldn’t be. “No, Mark. Just a friend.”

  The chef walked out of the kitchen, untying her long white apron. Angela Bledsoe didn’t have the experience some of the others did, but she knew her ethnic food. Andy was sure the other applicants would say Angela had been chosen because she was tall, blonde, and beautiful. But his decision was all about her list of specialty dishes. “So, same time tomorrow? If the menu I posted for the week is okay, I can make some pho soup and sesame chicken. I’ll be here around four and dinner will be ready around six. Just let me know and I can adjust to your plans, no problem.”

  “Sounds good.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t want to be that jerk who hired a professional for one job and then demanded they wash his socks. “I was wondering if you ever delivered. Not far from here.”

  “Oh, sure.” She folded the apron and picked up her purse. “I usually cook several meals a day for a much larger group, so one meal delivered to two places, or another spot, or two different meals for the same people. You get the idea. In New York City, it was hard to arrange for pick up and delivery and still make sure the one at the main house was hot, but I got it done. Delivering anything in this tiny town will be a cinch. And if you change your mind about breakfast or lunch, I can make sure you have something then, too. There are a lot of dishes that are simple and can be warmed up when you want them.”

  Andy imagined himself burning some of Angela’s excellent food and shook his head. “Breakfast is pretty simple around here, but I’ll let you know.” A knock sounded at the door and Andy said, “Here’s our guest. Thanks again being brave enough to relocate here.”

  She walked with him to the door, removing her ponytail and shaking her hair loose around her shoulders. “My pleasure, Mr. McBride. My grandma was from Baton Rouge and I’ve always wanted to move back to Louisiana. I can’t wait to start trying out some local recipes. I missed the Crawfish Festival but there’s a Gumbo feed coming up.”

  He winced, wondering how to explain how much he disliked Southern food. Opening the door, he forgot whatever he’d been thinking. Roxie looked much the same as she had downstairs except for a shy smile. “Hi,” she said. “Smells great in here.”

  Angela stepped from behind the door and into view. She flashed a bright smile. “Thanks. I hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know if anything is too hot and I can adjust the spice.”

  “Oh, Roxie, this is Angela. She’s saving me from starvation.”

  Roxie murmured something polite and then Angela was gone and it was simply the two of them.

  Mark’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “This is your friend?”

  “Yes, this is my friend.” Andy did his best to recover but he felt his face go warm. Standing there with Roxie, he’d completely forgotten the reason he’d invited her over. Or, the reason he’d told her. Some brother he was.

  “Want some?” Mark offered his can of Pringles and Andy started to say that Roxie didn’t like that flavor, but she’d already reached out and plucked one from the can.

  “Thank you, Mark.” She took a bite and smiled. “I think we’ll be good neighbors. I live right down the hall. You’ll have to come visit.”

  “Want to watch my movie?”

  “Sure.” And then they walked into the living room, leaving Andy at the front door.

  As he put the food on the table, he tried not to watch Roxie. She sat on the couch with Mark and listened to him describe what was happening on the screen in that way people found incredibly annoying. It was like listening to a movie narrated for the blind. Mark never told the whole story from the beginning or jumped scenes. He described what was happening at that moment, and never varied. Mark’s housemates found it irritating but Andy had always liked to listen to Mark’s running commentary. Sometimes he’d follow along with his eyes closed. Actually, it helped sometimes, since he’d seen Free Willy too many times for it to be entertaining.

  Andy caught himself standing motionless at the table and headed to the kitchen to get dr
inks. He loved looking at Roxie, the way her eyes would crinkle when she was trying not to laugh, how she held his gaze as he was speaking, how she brushed the hair out of her eyes instead of answering his questions. He wondered what she was like with a boyfriend, someone she really trusted. From the first day they’d met, she’d seemed cautious and wary. He couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t had the best introduction. He’d put his foot in his mouth within seconds and she probably thought he was as shallow as a puddle.

  He could hear Mark’s voice from the living room and Roxie’s soft responses. Andy appreciated her gentle approach. Mark was pretty social, but every now and then someone would laugh too loudly or talk too fast and Mark would start to feel overwhelmed. He’d rock back and forth with his hands in his armpits and eyes closed.

  “All ready?” She’d appeared at his elbow.

  Andy stared at the half-full glass in front of him and wondered if he was losing his ability to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. “Almost. I hope you’re hungry.”

  She grinned. “I’m a whole month of hungry.”

  As they sat down, he wondered if he should say grace but she was already reaching for his hand. He recited the short prayer, trying not to focus on her touch. It was a business dinner, sort of. She was here for Mark. Anything else would be false pretenses on his side. If he’d wanted to ask her on a date, he should have done it. When he was done, he said, “I saw how much you enjoyed that sour cream and onion Pringle. I can get them by the case.”

  She fixed him with a look. “Is that a threat?”

  “I just want you to know I’m a powerful man with connections. I can make all your snacking dreams come true.”

  She almost cracked a smile, but snorted instead. “You do, and I’ll wrap every single can and give them all to Mark for Christmas. Then he’ll love me best.”

  “He probably already does.” Andy wouldn’t blame him. From the moment they’d met in the hallway, he’d been smitten. He loved that assessing look in her eyes, the quick wit and the thoughtful words. Andy wished for the tenth time that day that he was free to follow the same path everyone had: dating, marriage, having a family.

  “Okay?” She paused, a piece of injera bread in her hand.

  “Sure,” he lied, and dipped into the fragrant stew.

  “Your chef is really pretty.”

  He chewed, taking a moment to think about her words. She wasn’t accusing him of hiring the prettiest cook. Her tone was carefully neutral. “Very pretty. I’ve asked her to cook with a bag over her head. I can’t have that kind of distraction around here.”

  “She’s pretty, cooks amazing food, and is willing to follow you around the country.” She glanced at him. “Sounds like the perfect woman.”

  Was she jealous? He wanted her to be, but her expression was nothing but friendly. It also didn’t make sense that a woman like Roxie could be jealous of anyone. “Not tall enough,” he said.

  She started to laugh. “You must be looking for a giraffe.”

  “I suppose a lack of height could be made up with being able to cook beignets.”

  “Well, let her know that anybody can walk in to Sunshine Bakery and pick up a bag of those.” Her face had gone pink.

  He knew he was making a mistake. Flirting wasn’t simply flirting when you carried a recessive gene marker that caused severe disabilities.

  “Good point,” he said. “Since I picked some up an hour ago.”

  “Today? I must have missed you.”

  “You were already gone, or so Raylene said. Actually, I think her exact words were something about you ‘jackrabbiting outa there’.”

  “I took my grandma home. She gets tired pretty easily these days.” Roxie wasn’t meeting his gaze.

  “No, I don’t blame you at all for leaving early.” Now he felt like a jerk. It sounded as if he thought she should be there all the time.

  She didn’t respond and he searched for another topic. “Hey, do you know the person in the cupcake costume, the one that does the awful little shuffle dance on the corner?” He waved his hands robotically one direction, then the other.

  Roxie took a long sip of ice water and set the glass back on the table. “Ricky Boudreaux? He only comes in every so often.”

  “No, I think it’s a woman. She― she helped me out the other day.”

  Roxie frowned. “You mean you helped her out.”

  “No, she helped me understand something. She’s the whole reason I brought Mark here.” He looked back to the living room, where his brother sat on the couch watching the TV. The killer whale jumped into the air, ocean spray sparkling in the sunlight.

  She looked confused, more confused than Paul had when he’d tried to have this same conversation. “How did she do that?” She picked up a piece of bread and wiped the leftover stew from her bowl. “Did she give you some words of wisdom?”

  He realized too late that there wasn’t any way to really explain. “No, not exactly. I was talking to her and had this sort of revelation.”

  “Revelation,” she repeated. Her dark eyes were fixed on his, all of her attention focused on him.

  “I’m not saying I heard a voice from heaven, but it wasn’t just a passing thought.” Even now, the sureness of what he’d understood had stayed with him. “I’ve walked around here for months, trapped in my job. I was miserable, but thought I couldn’t change anything without disappointing people.”

  “And the cupcake gave you clarity?” She wasn’t making fun of him, but clearly didn’t believe what he was saying.

  “See, maybe it’s like this.” He leaned forward, desperate to make himself look less crazy. “The woman in that suit has one of crappiest jobs in the city. She’s out there in the heat for hours in that costume, trying to get people to come in to the bakery. It’s humiliating and probably doesn’t pay more than minimum wage. She’s got people demanding pictures and kids crying at her.”

  “You realized your life was pretty great compared to hers.”

  “Yes. No.” He shook his head. This was going about as well as he could expect. He should stop while he was ahead. “She knows what’s going to happen and how hard it’s going to be. The point is that she still does her job. She shows up.”

  “Maybe she has low self-esteem. Maybe what you see as something noble is simply a person unable to see anything better in their future.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I can’t explain it, but she’s not out there because she thinks she deserves a horrible job or lacks faith in herself. She’s there because…” He realized he was talking about someone Roxie must know personally, and he was insisting he knew the cupcake better than she did. “She’s doing what needs to be done.”

  Roxie turned the glass around in her hands, eyes unfocused. “So, you saw the cupcake and realized―”

  “That we all have hardships.”

  “Like Mark?”

  “No, not like Mark. I’ve never thought of him like that.”

  Her face went red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to―”

  “It’s okay.” He let out a long breath. “I’m doing a horrible job of explaining. But when I talked to the cupcake, I realized I was whining and complaining to myself, rather than getting things done.”

  She was quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the room was the music from the movie. “I’m sure the cupcake does plenty of whining.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “This sounds totally nuts but last week, watching her, I had a moment of grace. I saw myself wallowing in everything I hated about this place. I was happier to be miserable. I was acting powerless when I have―” He spread his hands, unable to describe exactly what he had at his disposal and how much change he could effect in his world simply by making a decision or two.

  Roxie nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “I think I understand.”

  Relief flooded through him. It sounded crazy, he knew it did, but he couldn’t deny how his world had shifted at that moment. “So, if you s
ee her, let her know that―”

  “Right. I will,” she said, standing up from the table. “Let me help you bring in the dishes. Thank you for the delicious dinner. My cravings for Ethiopian were bordering on obsessive.” She was talking as she walked toward the kitchen. He grabbed the platter and followed her.

  Andy felt his pulse thumping in his ears. He should have known better than to try and explain his cupcake-induced revelation after Paul’s response. There were some things that just didn’t translate to other people. It was meant just for the recipient. Trying to examine it outside of his own heart and head would just scare people off.

  ***

  “You won’t stay for a beignet?”

  Roxie slid the dishes in the sink and turned, shaking her head. She wanted to, more than she’d wanted anything in the past few years. It wasn’t really the beignets, but simply being around Andy. She’d always rolled her eyes at people who said they weren’t happy unless they were close to the person they loved, but she understood now. She didn’t care what they talked about, or if they talked at all. She just wanted to be near him. “I can’t, really.”

  “I forgot you have to get up early.”

  “No, the bakery isn’t open on Sunday.” She glanced at the beignet bag. “Plus, beignets and I don’t get along.”

  “Oh, you have an allergy? Mark has a peanut sensitivity. We have to be pretty careful.”

  “No, no allergies.”

  “Gluten? My cousin has a gluten intolerance. She has to cook with coconut flour.”

  She cocked her head, trying to decide whether he was being purposefully obtuse. “No, I can’t eat beignets for breakfast every day because I’m fat.”

  He started to laugh. “Fat? Where?”

  “Where?” She let out a huff of air. “All over.”

  “I don’t believe it. Who told you that?”

  “The BMI index, that’s who. It says for my height, I should be thirty pounds lighter.”

  “Maybe you misread the chart.”

  “Here,” she said. She turned around. “This butt, these thighs.” She faced him again. “This stomach. This is fat.”