His face darkened. “No.”
“Pulled pork is one of my favorites, Aiden.” Luke picked up a soft, chewy roll and layered it with the barbecued meat. “And yellow rice is delicious.”
“I love it so much,” Sonya said softly. “My mommy makes it even better than ’Buela, but I don’t say that to ’Buela. It would hurt her feelings.”
A tender nature. So gentle, so kind. Luke’s heart opened to the little girl on his left. “That’s nice, Sonya.”
She gave him her typical shy smile, but then glanced at Aiden, wide-eyed. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”
“No.”
Luke switched his attention to his son. “But you need to sit down with us while we eat.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s polite.”
Aiden made a mulish face, but pulled out the seat and climbed on it with a thud.
Rainey reached out hands to say grace. Luke took Sonya’s hand and reached for Aiden’s. His son shrank back in the chair, drew up his legs and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge his father’s gesture.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Rainey give a slight shake of her head. Luke understood the silent message: ignore the antics.
So he shifted his attention and turned back as Rainey asked God’s blessing.
Luke listened to her soft prayer, heard the smile in her voice as she thanked God for her daughters and her family. But when she asked God to bless him and Aiden, Luke longed to shrug off her words. He and his son were doing fine on their own.
But they weren’t, and something in Rainey’s prayer said she knew that and longed for his happiness.
“Dorrie, can you pass me the salt and pepper, please?”
“Sure.” Dorrie had to hike herself up to reach the shakers, but she did it and then beamed at her mom, pleased with her success.
“Sonya, you don’t have to eat a lot of meat, but at least try it, okay?”
“Yes...” Sonya dragged the word out softly. She stared at the bowl, until Luke leaned over.
“May I help you?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
He served her a tiny spoonful of the meat, then smiled when she piled a large serving of the rice-and-corn dish alongside. “And how about vegetables?” Aiden wouldn’t touch anything resembling a vegetable, and Luke had stopped making them, opting to avoid the hassle. As Sonya and Dorrie both took fresh beans and tomatoes for their plates, he saw his mistake. How did kids know what they liked if they weren’t encouraged to sample things? He’d tried tempting Aiden, but his son wouldn’t budge.
Which means you didn’t try hard enough, Luke’s conscience scolded. Hillary had told him that an eight-ounce juice box with vitamins gave Aiden all the veggies he needed, so Luke had taken the easy way out.
“Girls, remember, there’s cake for dessert if you eat a good dinner.”
Aiden’s eyes flashed to the kitchen counter. The cake tray sat proudly in front of a set of apple-embossed canisters. He stared at it, then turned back. “I love cake.”
Rainey flashed him a smile. “Me, too. But we have to take care of our bodies with healthy foods first, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just nodded encouragement as she took some rice. “So if you try a little of everything, you can have cake later.”
It took a few seconds, but Luke saw when Aiden got the drift of her sentence. He stared at her, then the cake, then back to Rainey. “I don’t get cake?” His chin quivered and his face shuttered in sadness.
“Well, of course you do. If you eat some dinner. Luke, maybe if you put a little bit of everything on Aiden’s plate, he can see what he likes and what he doesn’t like.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Luke put a tiny serving of pork, of rice and a few green beans on his son’s plate.
The boy’s lower lip stuck out, threatening, while the girls munched crisp green beans. “Mommy, these are delicious!” Sonya exclaimed.
“I love them like this.” Dorrie waved hers around, a miniature green sword in her hand. “I could eat these all day. Mommy packs them in our lunch box.”
“I never thought of not cooking them.” Luke lifted his sandwich, keeping his gaze off Aiden and on Rainey, which wasn’t exactly a punishment.
“We like them steamed, too,” Rainey told him. “I love to grill them. Grilled beans and pork chops is one of my favorite dinners.”
“I haven’t tried that, either, but I can tell you one thing—” Luke set his sandwich down and met her gaze across the table “—this is the best pulled pork I’ve ever had. Thank you for making it. It tastes smoked. How did you do that?”
“I grill it lightly before simmering it,” she told him. “It’s my mother’s trick. That way you get the wood-fire flavor, then the tenderness by letting it cook slowly in the oven all day.”
“Well, I’ve been to a lot of the barbecue spots around the lake, and no one has anything as good as this.”
Her smile said his words meant something more than a simple compliment, and that made him feel good. But his son was still being a stubborn mule, so Luke would have to cut the evening short and take him home after they finished eating.
Rainey had a different idea, though. When they’d cleaned up the table and put things away, she reached out a hand to the kids. “Let’s go say good-night to Beansy and the chickens.”
“And the new calves!” Dorrie danced toward the door, then spun around and landed theatrically, arms out. “I love saying good-night to the animals.”
“And when we come in we can have cake,” Rainey promised.
Aiden scampered off the chair. His eyes brightened. “I love cake!”
“Me, too,” she told him as she took his hand. “And I’m going to leave your plate right there on the table. That way if you’re hungry when we come in, you can eat supper and then have cake with us. Okay?”
He stared at her, then the plate, then the cake dish on the counter.
He gulped twice and bit his lower lip, but didn’t crash to the floor or throw a hissy fit. He turned, shrugged off Rainey’s hand and went outside with them, sullen but quiet. That in itself was a welcome change.
“Maybe we should call it a night.” Luke spoke the words softly so only Rainey could hear. “Tomorrow’s an early start and—”
“And you’re afraid if we push Aiden he’s going to throw a tantrum to get his way.”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go for another option,” she advised him while the kids raced ahead. “Where common sense and quietly standing your ground win out.”
“Won’t work.”
She raised one shoulder high enough to say she doubted him. “We’ll see.”
She seemed sure of herself. Why was that? She’d only been around the girls for the first two years of their lives, followed by a three-year sabbatical. Now she was suddenly an expert on child rearing?
She poked his arm. “Stop second-guessing everything.”
“You’re a mind reader, too?”
“Nope.” She didn’t look up, didn’t smile, but her voice held enough amusement for him to imagine the smile, and the image pleased him. “I just figure that’s how you got into this mess, by doubting your instincts. And that’s why we agreed to work together. Because we’d balance those doubts with faith.”
Faith in her abilities to be a smart parent? Maybe. She was certainly comfortable in the role, and he couldn’t help but wonder why.
Faith in the God she thanked for dinner, a supper she made with her own two hands?
Not about to happen.
The three kindergartners dropped to their knees, first petting Beansy the goat, then one of the kittens who’d followed them out of the house.
Serenity bathed him. He was pretty sure the feeling would
erode once Aiden realized he really wasn’t going to get cake, but for right now? Here with Rainey and the kids?
It seemed like he could have it all, and that felt good.
Chapter Five
By the time they got back to the house, all three kids looked tired. Luke supervised as they washed their hands while Rainey cut the cake. He pretended not to see Aiden’s hopeful expression, his clear wish that they’d forget about the plate of food on the table and just serve him dessert.
The girls sat down and Rainey set a slice of melt-in-your-mouth cake in front of each of them.
Luke took the seat he had before and smiled when she gave him a much larger piece; he was pretty sure it still wouldn’t be enough.
Then she served up a smaller piece for herself, sat down and raised her fork. Before she took a bite, though, she looked straight at Aiden. “There’s plenty more cake, honey. If you want some, hop into your seat and give supper a try.”
He stood there watching them eat, looking so sad, so forgotten, that Luke longed to cave in and give him the cake. Do whatever he had to do to make Aiden happy.
But sitting there, he realized that his reactions had created a lot of his son’s current problems. What had Jack said? That he had to let the kid grow up?
He’d hated his brother then, but saw the wisdom in his words now, so he turned his attention toward the girls.
“This is so good!” Dorrie stretched out the last two words as she licked the whipped cream frosting off her fork. “Mommy, this is my favorite cake in the whole world. Besides chocolate.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Rainey smiled at her, then raised her gaze to Luke. “What about you?”
“Not like. Love,” he declared. “It’s amazing. Are you going to make this for your dairy booth? Because you should.”
She stared at him, then grinned and laughed. “That’s a perfect idea! What better way to draw a crowd than to use milk cake samples to tempt people? Luke, I owe you. I’ll add that to my list tonight. And it’s just the kind of thing people will order for the holidays.”
He’d pleased her. Seeing her face light up, just for him, made him happy. He started to make a snappy reply, but a movement to his right made him pause.
Rainey shook her head in silent warning, so he ignored Aiden as he climbed into the seat and eyed the food with suspicion. Finally the boy raised his fork, speared some pork and took a tiny bite.
No one paid him the least bit of attention, not even when he tried a few more bites of pork. His eyes widened as he tasted the rice and corn, then started cleaning it off his plate. “That’s good stuff!”
“Oh?” Rainey nodded at him with an easy calm. “Great, Aiden, I’m glad you like it. How did you like the pork?”
He made a little face, but didn’t fuss. “I almost liked it. I think.”
She accepted that with a smile. “The important thing is that you tried it. I’m proud of you, honey.”
He smiled across the table at her, then hoisted a bean. “If I eat this, can I have cake with you guys?”
“Yes.”
He crunched the bean, then grinned. “Dorrie! I think I love these, too! Dad, can I have these in my lunch sometime? They’re so good!”
“Sure, bud.” Luke pretended indifference, but he longed to get up and dance around the kitchen, enjoying his success. Rainey’s success, but he saw how easily she’d handled things, and now he had a kid who liked fresh beans and yellow rice. All because she’d quietly stood her ground.
“Good job, Aiden.” Rainey didn’t make a big deal out of the success, either. She rose, crossed the room and cut him a little piece of cake. “Here you go, honey. Thanks for eating your supper.” She put a hand around his shoulders and gave him a half hug. Seeing her do that made Luke pause.
He couldn’t risk loving a woman with emotional issues again. And Rainey came with more baggage than a commercial jetliner. She had no love for cops after what she’d been through, either. But seeing her there, with Aiden, made all things seem possible.
Except they really weren’t possible, so he’d better put the lid on his emotions and live in the success of the moment. Seeing his son respond in an acceptable manner meant the world to Luke. And that would be enough for now. “Hey, bud. When you’re done with your cake, we’ve got to hit the road. School tomorrow and we’re pushing bedtime already.”
“Okay.”
Rainey and her daughters walked them to their car a few minutes later. The girls raced around, the cold dew chilling their bare feet. A few katydids click-clacked in the trees above, but autumn’s chill had sent the birds packing and quieted most of the bugs.
Luke turned as Aiden scrambled into his booster seat. “Thank you for tonight, Rain. It was wonderful.”
“You’re welcome. We did well.” She met his look and swept the tired boy a quick glance. “Step by step.”
“Good night, girls.”
“Night, Luke!”
“Bye, Aiden!”
They scrambled into the house, shrieking about their wet feet, and Rainey laughed.
“It will take a quiet bath and a couple of stories to calm them down tonight, but thanks so much for taking them out on the lake with your father. I love working in the store.” She shifted her attention to the quaint, red-sided building at the back of the stone drive. “But it’s tough to give the girls opportunities when you work weekends.”
“Piper always said the same thing. And I’m working next weekend, so maybe you could figure out something fun for the kids to do.”
Rainey paused, smiled and looked at him. “How about fun and helpful? And potentially messy?”
“Is it legal?”
She laughed, and he realized she might have taken offense, but didn’t. And that made him feel dumb for cracking the joke and relieved that she wasn’t hypersensitive.
“Yes. If Zach can cut the pieces for the dairy booth, I can have the kids paint them.”
“Paint the booth? The booth that you want to have make a good impression on people?”
She nodded. “Why not?” He faltered and she read him like a book. “You’re afraid it will look less than perfect.”
Bemused, he frowned, because that’s exactly what he’d been thinking. “I thought you wanted to impress people.”
“I want to be accepted.” She made the correction quietly. “But not at the cost of leaving the kids out of a fun project. You wait and see. You might be surprised by the end result.” She stepped back, allowing him room to get into the car. “Then again, you might just have to buzz your kid’s hair to remove the paint.”
“Great.” Luke turned her way. She backed up two steps, her arms folded over her chest to ward off the deepening chill. He thought of so many things he wanted to say, but it was growing colder and Aiden needed to get home. “Thank you.”
She smiled and gave him a short wave. “Back at ya. Bye, Aiden.”
“Goodbye, Rainey! I love your cake!”
“Good.” She hurried into the house as Luke started the engine, and the sight of her, tall and slim, her long hair flowing down her back, made him long to drink her in.
He couldn’t, so he pulled away, angled the car onto Lake Road and headed for his place, on the opposite side of the water. The curved road circled the mile-wide lake. Halfway home he realized two things. First, Aiden was starting to doze in his seat, which meant he might let the tired boy sleep in his clothes that night. And second, Luke couldn’t get the image of Rainey McKinney out of his mind.
* * *
“Hey, Luke.” Hillary greeted him as he strode into his kitchen late Monday afternoon. “What did you do to this kid over the weekend? He’s exhausted.”
“Is he?” Luke looked around the corner and saw Aiden in front of the TV, mesmerized by a show that was too young for
him, a fact he wouldn’t have acknowledged two weeks before. “Did he have homework?”
Hillary shook her head. “They don’t give homework in kindergarten. Being there all day is enough for the little ones.”
A mental red flag popped up. “I was thinking of getting him some work sheets for after school. I’d rather have him doing that than watching this stuff.”
Hillary’s expression said he was making a big deal out of nothing. “He’s five.”
“Almost six,” Luke corrected. “I held him back a year because of his separation anxiety, remember? So he’s almost a year older than the others in his class.”
“I wonder if it’s fair to measure a boy like Aiden by others’ standards, Luke.”
A second red flag waved frantically for attention. He picked his words carefully. “What do you mean, ‘a boy like Aiden’?”
“Sensitive. A little overwrought. A child who’s been through trauma and survived.” She turned to look at Aiden through the kitchen doorway, and her expression said she’d protect the boy at all costs. That brought Luke back to his brother’s words. Like it or not, Aiden needed to mature like the rest of his age group. And it was Luke’s job to see that it happened.
“He needs to move on. We all do.”
Hillary studied him, then nodded. “Oh. I see.”
“What?”
She shrugged into her dark blazer, fixed the collar with a quick snap of her fingers, then pointed west, across the lake. “She comes along and we have to change everything we’ve been doing for years. All the things we’ve done to help him over the loss of his mother...”
“She? You mean Rainey?” Anger and chagrin vied for dominance in Luke. “Rainey is trying to help me, yes. And I’m trying to help her with the girls. These kids have been friends for years and maybe, just maybe, we can keep them from flunking kindergarten if they learn how to adjust better. And I think they already are.”
“In two weeks?” Hillary jutted her chin toward her car. “I’ve been a social worker for nearly nine years. I deal with all kinds of family situations, and I can guarantee you that little good happens in just two weeks.”
The Lawman's Holiday Wish Page 7