His nearly black eyes, which seemed such a stark contrast to his milky skin and sandy hair, bore straight through her. “If’n it’s rainin’ you don’t want me to come?”
His steady stare made her feel exposed, vulnerable. The man was as big as a mountain, after all. And he was looking at her like she was literally taking money from his pocket. “I’m sure we can find a few hours’ work, rain or shine.”
Roy had come looking for work two weeks ago. Magnolia Mile normally didn’t take on extra help this early in the season, but Olivia knew the man was desperate, so she’d hired him. People in this town were always taking advantage of Olivia’s good nature, calling her when any form of stray wandered into town. Reverend Hammond, who sent Roy here, was no exception. Olivia had justified hiring Roy saying that with the irrigation project at Hargrove Farms and that new plastics manufacturing plant opening up, there weren’t going to be as many men looking for work this spring. They’d better take what they could when it was offered.
Still, she’d made it clear to Roy that the hours would be sketchy at first, telling him that once the season was in full swing, he’d probably be getting overtime. In fact, next week they had their first big job of the season at Holly Ridge County Park.
Analise knew they’d be strapped until sales started to flow next month. But Olivia insisted they’d manage; it would be criminal to turn away a soul in need.
But Analise wasn’t so sure about this guy. There was no doubt he was in need. He drove a pickup truck that looked like it’d been the loser in a demolition derby and belched black smoke as it chugged and rumbled along the road. The springs had collapsed on the driver’s side, making it look like Roy would be dumped out onto the pavement should the rusty door come open—or, more likely, fall off. Still, Analise had reservations about someone who blew into town on the wind, no matter what his story of woe.
That was another thing. The story. Apparently, Roy had poured his heart out to the reverend, saying he’d come to the Presbyterian church on Center Street because Jesus had guided him. He’d sinned in the past, been plagued by drink. He was from some Alabama dirt road intersection that offered no future. His sickly mama—who of course he’d cared for throughout her long illness—had died, “God rest her soul.” Shortly thereafter, the trailer he’d been living in had been turned into confetti by a tornado. He’d taken it all as a sign from God that it was time to leave and find a new, more promising start.
He currently slept under the shell top in the bed of his truck.
Reverend Hammond felt the church should always shine in welcome, therefore the lights were left on behind the large stained-glass window at all times. When Roy drove into Grover and saw light shining through that window, he knew this was where he was meant to be.
Analise always had thought those lights were a bad idea.
Since Roy was just standing there looking at her, she added, “Pretty soon, business will be picking up and we’ll be able to give you more hours.”
Instead of going down the stairs, he climbed the last step. Moving in his normal, lumbering pace, he crossed the room and stopped right in front of her.
Without thinking, Analise wrapped her fingers around a piece of jagged metal on the table behind her, ready to snatch it up if need be.
He stood there looking at her for a long moment, then his big hand reached for her. “You got blood on your face.”
Analise drew in a sharp breath and recoiled as he ran a thumb across her cheek.
“There.” His hand dropped back to his side and he took a step backward. “See you tomorrow.”
With her mouth dry and her heart beating like a crazed bird against a windowpane, she listened until she heard the shop door close behind him. Until this moment, she hadn’t been aware just how uneasy Roy made her.
Hearing his old truck grind to a start, she closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow down. Then she went downstairs to the restroom and washed the drying lines of blood from her hands—and scrubbed her face until she’d erased his rough thumb’s touch.
For the rest of the afternoon, Analise focused on shaping copper tubing into fanciful sculptures that doubled as garden sprinklers. As always, she found comfort in the rhythm of her work, in the satisfaction of creation.
She’d just shut off her torch when she heard Olivia call from downstairs.
Analise went to the top of the stairs and called, “I’m up here.”
Olivia appeared at the bottom. “I’m running to the Piggly Wiggly. I thought we’d have that I-talian chicken Cole likes so much.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” She started back to her work.
“Oh, Ana!”
Peering back down the stairs, she said, “Yes?”
“You’d better come on down early and get cleaned up before you cook dinner. We’re having company.”
“Reverend Hammond?” The man found more excuses to call at dinnertime. Analise chastised herself. His wife had recently died; he was lonely. The uncharitable thought crept into her mind, Lonely and after Olivia.
“No.” Olivia started to edge away from the bottom of the stairs. “Luke’s coming back to see Cole.” She disappeared from view.
“Luke . . .”
Olivia’s quick footfalls left the carriage house.
Analise closed her eyes. Suddenly Reverend Hammond’s quiet yet incessant chatter didn’t seem so bad.
Analise stared into her closet, unsure why she was so plagued by indecision. Normally, she reached blindly and wore whatever emerged in her hand. Not that there was all that much variety. Jeans. Knit tops. A few blouses. A pair of khakis. Her black dress slacks. The four “Jackson outfits” she’d brought with her to Grover were wrapped in plastic and shoved to the far end of the closet rod, where they’d been for the past eight years. She had supposed she’d need them for the rare occasion—funeral, wedding or a visit by a foreign dignitary.
She chuckled at that thought. What a turn her life had taken when she’d met Calvin. And, although things hadn’t been the happily-ever-after she’d envisioned when she’d said “I do,” all in all Calvin had saved her from a life that would undoubtedly have suffocated her, one filled with foreign dignitaries and stuffy political dinners. God, she’d been so close to traveling the road her grandmother had so carefully paved for her. The mere thought made goosebumps rise on her arms.
She rubbed them away, then pulled out a clean pair of jeans and the long-sleeved knit top that was hanging right next to it. After putting on the jeans, she hesitated before she took the top off the hanger. It used to be red, but had faded to a muted shade of rose. She’d bought it as a childish act of rebellion; throughout her entire life her grandmother had reminded her that redheads cannot wear red. Grandmother detested red hair. Mostly because her only child, Analise’s father, had married a redhead who had asked for a vacation in Hawaii. To celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary, Hugh had given Rebecca that trip. Neither of Analise’s parents returned from the island paradise. Their tour helicopter crashed in a mountain valley, killing everyone on board.
After studying the worn red shirt for a moment longer, Analise hung it back in the closet. Since this evening was about Cole, she went to her dresser and pulled out the ribbed turtleneck sweater he’d given her for Christmas. She told herself it had nothing to do with the fact that it was the most flattering piece of clothing she owned, the green just the right shade to intensify her eye color. She wore it for Cole—not company.
When she went down to the kitchen, Olivia was putting away the groceries. She looked at Analise and smiled. “You look very nice.”
Analise couldn’t decide if the smile was approval or censure. She quickly said, “I thought Cole would like it. He’s been so . . . distant lately.”
Olivia nodded and set a bottle of white wine on the counter.
“Wine? Are we celebrating something?”
Keeping her hands busy, Olivia shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
The woman was up to some
thing. Analise could feel it in her bones. But she knew from experience, nothing would drag it out of her until she was damn good and ready.
After folding the last paper bag and putting it in the pantry, Olivia said, “I think I’ll go change, too. My socks are soaked.”
“If you’d wear regular shoes in the winter . . . You’re going to catch a cold.”
“Really, Ana, you know better than that. Colds are caused by a virus—not wet socks. I suppose next you’re going to agree with Granny Lejeune that if you wash your hair during your period, it’ll give you cramps.” She grinned her crafty grin and left the kitchen.
Analise called after her, “I do wash my hair during my period and certainly have the cramps to prove it!”
Olivia’s laughter echoed through the house. Analise listened to the comforting sound of her mother-in-law’s soft footfalls on the stairs with the warm glow of belonging in her heart.
She set about preparing dinner, noticing with some irritation that Olivia had already set the table in the dining room instead of the kitchen. They didn’t even eat in the dining room when Reverend Hammond came for Sunday dinner.
Once the chicken was simmering and the salad was chilling, she looked at the clock. It’d been forty-five minutes and Olivia hadn’t come back downstairs. Analise wiped her hands on a dish towel and turned the fire down on the stove, then went up to check on her.
Olivia’s bedroom door was half-open.
“Liv?” Analise called softly, but got no reply. She pushed the door open fully.
Olivia lay on the bed, dry socks on her feet. Analise paused and studied her for a moment. Did the skin around her closed eyes look more translucent than normal? “Olivia.”
Olivia sucked in a deep draught of air. “Oh, my. Guess I drifted off.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Is Luke here?”
Analise shook her head, worry niggling at her. Liv didn’t take naps. “Cole isn’t home yet, either.”
“Maybe practice ran long.” Olivia looked at the bedside clock.
Analise glanced out the window. The setting sun was shining from the west, accentuating the dark underbellies of the remaining broken clouds. “Doubt it with this weather. Hope he showers in the locker room, he’s going to be covered in mud.”
The doorbell rang.
Analise jolted. She both loved and hated the old-fashioned, thumb-turn bell. It oozed Victorian charm and felt more natural in this house than an electronic chime, but the sharp, clattering ring always made her jump nearly out of her skin. This evening she seemed extra sensitive to it.
“That’ll be Luke.” Olivia hopped off the bed with her usual sprightly energy and Analise’s worry over her mother-in-law’s health eased. As Olivia brushed past her, she said, “I’ll let him in. You should put on a bit of lipstick before you come down.”
“Why would I want . . .” she heard Olivia trotting down the stairs, and finished quietly to the empty room, “to do that?”
Feeling self-conscious about her appearance for the first time in what seemed like years, Analise looked into the mirror hanging over Olivia’s dresser. She leaned closer and rolled her lips, biting them to bring in more color.
Lipstick. She snorted.
As she straightened her back, her gaze fell on the framed photograph of her and Calvin on their wedding day. He wore his army uniform. Analise wore a simple cocktail dress of deep purple and a matching bouquet of deep-hued orchids and white lilies. Back then, she’d been more comfortable in full Elizabeth Arden makeup, heels and a cocktail dress than in sneakers and jeans.
She studied Calvin’s smiling face and touched a finger to the glass. He’d been the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on. When he smiled at her, he literally took her breath away. She remembered the way her heart raced when she heard his voice. How recklessly she’d given herself to him. God, she’d been so young—so naive.
Looking at the photo, her heart ached with shame. She set it back down on the dresser, vowing that Olivia would never know the reality of her son’s marriage. Analise loved this family in a way she hadn’t dreamed possible while growing up in her grandmother’s dispassionate house. But she knew now. Love meant sacrifice. Silence was little enough to give the woman who’d shown her how to live.
Why did Luke Boudreau have to show up now, just when she’d managed to bury her sin deeply enough that it didn’t echo through every waking moment? With his arrival, that sin bobbed back to the surface, making it difficult to look into Olivia’s eyes.
Analise left the room, closing the door behind her, looking forward to the end of this evening.
Luke stood on the porch, listening to the water continue to drip from the trees. The sharp pain in his back had eased with the passing of the storm. Since his injury, he’d discovered a new belief in predicting weather by body aches. In fact, he’d found it to be more accurate than most meteorologists.
To his relief, Olivia, not Analise, answered the door. Greeting him warmly, she bypassed the living room, ushering him to the rear of the house.
She motioned for him to take the same seat at the kitchen table that he’d occupied at noon. “I thought we’d sit in here, since Ana has to do”—she waved her fingers in the air—“something or other to the food right before we eat it.” She winked. “It’s all very complicated.”
She poured three glasses of white wine and carried two to the table.
“I’m sure it is. Can’t cook myself—other than peanut butter and jelly and microwaving something frozen from a box.”
“A man shouldn’t have to cook.” She paused. “Well, neither should a woman who isn’t willing. Luckily, we have Ana.”
At just that moment, Analise walked into the room. Luke looked up with a greeting that froze on his lips. She looked incredible in that green sweater and her hair down. All of his mental convincing that he’d imagined the spark she brought to life in him disappeared in a flash of smoke.
“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Analise asked in a light tone. She went straight for the glass of wine Olivia had left on the counter and took a long sip.
“Olivia was just telling me how lucky she is to have you.”
Analise’s gaze softened. She leaned down and put her arm around Olivia, squeezing tight. “I’m the lucky one.”
Luke’s heart constricted with something he hadn’t felt in years, the disquieting absence of family. He and Calvin had both walked away from the loving warmth of their families, convinced that theirs was a noble duty, a more exciting life. But in leaving, they had distanced themselves in ways they couldn’t possibly have predicted. And the two of them had obviously reacted very differently. Although Luke’s contact with his family had been sporadic, their constant presence in his thoughts kept him focused, motivated. But Calvin had emotionally detached himself from his home life.
Luke had seen it in many special ops soldiers, men who dealt with the precariousness and inherent danger of the job by isolating their civilian life from their military duties. For some, the thought of someone waiting at home made them too cautious to do the job right.
He watched Analise and wondered yet again how Calvin could have shut her so completely out of his life.
She turned around, wooden spoon in hand, and said, “Dinner’s ready. I wonder why Cole’s so late.”
Olivia looked at the clock. “Maybe I should call Zach’s house and see if he’s home yet.”
“Good idea.”
Olivia went to the telephone.
Luke tried to picture Calvin’s little brother. Would he be a younger version of Calvin, with Calvin’s good looks and ability to charm women without effort? Calvin had been a man’s man, but women couldn’t keep their eyes—and in many instances, their hands—off of him.
With that thought, Luke cast a guilty glance at Analise, who had her back to him once again, concentrating on her cooking. He just couldn’t imagine the freedom in that marriage being a two-way street. Analise seemed much too . . . wholesome. Bes
ides, how do you cheat on your husband in a little town like Grover, while living under the same roof as your mother-in-law?
Somewhere behind his own racing thoughts, he heard Olivia talking on the phone. He couldn’t stop looking at Analise, trying to see what was going on inside her.
She must have felt his gaze on her back, because she turned with an expectant look on her face.
Luke shifted in his chair.
“Look,” she said, leaning against the counter with her hands behind her, “I’m sorry I snapped at you at lunch—”
“No.” He stood. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. I shouldn—” Now he was looking in her eyes and the floor seemed to vibrate under his feet.
She waved his apology away with a smile. “Let’s just call things even and have a nice dinner with Cole. He really needs . . .” She sighed, looking distant and more bereft than he’d seen her. “I don’t really know what he needs, I guess.”
Luke had the strongest urge to take her hand, to comfort her. Instead, he sat back down, putting her out of reach.
Olivia returned to the table and sat down heavily. “Zach’s mother said he’s been home for an hour. I wonde—”
The sharp clattering ring of the doorbell interrupted her and she jerked her gaze to Analise. Luke didn’t miss the anxious, wide-eyed look they gave one another.
Analise started for the door. “I’ll get it.”
Olivia followed. “Excuse us for a minute, Luke.”
He heard the door open. A man’s lowered voice drifted down the hall. Then he heard Olivia say, “Thank you so much, Dave.”
Luke leaned in his chair, trying to get a view of the front door, but couldn’t quite see around the doorframe without getting up.
The front door closed.
Analise sounded like she was giving a quiet, hissing scolding.
Suddenly the crash of breaking glass echoed down the hall, followed by a loud thud.
“Cole!” Olivia sounded frightened.
Luke jumped out of his chair and ran to the front of the house.
Magnolia Sky Page 4