The Barefoot Believers

by Annie Jones

  “Wait for me.” But Jo couldn’t seem to get herself up and steady without wincing in pain.

  “You should have listened to doctor’s orders.” Kate limped by her sister, wondering if she should grab a blanket for the long trip around the back of the house to the front. “If you had iced and elevated that ankle today, you’d be able to get around at least a little by now.”

  “Don’t pull rank on me now, the man has the wrong address.”

  “What?”

  “You said he’s pulling into the drive across the street. That means he’s going to the wrong house.”

  “Maybe he lives there?”

  “Maybe he’s got our lunch. Do you really want to take that chance?”

  Kate’s stomach grumbled.

  Dull pain coursed upward from her toes to her knee.

  No. She did not want to take a chance of missing this guy. Even if he wasn’t the man sent by the cottage caretaker, he was somebody with wheels who might help them out.

  If she could attract his attention.

  And fast.

  She swiveled around. As much as a woman in her situation could swivel.

  In a few faltering steps, she reached the front door.

  “Kate, that’s not safe.”

  “I’ll just step out a tiny bit. Only enough so he can hear me when I holler. Don’t worry.”

  “Scat-Kat-Kate is just a nickname. It doesn’t mean you have nine lives.”

  Kate waved off Jo’s warning and stepped out the door. The porch seemed safe enough. Solid, actually. She thumped it once with her cane.

  The man across the street did not seem to notice her at all, just got out of the truck and headed for the other house.

  She had to do something to get his attention. Between the rain and the hat he had pulled down low over his eyes and ears, she didn’t think shouting from near the doorway would do it. She had to venture out farther onto the porch.

  He rounded the truck and bounded up the stairs of the other house.

  Kate had to act. She took a big step forward and stabbed her cane high into the air. She opened her mouth, filled her lungs and lost her footing.

  Bump.

  Crack.

  Crash.

  Kate’s cane flew up, tumbling one end over the other like some fearsome fire baton flying skyward from a master twirler’s hand. It caught on an overhead beam.

  And Kate herself went down.

  Down.

  Down.

  Right through a splintered plank of rotten wood went Kate’s good leg, all the way up to her knee before she stopped with a jolt. Then she plummeted backward until the wild waving of her arms pitched her forward. She imagined if anyone was watching that she looked like one of those crash-test dummies caught on slow-motion film, back and forth, flailing helplessly until she came to a stop with her nose smashed against the spot where her foot should have been.

  She took a deep breath and, ignoring the smell of bleach, enjoyed a brief moment of gratitude that she hadn’t succeeded in attracting the man across the street after all.

  “Clearly, you wanted to get my attention, but a simple yoo-hoo would have done the…Kate?”

  At which point her cane came loose from the rafter and whopped Vince Merchant directly on the head.

  Chapter Seven

  “Vince?”

  He rubbed the back of his head and looked at the cane lying at his feet.

  Vince Merchant! It couldn’t be! Her pulse raced. No, raced sounded too tame. Between the excitement of the fall and the shock of seeing Vince Merchant standing on her porch as big as day, her pulse roared. It made her head swim. She could hardly catch a breath.

  She pushed at the edge of the hole in the porch with both hands trying to scoot herself out of it. The leg of her pajama pants snagged on the broken edge of the floorboards.

  Pajama pants! Kate clutched her baggy T-shirt in both hands. Apparently falling through the porch waving a cane had not been quite spectacular enough. She had to add costuming. Unflattering and probably not the most sweet-smelling costuming. What must he think of her? She ventured a peek at him.

  But he wasn’t looking at her right now; he was looking up. Maybe trying to make sure nothing else could come raining down on him. Water from the leaky roof splashed on his cheek. “Where did that come from?”

  She shook her head. “The real question is where did you come from?”

  “Across the street.” He crouched beside her as if it were the most natural thing in the world to find her here.

  In town.

  At the cottage.

  In her pajamas.

  Buried up to her knee in the splintered remains of the front porch.

  “Why?” Suddenly Kate recalled her prayer for good neighbors. Though she found it nearly impossible to draw a deep breath, she did manage to ask “Is that your house?”

  “Mine?” He glanced over his shoulder then stood. “No, I’m doing some handyman work there for…” He scowled.

  Kate waited for him to finish his sentence but after a moment it became clear his thoughts had moved on.

  “If I try to drag you out of there like this, I might end up going through the floor myself.” He shifted his shoulders. His broad, muscular shoulders.

  Not that Kate would notice such a thing, particularly from her disadvantaged vantage point. “Well, we both know the last thing I’d want is for you to be stuck here with me.”

  It was one of those things you don’t realize how it sounds until it’s come out, bounced around the airwaves in a silence that lasts a little too long, and then falls like a dead weight between the two of you.

  “I didn’t—”

  Vince held his hand up, graciously cutting her off before she did more damage. “There are some boards left over from trying to mend the railings. Let me just grab a couple and I can lay them down as a platform to bear more weight. Stay put, now.”

  “You thought I was going to go someplace?”

  “Never can tell,” he spoke to her over his shoulder as he gathered two long boards that had been leaning against the house. “You have a history of taking off without any warning.”

  “Oh, Vince,” she murmured, unable to take her eyes from his face.

  I’m sorry. The sentiment tugged at her heart. But she could not say it out loud. All these years her memories of her time with Vince had been edged with the pain and regret of her childish actions. At one moment she would think of the laughter they had shared, the warmth, and the next her heart would chill at the way she had ended things so poorly, the fact that she had let Vince say goodbye to Gentry for her instead of doing it herself.

  How many times had she wished she had done things differently? How many times had she longed for a chance to go back and explain? How many times had she seen Vince’s face and struggled to see forgiveness in those wonderful eyes?

  She stared at him now. When he bent down to situate the first board in front of her, she could only murmur, “It is you.”

  “In the flesh.” He smiled and gave her a wink before directing his attention to assessing her predicament further.

  “Vince.” This time she said it so softly he did not acknowledge it with even a blink of his eyes.

  How may times had she imagined what it would be like to see him again after all these years? And now that he was here—in the flesh, as he had said—she couldn’t imagine what to say or do or even think about it. She forced herself to breathe slowly as she took a moment to take it all in.

  Older. He was older. But then, who wasn’t?

  But his older seemed so much more…What? Dignified? Powerful? Adorable?

  She tried to squelch the urge to sigh at just the sight of him so near.

  Yes, he was still adorable. Only in a more mature, more masculine way than his younger, more callow, scrawnier self. The lines accenting his eyes and mouth defined his character as much as they did his face. They marked him as a man who smiled easily and often. His hair had a golden sheen and
the beginnings of silver streaks at the temples.

  Kate tucked her own hair behind her ear, wondering if he had noticed the same kinds of things about her.

  Wasn’t he as amazed at finding her here as she was to see him?

  “How can this be happening?” she whispered.

  “Dry rot.” He held the second board out as if trying to picture where to place it to do the most good.

  “Dry…” She dragged her gaze from him to where her leg disappeared into a gaping hole. “No, not the porch.”

  She squirmed again to try to free herself, talking fast but firmly so as not to seem utterly awestruck to see him again. “No, I mean you don’t live in Santa Sofia. Why are you here?”

  “I do live in Santa Sofia.” He squatted down beside her again and leaned his face close to hers as he slid the second board on the other side of the hole, directly under her backside. “And I’m here because you need me.”

  “Oh.” Awestruck did not begin to cover how she felt when she heard that.

  “Now, before we go on, tell me, are you okay?”

  “I’m…awesome,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” He gave a deep, soft chuckle. “I’ve always thought that about you.”

  Kate hadn’t blushed in years. Maybe not since the first time she’d laid eyes on this very man, but she learned in that instant that she had not lost the ability.

  “But let’s face it, Kate, you don’t look awesome.” He tapped the board nearest her trapped knee. “You look like you could use some help.”

  She tensed. She could feel her blush deepen, brought on by total mortification. More wriggling without any success. The movement jarred her injured foot and she sucked air through her clenched teeth. “Actually, I am in quite a bit of pain.”

  He peered down past her leg into the hole. “Do you think anything is broken?”

  “I’m sure of it.” She tapped her cast. “But the rest of me is fine, maybe a little bruised.” And that included her ego. “But fine.”

  “Maybe we should—”

  “I am a doctor.”

  He stared at her for only a second before he broke into a short burst of benevolent laughter and finished his original thought. “Maybe we should get you out of this fix.”

  “Yes. Good idea. Just…Just stand back and I’ll get myself out of here.” She pushed and strained, using the stabilizing boards for leverage.

  “Stop moving.” He put a hand on her shoulder and fixed his gaze on hers. “I’ll get you out.”

  “I can do it.” She looked away and kicked the leg dangling in the hole to try to propel herself out of this mess. “I just need a little—”

  “Put your arms around my neck.” With no more warning than that, he pulled her against his upper body. One strong arm slid under her leg with the cast on it, the other lent support around her back.

  “—help,” she murmured softly to complete her sentence, even as she complied with his no-nonsense command.

  He braced his legs and pushed upward. “Hang on.”

  As if she could do anything else.

  Slowly, gently, with only a brief snag of her pajama pants, he lifted her clear of the broken floorboards. He straightened and stood with what seemed like great ease.

  “There,” he said.

  “Wow,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

  He stepped over the hole in the porch and up to the threshold of the cottage, still showing no strain.

  At least no strain that she noticed. But then she could not take her gaze from his eyes.

  Vince Merchant.

  Here.

  In Santa Sofia.

  On her porch.

  Holding her in his arms.

  Suddenly everything felt right in the world. Or as if it could be put right again.

  As if the past, her hurtful actions, his overprotectiveness of his son, it was at last behind them now.

  He smelled of rain and aftershave.

  Red colored the hollow of his cheeks and she wondered if he felt the same unspoken promise that she did or if…

  “Kate?”

  “What, Vince?” she asked, all breathless and hopeful.

  “The door?”

  “Oh!” She slipped her hand from beside the taut cords of his neck and reached for the doorknob, intent on using it to steady herself after she got her feet on the ground again.

  “Still can’t wait to get away from me, eh, Kate?”

  “No. That is, yes, I don’t need for you to carry me.”

  She tried to grip the door for support, only to feel it pull away. She startled and grabbed Vince’s gaudy island-print shirt to keep from throwing them both off balance.

  “Kate? Are you okay? I heard a…” Jo stood in the open doorway wearing a T-shirt, baggy sweatpants and an expression of total disbelief. “Wow!”

  “You heard that ‘wow’ all the way in the house?” Vince grinned.

  “Vince?” Jo looked to Kate for confirmation.

  “Hey, squirt!” Before Kate could say a thing, Vince spoke up. “Last time I saw you, you had just graduated high school, worried incessantly about your hair, nails and clothes and could down more hot dogs at a single bonfire than any skinny teenaged boy or big-bellied fisherman I’ve ever met. How ya doin’?”

  “Never mind that.” Jo snapped her fingers then held out her hand. “What did you bring us to eat?”

  Vince stepped over the threshold, compelling Jo to allow him inside the cottage with Kate still in his arms. “Well, at least you still have your appetite.”

  “No. I mean it.” Even though Jo walked backward, albeit awkwardly, she did not back down an inch. “I’m starving here. Make with the groceries, lunch boy.”

  “Jo!” Kate would have swatted her sister away but that would have meant letting go of Vince. So she sort of swung her good leg out, toe pointed, to nudge her aside.

  Jo did not budge.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Vince kept his tone light, even if he clearly felt his burden wasn’t. “Can I put your sister down first before I throw my back out?”

  “Yes! Put me down,” Kate snapped. “I am capable of supporting my own weight even if I make the ground shake with every step.”

  “Yes, you are a true gargantuan,” Vince joked as he bent at the knees and lowered Kate to sit on the plaid couch.

  Kate slid from the ratty old hide-a-bed to Mom’s antique coffee table. From there she easily transferred herself to the comfort of her nest of blankets and pillows on the floral couch. Then she tipped up her nose and met Vince’s gaze. “You’re the one who said I was breaking your back.”

  “No, years of, uh, well, basically back-breaking work have broken my back. Or, um, you know, messed it up pretty good.” He frowned and looked from Kate to Jo. “Uh, pretty bad?”

  “I see you’re still the same old silver-tongued charmer you were in your twenties.” Jo put her hands on her hips.

  “Hey, I’m a man of action. Not words.”

  “Great.” Jo batted her eyelashes at him and pointed to the front door. “Act like you’re getting us some lunch.”

  Kate surveyed for injuries through the rip in her pajama pants and, satisfied there were none, threw the covers over both legs, more to conceal the reminder of the way Vince had found her than anything.

  Vince sat on the edge of the plaid couch and turned to Kate. “So, you’re okay?”

  “Aside from a bloodless scrape on my knee and, I think, my nose—” she touched the tip, unsure if contact with the wood or the bleach had left it stinging slightly “—I think my backside absorbed most of the impact.”

  “Knee? Nose? Backside? Impact?” Jo looked toward the still open door. “Did you fall out there or something?”

  “Of course I fell.” Kate pulled the covers up higher to protect against the chill of the damp fall air. “Why else would you think Vince would pick me up and carry me in here?”

  “Oh, I could think of a few other reasons.” Jo bit her lip and looked at Vince
all moon-eyed and silly.

  “Jo,” Kate said flatly.

  “What?” Jo’s answer came back from a flirtatious fog.

  “Go shut the door.” Kate flung her arm out to point the way.

  “Why?” Belligerence colored Jo’s curt reply.

  Kate didn’t know if that came from not wanting to carry out the command or the mere fact that Kate had issued it. She didn’t try to overanalyze it, just pointed more emphatically.

  “Why should I shut the door? He’s going right back out of it so he can get us something to eat, right?”

  Vince looked from Kate to Jo then back to Kate again. “What’s the deal here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Kate said, still piecing together the reality of him here in the living room of their cottage once again. “In fact, I could ask you a million things.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Me, too. To you, that is.”

  “Dazzle us with your eloquence later.” Jo prodded Vince’s shoulder to get him up. “Fetch food for us, now. Please.”

  “How’s Gentry?” Kate asked, knowing full well that after Vince had gone she would not recall a thing he had told her, only his eyes.

  And his smile.

  And her regrets.

  “Good. Gentry’s…good. He’s like six-two now and—”

  “And does he have a driver’s license?”

  Vince looked up at Jo as if he only now remembered she was still in the room. “Of course he does.”

  “Then give me his number and let me call him to do a grocery run.” Jo plunked down on the arm of the couch and stretched out to retrieve her cell phone. “Unless he’s at work and can’t be bothered?”

  “He’s between opportunities right now. He stays pretty busy, though.” The answer came too fast, too practiced and what did it mean, anyway?

  Between opportunities?

  Kate knew what it meant. The kid couldn’t hold a job. And Vince wouldn’t even make him responsible for a simple thing like running an errand for an old friend. “It’s Wa Hoo all over again.”

  “Hmm?” Vince frowned at her.

  Kate probably frowned back. She wasn’t sure. She only knew she had not smiled or in any way shown that she accepted the flimsy excuse he made on his son’s behalf.