The Miracle Man

by Sharon Sala

  “What?”

  Lane sighed and shrugged, then used the hoe for a cane as he started trudging up the row toward the house.

  “I can’t outtalk you, Antonette. And half the time, I don’t know what you're thinking, so I give up. I hurt your feelings and didn’t mean to. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said softly, and anxiously awaited his reaction.

  He hadn’t expected an answer, so when it came, he wasn’t ready for the flash of relief that settled in the pit of his stomach. He stopped, looked down at the dirt beneath his feet and grinned wryly before wiping the smile off of his face. He turned to face her.

  “You're a hard woman, Antonette Hatfield.”

  She nodded. “It’s a hard life, Mr. Monday.”

  “That it is, lady. That it is.”

  He held out a hand. Moments later, Toni’s fingers slid across his palm and threaded through his. She looked up, gauging his reaction to their reluctant connection.

  “It’s getting dark,” she said.

  He lifted his head and smelled the air, then squinted toward the blaze of colors on the horizon. “Want to sit on the porch for a while and watch the sunset?”

  Toni was thankful for the shades of dusk that hid her sudden tears. She would give a year of her life to be able to spend the rest of it with this man...on some porch...watching life and sunsets pass them by. But she was going to have to settle for a couple of days' worth instead.

  “I suppose,” she said. “At least we don’t have to shell any more peas. Justin’s wife, Judy, and my brother David’s wife, Laura, will be over tomorrow to pick the patch.”

  Lane rolled his eyes and pulled her gently out of the garden. “More family?”

  She nodded.

  He grinned. “Reese and Palmer won’t be back until late tonight, so let’s get dibs on the swing before company comes.”

  His smile was easy, his tone of voice gentle. The lines on either side of his cheeks deepened from the smile. It made him seem younger, more innocent. At that moment, Toni forgot everything ugly that had happened during the day, including the harsh words that had come between them.

  Toni’s steps were lighter as she followed in his wake, their hands still connected in a way that their bodies could not.

  “You don’t have to hurry,” she told him. “The porch swing isn’t going anywhere. Besides, it’s a long time until morning.”

  The blue in his eyes turned black with emotion. Her warning put thoughts in his mind that had no business being there. He could think of several good ways to get through a night, and all of them needed a woman like Toni to make them work. But they weren’t going to happen. Toni kept herself and her emotions as distant as the state in which he lived, and considering all of the facts, that was as it should be.

  “Don’t remind me,” Lane said, pulling her up the steps and into the swing. Before Toni had time to make something more out of what he’d said, he added, “My stitches come out the day after tomorrow.”

  “It will be all right,” she assured him. “I'll go with you.” Absently, she reached over and patted his uninjured thigh, before closing her eyes and letting the swing take her places her thoughts dared not go.

  Lane couldn’t look at her. And he damn sure wouldn’t touch her. If he did, he would ruin everything that he’d spent the afternoon trying to fix. But he couldn’t get over her easy, gentle assurance that he would not suffer alone.

  Dear God, if only I dared hope that might be true, I would never leave this woman.

  But old wounds and painful losses kept Lane’s thoughts and wants to himself, just as Toni cherished her dreams to herself. And because of those reasons, the two of them watched the sunset in silence, wishing for things that couldn’t be.

  Chapter 6

  Kids ran wild across the yard, climbing trees, running down hills and adding high-pitched shrieks of delight to the hysteria brought on by being together. While their mothers picked the bounteous overflow from her garden, Toni sat on the front-porch swing. She kept one eye on her nieces and nephews' riotous behavior, and another on the youngest member of the Hatfield clan, three-month-old Lucy, who belonged to Justin and Judy.

  The baby’s tiny head was covered with a downy layer of soft, brown curls. Her small nose wrinkled in sleep, and her rosebud lips pouted, then sucked in a reflex motion as Toni shifted her from one shoulder to the other.

  Toni inhaled the sweet scent of baby powder and line-dried clothes as she patted Lucy’s diapered bottom in rhythm to the rocking of the swing. With children in the yard, and one in her arms, her life seemed nearly complete.

  And then, Lane Monday walked out of the barn and started toward the house. The absence of a limp was noticeable, as was the length and breadth of the man himself. Toni clutched Lucy a little tighter and tried not to notice, or even care, that his big body moved like a well-oiled machine.

  A ball rolled near Lane’s feet. He laughed, and tossed it back to the children at play, and for a moment, Toni pretended that this was her world, and the man coming toward her was a permanent fixture in it.

  The baby whimpered, and without missing a beat, Toni set the swing back in motion with the tip of her toe, pushing off like a bird taking flight.

  Pat, pat on the baby’s bottom. Back and forth in the old porch swing. The rhythm felt right, and as old as Time. A mother rocking a child to sleep.

  And then Judy Hatfield came around the house with a weary smile and a bushel of peas, and set it near the porch. Her sister-in-law, Laura, followed with her bushel.

  “We're through,” Laura called. “Hey, kids, put away the toys and go wash. We've got to go home.”

  Grumbles and groans could be heard all around, but the children did as they were told.

  “Bet you thought I would never get done,” Judy said, and lifted the baby from Toni’s arms, missing the empty look that swept over Toni’s face as she did. “The peas are great. I'll put the kids to shelling when we get home, and Justin can baby-sit later while I put them up.”

  Toni’s heart felt as empty as her arms. She looked down at the sleeping baby and wanted to cry. “I could keep Lucy longer if you needed to—”

  “No way,” Judy said. “Laura and I have already imposed upon you long enough by asking you to watch this wild bunch.”

  “It wasn’t an imposition,” Toni said softly, unaware that Lane saw all of what she felt and was trying to hide. “I like taking care of the kids, especially the babies,” she said, and brushed a baby curl behind Lucy’s ear, just so she could feel the silky softness one more time.

  “Judy’s right,” Laura said. “Every time we have a family get-together, you wind up playing nursemaid to all the little Hatfields, instead of enjoying the day with the rest of us.” Then she groaned and rolled her neck. “Tonight, I will ache in places I didn’t know I had.”

  Laura batted her eyes and giggled as she tucked a loose blond curl beneath her headband where it belonged. She was small and plump and David Hatfield doted on her.

  You don’t understand what a real ache is, Toni thought. The children are why I enjoy the day. But she kept the thought to herself, as she did everything that was dear to her heart.

  Lane stood to one side and watched. He didn’t understand Toni’s pain, but it was obvious to him that she was hurting. And because it hurt him to see her sad, he took the opportunity to break into the conversation.

  “Ladies, if you would tell me where to put your baskets, I'll set them in your cars.”

  Judy and Laura gave Lane a considering look, as if trying to imagine this man and their socially inept sister-in-law together.

  “I'll get them,” Toni said, and ran to the edge of the house where the women had set them down.

  She picked one up and was about to drag the other, when Lane walked up behind her, took them out of her arms and hefted one onto each hip.

  “No you don’t. You do too much and lift too much as it is. I'll do it,” Lane said, and
ignored Toni’s frown.

  Two at one time would have been more than a normal-size man could have handled. Lane had them balanced on his hips, one beneath each long arm as if they were nothing.

  “If you can find an empty spot in the car, you can put mine anywhere,” Laura said, giggling, and headed for her car to open the trunk with Lane right behind her. Her less-than-subtle reference pointed to the fact that four of the six children loading into cars were hers.

  “Be careful,” Toni called. “Remember your stitches.”

  Lane loaded the baskets, then turned. There was a soft smile on his face and a deeper one in his eyes. “My hands and arms do not have stitches, Antonette. And after tomorrow, neither will my leg. You fuss too much. I'm fine.”

  Toni was at a loss for what to do or say while he loaded the baskets into the cars. All she could do was watch while the joy in her morning disappeared.

  Because Lane and the children had otherwise occupied her thoughts, she missed seeing the all-knowing look that Judy and Laura exchanged. It was an “Aha!” look if ever there was one.

  As Lane deposited the last basket in her car, Judy apologized. “Toni is right. We forgot that you've been through so much. You seem so strong and healthy, we just—”

  “I'm fine,” Lane said. “Toni’s just trying to keep me in one piece long enough to ship me out.”

  “Oh, wait,” Toni said, then darted back into the house. Seconds later she was back with a half-empty bottle in her hand. “Lucy’s milk. She went to sleep before she finished it all.”

  Judy smiled as Toni stuck the bottle into the baby’s bag. “The little squirt’s been doing that lately, then waking up an hour or so later squawking for more. I swear she’s going to be as hardheaded as her daddy.”

  “We're off. Thanks for the peas,” Laura shouted, waving as she drove away.

  Judy echoed the sentiment, then drove away, leaving Toni and Lane alone in the yard.

  “I always feel like I've been in the eye of a whirlwind when the kids leave,” Toni said, and didn’t know that her chin quivered as she watched them drive away. “But I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I would keep them all if their mothers would let me.”

  “Toni?”

  “What?” she asked, still lost in the memory of what it had felt like to hold the baby against her breast.

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  Pain, followed by anger, made her lash out. “Why aren’t you?” she countered, satisfied by the startled expression on his face.

  “I was,” Lane said, and wished he’d never started this.

  “Don’t you ever want to remarry? Maybe raise a family?”

  The expression on Lane’s face went blank. Toni didn’t know what she’d said, but something had struck a serious nerve in him.

  “I will not father any children, and that’s a damned fact,” he said bitterly.

  Toni was shocked. She would never have believed Lane to be the type to dislike children. Matching his defiant answer with a defiance of her own, she spoke before she thought. “If I could, I would have a hundred. Children are wonderful. They're the most loving, honest people I know.”

  Lane grew cold, from the inside out. He didn’t see the angry tears in her eyes, or hear the tremble in her voice. Memories as painful as the wounds healing on his body were making him sick. He saw nothing but the memory of Sharla in a pool of blood and the way she’d looked when the life had gone out of her eyes.

  “Then you should have gotten married and had a dozen,” he muttered, wishing to hell that this conversation had never started.

  Hurt and angry at learning that he held disdain for what she most wanted out of life, she spoke the truth before she thought. “No one ever asked me,” she said, and then paled and walked away before she saw the sympathy on his face, hating him for making her admit the fact.

  The shock of her statement yanked him out of his bitter memories. He knew by the set of her shoulders that his thoughtless statement had hurt her as deeply as if he’d struck a blow to her heart. He would give anything to be able to take back what he’d said. But it was too late. The damage had already been done.

  “What in hell is wrong with the men around here, anyway?” he muttered, and followed her into the house, unwilling to let what he’d said fester between them. “Toni?”

  He was not surprised when she didn’t answer. She’d probably had enough of men and their stupidity to last her a lifetime. But Lane wasn’t the type to give up, so he went from room to room until he found her in the kitchen...ignoring him.

  It took everything he had not to focus on her long bare legs and shapely backside, encased in frayed denim cutoffs. Her pink T-shirt was soft and old, and he knew that if she turned around, the outline of her bra and the defiant push of her breasts beneath could make a man forget his manners. And while he would have liked to undo her braid and dig his fingers into the tangles so deep that he would be forever caught, he knew that it wasn’t smart to let lust get in the way of why he’d come in search of her.

  “Look,” he began, “I've never been good at saying I'm sorry, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admit when I'm wrong. I was way out of line out there. I would like to think you'll forgive me and just chalk it up to a bad day.”

  Toni turned. His apology was welcome, and oddly, unexpected. She should have been happy to know that he’d cared about her enough to at least clear the air between them. But she was too upset about something else to do much more than nod.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Forget it.”

  Lane took a deep breath and resisted the urge to shake her. “It’s not fine, Antonette, and we both know it. I said some things I shouldn’t have and I—”

  “My pie is gone.”

  Her remark was so unexpected that Lane forgot what he’d been about to say. “What do you mean, your pie is gone?”

  She shrugged and pointed. “Just what I mean. I took an apple pie out of the oven just before Judy and Laura arrived, and put it out back to cool. It’s gone.” She sighed. “The boys probably took it and ate it while their mothers weren’t looking. I don’t really care, but I would like to know where my pie pan is. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I could look around for you,” Lane offered. “They couldn’t have gone far with it. Maybe it’s in the barn or out behind your machine shed.”

  Toni sighed and dropped into a chair. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “It’s just that you won’t have dessert today, and I would lay odds that three little boys will have a bellyache before the afternoon is over.”

  Lane grinned, aware that what he was about to say would get a rise out of Toni. “I can give up dessert for a day, even several if I have to, but why are you blaming the boys? There were several little girls out there, too.”

  “Because the girls don’t like to get dirty. They wouldn’t have eaten a pie with their fingers even if someone had tried to make them. I know my nieces...and my nephews. Believe me, it was the boys.”

  “Are you going to call their mothers?” Lane asked.

  Toni looked up, then quickly away. There was too much tenderness in his expression to face. “No way. Favorite aunties do not snitch. At least, not over missing pies.”

  Lane bent down and covered her hands with his own. “Toni, look at me.”

  The touch of his hands was bittersweet. He gave so little, and she wanted so much more. But she bit her lip and complied. She had, after all, no other choice. There was no way she could let him know how much she’d come to count on his daily presence in her life.

  “What?”

  Lane sighed. Her name was Antonette, but someone should have called her Defiance instead. “Are you going to say it?” he asked.

  “Say what?” It was a dumb question. She knew what he wanted to hear. It was just so hard to say the words, because acknowledging what he’d said about children was like the death of a dream.

  “That I'm forgiven for hurting your feelings.”

  Toni
sighed. “You're forgiven.”

  Lane laughed, but it was a harsh, unhappy sound. “Damn, Toni, don’t overdo the sentimentality on my account.”

  Her gaze was level, her voice calm. “I can’t afford sentimentality, Lane. I am a self-assured woman, remember?”

  What I remember is the pain in your voice, lady. I hear what you say. But do you hear yourself saying it?

  The thought was impossible to voice, because however badly he might wish to do so, he was in no position to change one single aspect of Toni Hatfield’s personal life. He’d already given happiness a try and been cut off at the heart for the effort. He didn’t have enough guts to repeat the pain.

  “So, what are you going to do?” he asked.

  Toni pushed herself up from the chair. “Call the doctor and confirm your appointment.”

  “Appointment?”

  “You've got a checkup coming and stitches to be removed.”

  “Trying to get rid of me, are you?” It was a poor joke that fell flat between them.

  Toni paused in the doorway, looking strangely elegant in spite of her T-shirt and shorts. Her chin tilted and her eyes darkened with defiance.

  “Does that mean you're not anxious to leave?” she asked.

  He flushed. How could he answer that and not hurt her worse than he’d already done? He chose to remain silent.

  Unbeknownst to him, his silence hurt her even more. But she would be damned if she let him know that.

  “That’s what I thought,” Toni said. “There’s a casserole in the refrigerator. Heat what you want in the microwave. I'm not hungry anymore.”

  All six feet six inches of his body went numb. He knew he kept breathing, though, because the pain around his heart had not gone away. But he couldn’t have moved or spoken to save his life. If he didn’t get the hell out of Tennessee soon, he was going to ruin both their lives.

  * * *

  There was a note on the table, and Toni was nowhere to be found. If he hadn’t sat down on that sofa, he wouldn’t have dozed off. He hated this lingering weakness and would be heartily glad when his full strength finally returned.

  “How could she disappear without my hearing her leave?” Lane muttered, picking up the note and then frowning. “Eleven o'clock tomorrow. Not even a 'Dear Sir' or 'go to hell.'”