“Hey, Sister,” Gracie said. Faith looked up and smiled.
“Gracie!”
They embraced and Gracie sat down. Marcy, sixteen, and Amy, now eighteen and a college freshman at MSSU, greeted her. The four females chattered, but Gracie wondered what her mother and Devlin might be discussing. By the time she found a chance to wander back to the kitchen, both of her brothers and their families had arrived. Her sister-in-law Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, and Gracie looked around the room as if Devlin might be hiding somewhere.
“Mom, where’s Devlin?” she asked.
Preoccupied with kneading hot roll dough, her mother said, “Oh, I think he went outside with the boys. Your father came in and I introduced them. It’s going to be a while until we eat dinner, so I think they’re going to have a shooting match like we used to do.”
Gracie remembered the tradition. Like a lot of Ozark families, they’d set up targets in the east field and spent hours shooting on Thanksgiving. The custom probably dated back to pioneer times, she reflected, and she always enjoyed it. She wasn’t sure Devlin would, not with his military background or his reaction to unexpected firearms noise. Remembering his response to the blanks fired on the train ride at Silver Dollar City, Gracie worried.
“I’ll just run out and say hi to Daddy,” she said and hustled outside to find Devlin before he suffered a meltdown. Although her dad served in Vietnam, Gracie wasn’t sure how her family might respond to one of Devlin’s PTSD events.
Dry grass crunched underfoot as she crossed the back yard and skirted the clothesline. Just as she expected her father and brothers stood near a makeshift table – a board tossed over a pair of sawhorses – with several long guns, some rifles, and shotguns. Boxes of shooting clays were there too, along with an automatic clay thrower. Devlin stood beside her dad and she joined him, reaching to grasp his hand in hers. He smiled but so far, Gracie saw no evidence of any emotional distress.
“There you are, girlie,” Anthony Alloway said. “I wondered when you’d show up out here. Gonna give your old dad a hug?”
“Of course I am, Daddy.” Gracie untangled from Devlin to embrace her father then each of her brothers. “I guess you’ve all met Devlin.”
“Oh, yeah, we have,” her brother Bill said. “We’re getting ready to do some shooting. Are you cooking or playing with guns?”
“I don’t know,” Gracie replied, flustered. So far, Devlin wasn’t uptight. His relaxed stance reassured her that a meltdown wasn’t about to happen, but she caught his eye, inquiring with silent question.
“My daughter can shoot as well as the boys,” her dad bragged. “Gracie’s better than Faith ever was, but Faith never did have the interest. Are you a fair shot, Devlin?”
To Gracie’s surprise, he nodded. “I do all right. I made my qualifications in the Marine Corps, earned a Distinguished marksman badge, too.”
Chuck, her oldest brother, whooped aloud. “This’ll be fun, then. We’ve got some real competition. Let’s see what you can do, Devlin.”
Gracie opened her mouth to protest then closed it. If she said anything now, her family would think Dev was a wimp or freak. As if he read her thoughts, Devlin said, “Sure, let me just walk Gracie back to the house first. I’ll be back.”
He grasped her hand and she took it, confused and more than a little worried. As soon as they were out of easy earshot, Gracie halted. “Dev, are you okay with this?”
Devlin gave her a sweet little smile. “Babe, I’m fine.”
“But at Silver Dollar City, when the conductor fired the shotgun, you reacted,” Gracie said.
“I didn’t expect it,” he said. “It makes a difference, honey. Yeah, I freaked out, but I didn’t know it was coming. I do today so it’s okay. I’m about to impress the hell out of your dad and brothers.”
His confidence eased most of her worries. “Well, promise to be careful, Dev.”
“I will.” His grin widened. “You never mentioned you can shoot, babe.”
“It never came up.”
“Well, I’m proud of you, Gracie.” Devlin sounded like he meant it. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house to make it look good, but I want a kiss for my trouble.”
So did Gracie. Beneath the branches of a large tree, Devlin pulled her into his arms. He kissed her, his mouth slow and tender over her lips. His kiss evoked emotion and ignited passion, but she’d have to wait for anything more. Before he let go, her niece Marcy burst through the backdoor.
“Oh, like whoa, Aunt Gracie,” she said with fervor. “Nice but Gramma wants you in the kitchen.”
Devlin chuckled as he released her. “Go ahead.”
Gracie paused long enough to put her hands on either side of his face. “I’m going. I love you, Devlin.”
“Love you too, babe.”
She entered Thanksgiving Central, the kitchen now teeming with activity. Faith was putting together a classic green bean bake casserole and Amy peeled a pile of potatoes. Peggy Alloway assigned Marcy and Gracie to doing dishes and the women worked in harmony, chatting as they handled cooking chores with ease. Her brother’s wives, Cynthia and Tamara, worked too although neither said little. Both always carried themselves a little aloof, proud to be the wives of the successful car dealers. In Kansas City Alloway Brothers Motors did well enough and both women were area natives. Visiting the farm on holidays was the closest either Tamara or Cynthia came to experiencing rural life. The conversation soon turned to Devlin.
“So, Gracie, tell us about Devlin,” Faith said. “How did you meet him?”
Remembering the first night she saw Dev always made her smile. “He’s taking the same watercolor class as I am, on Monday nights,” she told her sister. “I noticed him when he roared up on his motorcycle.”
And he looked like something straight of hell, she recalled with an inner laugh. He’d scared her a little but intrigued her more.
“He rides a motorcycle? Cool!” Amy chimed in just as her grandmother said, “Oh, my goodness, I didn’t know he rode a motorcycle. You don’t get on it, too do you?”
Laughter erupted out of her mouth. “Yes, Mom, I do. I was scared the first couple of times, but I’m used to it now. Devlin handles it well.”
Faith giggled. “I can’t imagine my sweet little sister on the back of a motorcycle. You’ve grown up, Gracie.”
You wouldn’t believe how much, sister.
“I suppose I have,” she said.
“Is he ex-military?” Peggy asked. “I noticed his jacket.”
With pride, Gracie nodded. “Dev was a Marine and he served in Iraq back in 2003.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t stay in the service,” Gracie’s mother said. “He seems like the type.”
“He got hurt,” Gracie said. They’d never talked about why he didn’t remain a Marine, but she’d always figured it might be his injuries. “He doesn’t talk a lot about what happened over there.”
In her mind, she saw the painting he’d done of the little girl and recalled his anguish. Gracie wasn’t sharing it with her family or anyone.
“He must’ve been in some heavy fighting then,” Peggy said. “Your dad doesn’t talk much about Vietnam either. And mine wouldn’t ever say much about World War II.”
“Peter wrote an article for a scholarly journal about Iraq,” Faith said. When Gracie narrowed her eyes, her sister added, “I know it’s not the same as serving, sis, but it’s something.”
“Peter’s done well for himself,” Mrs. Alloway said, loyal to her son-in-law. “There’s no denying it.”
Their talk shifted from Devlin and Iraq to down home matters like the apple butter her mother just put up and the school activities of the two teens. Amy, in her first semester of college, announced she’d been dating another student, a football player. She told about the season so far and Marcy, not to be outdone, shared her recent experience as a homecoming queen attendant.
Although she listened and even commented, Gracie’s mind focused on the ou
tdoor events. As the sounds of multiple shots resounded through the house, the other women paid little attention, accustomed to the noise from other Thanksgivings and shooting matches. Gracie pictured Devlin and wished she could watch him shoot. When things reached a lull and the others headed for a few minutes of relaxation in the living room, she grabbed a sweater off the rack beside the back door and dashed outside.
Gracie slowed as she neared the men. She wanted to observe before she revealed her presence, and the last thing she’d want to do would be to rattle Devlin. The broad base of an older tree offered cover and she peered around it. As she watched, the men shot in turn, even Peter who barely knew one end of a rifle from the other. When Devlin’s turn came, he stepped up, his stance straight with military precision. He handled the rifle – her dad’s old single shot .22 – well and when the clay pigeon released, he followed its arc through the air and fired. The clay didn’t shatter, but dropped to the ground with a single hole drilled through the center.
She released the breath she’d been holding and laughed softly. Most of the others were using one of the shotguns and the bright orange clays broke on impact. Devlin’s feat was rare and she listened with pride as the other guys made over his shot. Satisfied Devlin wasn’t suffering any flashbacks or angst, Gracie headed back toward the house with a smile.
In the kitchen, she treated herself to a cup of coffee and joined the others. After a brief break, the women hit it again and by just after one o’clock, the Thanksgiving feast was ready to bring to the table. Marcy ran out to tell the men, and they tramped inside to wash up.
Devlin paused and beckoned her with his eyes, so Gracie slipped away from her current task to join him. He opened his arms and she walked into them, delighted when they closed around her. She inhaled his wind-blown scent, pure Devlin tempered with a little gun oil and fresh air. “Missed you,” he said in a soft voice.
“I missed you, too.”
His grin made her smile. “I saw you sneak up to watch me shoot.”
“Yeah?”
“So did I impress you?”
“Totally, Devlin,” she said in answer. “Is my family treating you all right?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “They’re good people, Gracie. I’m not used to being with anyone, but it’s been good.”
Unlike most men, Devlin remained a lone wolf, and she realized how much effort it required for him to spend time with her family. Gracie searched his face for any clues he’d had enough or suffered any negative reaction but saw nothing but a quiet calm. His quiet smile reassured her and she nodded. “Go wash up. I think dinner’s all on the table.”
Her family circled the huge old table, big enough to almost fill the room when both leaves were inserted. The antique table once belonged to her grandparents, maybe even her great-grandparents. Everyone Gracie ever loved ate here at one time or another so she delighted to have Devlin here. They sat side by side and before anyone filled their plates, the group joined hands and asked a blessing. As the familiar words poured over her, Gracie’s heart filled with happiness. So far, today was a perfect holiday with family, good food, no fights, and the man she loved.
Everyone claimed the roast turkey had to be the best they’d ever eaten and complimented the dressing. Gracie ate more than she normally would, but saved room for pie. Devlin paced himself and she kept an eye on him. Since recovering from food poisoning, he hadn’t eaten much at any one sitting, and she didn’t want him to overdo it. She noticed he ate a little bit of everything, but in small portions, and he quit after two plates. Gracie didn’t push. Faith noticed and commented.
“Oh, you surely want more than that, Devlin. Part of Thanksgiving is eating too much.”
“I would,” Devlin said, his tone firm but quiet. “I’ve been sick, though, and I’d rather not push my luck. Everything’s tasty, though.”
A lot of men would’ve teased Gracie about giving him a bad case of food poisoning, but Devlin didn’t. Instead he managed to evoke everyone’s sympathy and spark a round of inquiries about his health. Without giving specifics, Dev managed to convey the idea he’d been very ill, but he was well on the road to recovery. In a few words, he sketched out the care she’d given him until Gracie sounded like the reincarnation of Florence Nightengale. Somehow, too, he convinced them how much he cared for their daughter, sister, and aunt. By the time they finished up with a piece of pie topped with real whipped cream, her family accepted Devlin as her significant other.
Gracie noticed Devlin chose pumpkin and enjoyed it with slow bites, savoring each one. Afterward, he wore a stupefied expression just like everyone else, a glazed look of being sated. As Gracie helped clear the table, she noticed Devlin paused to rub his belly and she made for him like a just shot arrow.
“Are you okay?”
He twisted his lips into a wry grin. “Yeah, I’m fine. I probably ate too much but I’m not going to puke, babe, so don’t fuss. I’m going to the living room to relax.”
“You look sleepy,” Gracie said.
“Yeah, I am.”
Her mother’s sixth sense must’ve been working overtime because she appeared beside them, an empty platter in her hands. “Devlin, if you want a nap, go upstairs to Gracie’s old room. It’s the second one to the left.”
Devlin started to protest, but Peggy Alloway shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Anthony’s already asleep on our bed, and I think Peter headed up to Faith’s old room. Bill’s snoring on the couch and I believe Chuck’s napping in the armchair. Go on upstairs if you want.”
With his dark eyes heavy with fatigue, he didn’t hesitate or protest. “Thanks, Mrs. Alloway,” he said. “I appreciate it.”
“Oh, call me Peggy,” she said. “Gracie, I need you in the kitchen.”
“Sure, mom,” she said. “I’ll be there in a second.”
Gracie cupped Devlin’s cheek with one hand. “I’ll come up to check on you when we’re done with the dishes,” she promised. “Go get some sleep. You do look tired.”
“Love you, babe,” he said.
She watched him go then, called by the clatter of dishes and the rattle of pans, Gracie joined the other women in the kitchen. They washed, dried, and put away the clean items. Her mother parceled out leftovers for everyone.
When everything had been put to rights, Gracie slipped upstairs and into her former bedroom. The same floral print curtains hung at the windows and the posters she’d hung during high school remained on the walls. Devlin stretched out across the bed, shoes off, but without a cover, sound asleep. His deep breathing echoed in the room, and Gracie picked up an old quilt folded over the back of the room’s one chair to cover him. At her touch, he mumbled something, but didn’t wake. Although she wouldn’t mind a nap of her own, Gracie stood at the window, open a few inches and breathed in the soft country air and watched Devlin sleep.
God, she loved him so.
Chapter Eleven
By the time the late afternoon shadows slanted across the room in a way Gracie remembered well, Devlin stirred. He wiggled before he woke and sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. He stretched afterward with a cheerful groan and noticed Gracie.
“Hey, babe,” he said. “How long’ve you been here?”
“A while,” she replied. “How’s your stomach?”
He considered the question. “It’s good. What time is it?”
“Four-thirty, I think.”
“Shit,” Devlin said. He groped for his shoes. “We have to go home before long. I’ve got to work tomorrow and it’ll be a pisser.”
Gracie had forgotten and now, remembering, she frowned. “I wish you didn’t have to, Devlin.”
Devlin snorted. “It’s Black Friday, babe, so I have to be there, busiest damn day of the year. Besides, I’ve missed too much work already.”
“What about the weekend?”
“I work Saturday and Sunday to make up for last week,” he said. “It sucks, yeah, but I can’t help it.”
She sighed and he pa
used. “Wait, do you want to go shopping? If you want, you can stay here and I’ll come back for you later.”
“No,” she cried. “I hate Black Friday, and I don’t give a crap about shopping. I just like being with you. Don’t you dare try to leave me.”
He laughed. “I think I’m corrupting you, babe. I want you with me anyway, so let’s get ready to roll.”
After a round of farewells and hugs, they headed out, first to leave. By the time they rolled down the driveway to the dirt road, full dark blanketed the Ozarks. Gracie scooted across the front seat to snuggle close against Devlin. Night brought cooler temps, and she appreciated his warmth. Part of her hated to leave her folks, but she’d rather be with Devlin.
“It turned out to be a good day,” she said with a yawn as they reached the highway.
“Yeah, it did,” Devlin answered. “Better than I thought.”
Gracie nodded. “I’m glad the shooting didn’t bother you. I think you impressed them with what a good shot you are.”
Devlin chuckled. “Maybe. You sound sleepy, Gracie.”
“I am.”
“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
Content and relaxed, she sighed. “Okay.”
Drowsiness crawled over her consciousness, heavy and thick. Gracie slept until Devlin said her name with urgency. She pushed through the layers of sleep as he said it again, sharper this time.
“Gracie!”
“What is it?”
“Hang on, babe, hang on tight,” Devlin said. His tone sounded serious. “There’s about to be an accident.”
She woke fully fast. “What are you talking about?”
Even as she asked, an eighteen wheeler roared down the on ramp from the James River Freeway to shoot past them at full speed. Devlin slowed as it passed and eased the car onto the green median, a grassy strip between the oncoming lane and their own. The Ford bumped over the rougher terrain as Devlin brought it to a stop.
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