But she didn't have anything better to do, not with the barbecue over and Kelly having found the man of her dreams at the Creek bar before Delia called to tell her she'd meet her for a drink somewhere. She'd wished her old friend luck and driven home with a plastic container of leftover fruit salad Carol had urged her to take with her when she left.
So she'd picked up more groceries and returned to the trailer around ten-thirty, to think about Joe Brown's extraordinary kisses and her own reaction to passion. She thought she'd forgotten what passion felt like, but it had been heavenly to be reminded. Even if Joe was only proving a point, before kissing her he'd looked a little flustered by her outfit. It wasn't new. Last summer, when she'd still been married, her husband hadn't paid the least bit of attention to her cleavage. Martin had certainly never looked at her the way Joe had.
"I was lonely for a while, and I would have walked a mile, just to see your face," she sang. Not exactly poetry, she thought, but good enough for a few minutes' entertainment. She wondered why Uncle Gin never published any more of his songs. Had he tried and been rejected or had he been content to live in his trailer and sing to himself?
"I was misery you see, and it was for all to plainly see, that I wasn't in the race."
The lights were on across the road. Joe's truck was in the driveway, so he was home and not kissing any other women in July tonight. She kicked off her sandals, tucked her legs underneath her and leaned back against the cushions. This was definitely easier than being in a smoky dance hall.
"Oh, it hurts to be alone, and I never should have known, the pain you put me in." The pads of her fingers began to hurt, but she kept them pressed against the frets and strummed. "Was it worth it, glad you asked—"
She stopped to try to make out the rest of the line, then gave up and sang, "Something, something, in the past, I was never meant to win."
The outside lights went on, illuminating the Browns' driveway, at the same time Delia heard the wail of a police siren drawing near. She set the guitar aside and knelt at the window to see flashing lights turn in from the main road. The police car flew into the Browns driveway and a deputy jumped out. J.C. was being arrested? She couldn't imagine him doing anything illegal, not now, but then again, she didn't really know him all that well. Except she'd brought him home with her from a bar a few days ago.
Another siren wailed from the main road, but this time an ambulance turned into the trailer park and bounced to a stop in front of the Brown trailer. Delia leaped off the couch, slipped her feet into her sandals and headed for the door. Not one of the children, she prayed, hurrying down the steps. They were so little and anything could happen. She didn't stop running until she reached the opened kitchen door and saw the rescue workers leaning over someone. The sheriff's deputy stood next to Joe, who looked pale and worried. He looked over when she entered the crowded kitchen, relief crossing his face for a brief moment.
"Delia—"
"What's happened?" She stayed inside the door, unwilling to get in the way.
"We're going to take her to the hospital, J.C.," the paramedic said. "You want to ride with us?"
"I'll be right behind you." Joe hurried over to Delia and took her aside. "It's my mother. They think she's having a heart attack."
"I'll stay with the kids."
"I don't know how long I'll be gone."
"Don't worry about them. Go," she said.
He hesitated. "Libby should sleep through the night, but I think she has a bottle around five."
She had never given a baby a bottle in her life, but now wasn't the time to confess her inadequacies. "Okay. No problem."
"Thanks." He put his arm around her and hugged her to him for one brief moment, and then he was gone, behind the stretcher, the paramedics and the deputy. The sirens began again, before Delia could shut the door, but the sound soon became fainter. Several neighbors called to ask what was wrong, so Delia filled them in and wrote down their names and offers to help in any way they could. She turned off some of the lights and went into the living room. It was a large area, complete with navy-striped overstuffed couches and an oak coffee table. The television was on, the volume low, and Hank stood in the hall. His little face was red and stained with tears.
"Hi, Hank," Delia whispered. "Would you like to come sit with me for a minute?"
He lifted his arms to be picked up. He was heavier than she thought he would be, but she snuggled him against her and sat down in a well-worn blue recliner. "Scary night?"
"Yes." His thumb popped into his mouth and he rested his head against her shoulder.
"Your grandmother wasn't feeling well," Delia said, wondering how much she should tell the little boy. "Uncle Joe decided she should go see a doctor. So I'm going to stay here and keep you company until he comes back, okay?"
Hank nodded and his body relaxed. They watched an old Western movie and after he fell asleep, Delia carried him down the hall. The first room held a queen-size bed covered with a feminine blue-flowered quilt. Across the hall was a smaller room, where a night-light illuminated the outline of a crib. A double bed, its covers rumpled and covered with stuffed animals and plastic horses, sat under a window. A nearby dresser held a changing pad, a stack of disposable diapers and an assortment of baby care products. Delia managed to tuck Hank into his bed without waking him or the sleeping baby.
She stood by Libby's crib for a few minutes, making sure the baby was breathing regularly. She touched the baby's delicate back and covered her chubby legs with the soft blanket. She would have loved to have had a child. Would Martin have left her if they'd had children together or would that have only made his betrayal so much worse?
She didn't miss him. She'd stopped loving him a long time ago. Her stepchildren had needed a mother and she'd done her best, even though they had never really accepted her or showed the kind of love she'd longed for.
It was better to be alone, Delia knew now. Better to be on her own and living her life the way she wanted to live it. Everyone had regrets—that was part of life—but she didn't need to spend any more time feeling sorry for herself and wishing for babies.
Or waiting for love.
* * *
He waited all night to learn that his mother had had a mild heart attack. The nurses had been kind, the doctors brusque, the information brief but frightening. Her prognosis was good, but there were more tests to do, more to learn about her condition and what should be done. Joe drove back to Pecan Hollow at sunrise, after being assured that his mother was "resting comfortably." Go home, they'd said. Get some rest. We'll call you right away if anything changes.
He was wired from drinking too much coffee, weary from worrying and pacing and sitting in a waiting room waiting for news. The outside light was on, though the sun was almost up. And there was one light in the living room, though he couldn't see anyone through the windows. He shut the truck door quietly and made sure that when he stepped into the house he made as little noise as possible. He didn't expect to see Delia in the kitchen, holding Libby in her arms in the rocking chair.
"Hi," she whispered, concern evident in her eyes. "How is she?"
"Okay for now," he said, keeping his voice low. He stepped closer to look at the sleeping baby. She had milk on her chin and a little smile on her lips. "How's everything here?"
"Very quiet. Hank was a little scared, but he went back to sleep." Delia looked exhausted. He realized she hadn't slept while the children were in her care. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her skin was pale. The outfit he'd thought was too revealing was now wrinkled and spotted with baby formula, and her hair was a wild tangle of chestnut waves.
"You haven't slept, either," he said, wishing he could take her in his arms and hold her. He sat down at the kitchen table instead. He saw that Delia had made coffee, but he was too tired to get himself any.
"I did," she said. "A little. I kept Hank company until he went to sleep." She kissed the top of the baby's head. "Tell me what the doctors said."
>
"She's 'stabilized.' That's the word they use, stabilized. It's her heart."
"I'm sorry."
"I think she's been keeping it from me," he said. "I thought she was taking all those pills for her arthritis. Her knees have been bothering her." He rubbed his aching neck. "I should have seen it coming."
"Why don't you get some rest?" Delia stood and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll put the baby back to bed."
"Hank—"
"I'll stay while you sleep," she said. "In case he wakes up early."
It was an offer too good to refuse. It was odd that he'd never come home to anyone before. The women in his life had not lived with him, or even met his family. He'd kept those parts of his life separate. And now he wondered if he had made a mistake. It had been one hell of a night and here he was, coming home to Delia holding Libby.
He didn't like wanting things he couldn't have.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Delia wished there was something comforting she could say, but the best thing Joe could do was get some sleep. It was an odd intimacy, holding a baby and telling this man to go to bed.
"I know you're right. And I will, in a minute." He leaned forward and touched the baby's hand. Her fingers curled over his index finger in a soft grip. "I've been calling my sister, leaving messages for her to get in touch with me right away."
"She hasn't called here." Funny how it didn't bother her to think of Martin and his girlfriend on vacation. She wondered what he'd think when he discovered that she'd left the house—and the last of the furniture—for him to deal with. He wouldn't be happy and he'd probably call to complain to her that she wasn't holding up her end of the bargain. It was a phrase she'd heard for years. Looking back, she wasn't proud of herself for putting up with it.
"She's supposed to be home today, but her saying that doesn't really mean anything. She hasn't called in days." He frowned. "How could someone go away and leave two little kids and not even check to see how they are?"
"I don't know," she replied. It wasn't as if Martin looked like Brad Pitt, or was so charming and rich that a woman would forget everything else and run away with him.
"I think they were in Las Vegas for a while. At least, that's what she told Mom."
"Martin always wanted to go there."
"Then why didn't he take you and go?"
She shrugged. "He used to talk about what his life would have been like if he hadn't gotten married so young. His first wife died and he married me to give his children a mother." The boys, eight at the time, had been cautiously polite, Jennifer bewildered and sweet. Delia had believed they would be one happy family.
"He told you that?"
"No, not that it would have mattered," she admitted. "I thought I was in love. I thought he was in love. It didn't turn out to be that way at all."
"He sounds like a real shit."
"He is." She smiled and Joe chuckled.
"Will he marry her?"
"I don't know." He was really asking if Martin would be a father to Julie's children, if he might stick around and give his sister a happy ending and the children a home. "I guess you'll have to ask your sister about that."
"None of her previous boyfriends have stuck around to help raise the kids." The smile was gone and he eased Libby's fingers from his. "Want me to put her back to bed?"
"Sure. If you want to." She managed to transfer the baby to her uncle's arms, though she was awkward about it. Her fingers grazed his chest; her arms touched his hands, her heart jumped in a silly way. She pretended not to feel the shimmer of awareness that reminded her of yesterday's kiss. She tucked the pink blanket around the baby's legs and Libby kicked in protest.
"Don't you dare wake up now," Joe told the baby. "Your uncle doesn't have the energy to play."
Libby gurgled and waved her fists, but she yawned delicately and blinked at her uncle.
Delia smiled at both of them and decided that once again she was losing her mind. The whole thing was odd—caring for the children of the woman who ran off with her husband was one thing, but lusting after her brother was something else. She was just lonely, that was all. She'd get over it as soon as she adjusted to her new life. She'd get better at all of this.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up to see Joe studying her. "Nothing. Why?"
"You looked … never mind." He hesitated. "Why didn't you leave him?"
"I guess I should have," she replied. "But do you leave someone just because you aren't deliriously happy all the time? He cared about his family and he cared about me. At least I thought he did. The last few years weren't exactly filled with joy, but I never knew he was having an affair until December, when he told me he was in love with someone else. And had been for several months."
"I'm sorry." Joe stood and looked down at her. "And here you are taking care of Julie's kids. Not exactly fair."
"It wasn't fair of Martin to take your sister away from her kids, either," she pointed out. "Or to your mother."
"Yeah," he said. "That's why I came. I figured I'd talk sense into my idiot sister and give my mother a rest. From what happened last night, I'd guess I was too late."
"Maybe it would have happened anyway. At least you were here to call an ambulance."
"And you were here to watch the kids," Joe added. "Mom said to tell you she really appreciates it. She was so worried, especially about what Hank would think. He's not having the best time of it lately."
"Maybe she can talk to him on the phone today."
"Yeah. The doctor wanted her to rest and then they'd do more tests." He glanced toward the window. "Sun's up. I guess I'll get some rest after all. You sure you don't mind staying for another hour or two?"
"I'm sure." She would have been happy to hold that baby all morning, but she would never admit it.
He started to walk away, but stopped. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, Delia. It was out of line."
"That's okay." She assumed that "what happened yesterday" meant that particularly toe-curling kiss, but she would never admit she'd been affected by it. Or that it meant anything. Not to a man with his experience. "You made your point."
"Yeah, but what you do and who you do it with is none of my business. I was being a jerk." Joe smiled, a little ruefully. "I can't say I didn't enjoy it, though."
"Go," she said, laughing a little. "Don't say another word."
After he left the room Delia stayed at the kitchen table and looked out the window. Her trailer was clearly visible, a light still on in the living room and her car in the driveway. She hadn't minded taking care of the children; she hadn't minded being useful. She actually liked being useful. Maybe her new life would include joining the Red Cross or working at a food bank or maybe she'd become the kind of lady who fed all the stray cats in the neighborhood.
But first, Delia decided, getting up to refill her coffee cup, she would ignore her fascination with Joe Brown and his wide chest, square shoulders and dark eyes that looked at her as if he'd like to take her to bed.
Julie Brown was welcome to Martin. In fact, she'd done Delia a favor. She'd never have met J.C. Brown again, wouldn't have had the satisfaction of cleaning Uncle Gin's trailer and setting up the first place she'd ever lived in on her own. She was thirty-three—it was high time she got her own life instead of stepping into anyone else's.
* * *
"Have you heard?"
Georgia yawned and looked at the clock on the nightstand, not that she could see the numbers without putting on her glasses. "Heard what, Annie? And what time is it?"
"After seven. You're not up?"
"I woke up at four and went back to sleep. What's going on?"
"Betty's in the hospital."
"Betty?" Still groggy, Georgia struggled to sit up. She'd been dreaming of being on a cruise and dancing the tango with three men who looked like Jack Nicholson, so she was relieved to have been awakened by the phone. She swore her feet were starting to
hurt.
"Betty," Annie repeated. "Betty Brown."
Ah, that Betty. "Is she all right?"
"It was her heart," Annie explained. "I heard it from Bill Ripley when I got the paper—his aunt lives at Pecan Hollow because she lost all her money from gambling and had to move in with her cousin. The ambulance came and took her away."
"Annie, for heaven's sakes, is the poor woman dead or alive?"
"Alive, thank the good Lord, but—"
"That's good. But what?" She put on her slippers and headed downstairs to make coffee. She could tell that Annie was wound up enough to talk all morning, even if it was Sunday and they usually went to church.
"Uh—"
"How old is Betty?"
"Just a couple of years older than me, but I thought she looked awfully pale yesterday, didn't you? And she had trouble getting up and down the stairs."
"She said she has arthritis," Georgia said, turning on the kitchen lights. She headed for the coffeepot, which she'd fixed last night so in the morning all she had to do was flick the switch to the On position. "But everyone our age has arthritis. The only strange thing about yesterday was that she brought Delia lunch and came inside to visit."
"Maybe she feels bad about what her daughter has done. It must be embarrassing."
"I suppose," she said, unwilling to believe that a Brown had any redeeming qualities. Georgia hadn't said much after leaving the trailer yesterday. She'd let Annie go on and on about how nice it was to see J.C. Brown all grown-up and taking care of his baby niece just like she was his and how clean old Horatio's trailer was and didn't the plant look good on the coffee table. Georgia had kept her mouth shut, seeing how she seemed to be the only person on the planet who thought the Brown family should leave Delia alone. She didn't want Delia all cozy and content in a run-down trailer park. She knew her daughter and she knew that the girl was having a hard time losing her husband, her house, her money and now her sanity.
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