A Man of Honor

by Loree Lough

  “Maybe. So what’s the culprit . . . pollen? Dust mites? Dustee?”

  He knew. She didn’t know how, but Gavin knew.

  He reached across the table and patted her hand. “Come on. Tell Uncle Gavin all about it.”

  She sighed again. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “You don’t really want me to say it, do you?”

  “At the beginning,” they said together.

  So she started with the way Dusty had cut his trip to New York short because he was worried about her, and showed up at suppertime bearing veggie pizzas . . . her favorite. “The kids aren’t used to sitting in a car that long, so they turned in early.” She told him about Agent Spencer’s background check, and how instead of making her want to turn tail and run, the information had made her feel inadequate and shallow in comparison to Dusty.

  “Whoa,” Gavin interrupted. “Help me out here. You? Inadequate? I don’t get it.”

  “It’s just that he’s been through so much . . . losing his parents at such a young age, moving in with relatives, fighting in wars, then finding out that his uncle died at the World Trade Center . . . yet he refuses to let it get him down. And me? Why I could put that pig in Charlotte’s Web to shame, I’m so good at wallowing.”

  “Wilbur.”

  “Who?”

  “The pig. In Charlotte’s Web. His name is Wilbur.”

  Grace giggled. “Oh. Right.” She thumped her forehead. “How silly of me.”

  “Yep, you sure are. Take ‘war’ off that list, and you might have been talking about yourself.”

  “No . . . I was older when—”

  He patted her hand again. “Grace, give it up. You’re not gonna win this one. If I wasn’t old enough to be your dad, I’d give that empty-headed cousin of mine some competition.”

  Now how did he expect her to react to that?

  “I’m told I have a knack for reading minds. But even if I didn’t—have that talent, that is—I’d have no trouble reading yours, because you’re as transparent as waxed paper.”

  “I am? Wow. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I don’t suppose while people were praising your mind-reading skills they mentioned your knack for tact. . . .”

  “Hey. I calls ’em as I sees ’em. And I’ll prove it: You’re thinking Dusty deserves a woman who’s strong, thoughtful, capable . . . and you’re not convinced you are that woman.” He smirked. “Am I close?”

  Grace nodded.

  “And you’re asking yourself how in the world you’ll ever find out if you’re ‘that woman,’ when, in your mind, God hasn’t put you to the test. Yet.”

  “You’re so close,” she admitted, “it’s downright scary.”

  He made his own list, starting with the way she’d been orphaned at sixteen, uprooted from New York and transplanted to Maryland before losing her best friend and her grandparents. “And you got through it all without a word of complaint, without a whimper. Your mom and dad—your grandparents, too—would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”

  It felt good hearing that. So good that tears filled her eyes and a sob ached in her throat. If she said one word, it would be equivalent to the Dutch boy pulling the cork out of the dike. She bought some “get hold of yourself” time by plucking a napkin from the basket on the table, and using it to dry her eyes. “You’re a good friend, Gavin,” she croaked out.

  “And I’m picky, too. No way I’d buddy up to a wallower, if you get my drift.”

  She got it, all right, and it almost started the waterworks up again. “Did you hear that Matt and Honor are engaged?”

  “No kidding? That’s great! Have they set a date?”

  “I doubt it. The engagement isn’t even official yet; they’re planning to make the big announcement at T-Bonz on Friday. I told Dusty about it, and he asked me to go to the party with him. I . . . I sort of hurt his feelings by not saying yes fast enough.” Sort of didn’t begin to describe the look that came over his face, but Grace pressed on. “It made me feel a little guilty, and I kind of threw myself at him.”

  Usually when she messed up, Grace faced things head on, without leaning on half-truths and qualifiers, so why had she used them just now? Was it proof that she wasn’t the right woman for Dusty?

  She remembered the tender look that gentled his face in those precious seconds before he gathered her close and held her as if he believed God shaped her from delicate porcelain. Remembered, too, the tenderness and yearning in his kiss.

  He cared for her—probably more than was good for him, definitely more than she deserved. How else could she explain the way her moment of uncertainty had upset him?

  It was reason enough to become the woman he deserved, starting now.

  21

  Do we have great timing, or what?”

  Grace jumped up from the table. “Matt! Honor! We were just having a little lunch. Come on in and help yourselves.”

  She gave them both a hug, then fetched plates and flatware while Dusty pulled two card table chairs from the pantry.

  “If this is your idea of a little lunch,” Matt said, helping himself to a square of lasagna, “I think we might just move in here.”

  “You might want to reconsider,” Mitch said, passing him the basket of garlic bread, “since it means bunking in with Dusty and me.”

  “What . . . you guys are living here, too?”

  “Don’t look so shocked, Honor,” Dusty said. “How else am I gonna keep an eye on these ruffians?” Laughing, he tousled Axel’s hair.

  “Hey, take it easy, dude,” the boy said, leaning as far from Dusty as the crowded table would allow. “I spent ten minutes on those spikes.”

  “Spent a couple dollars’ worth of gel, too, I see,” Dusty teased, giving the reddish-blond spears another pat. “Nice change from the corn rows, by the way.”

  While Axel groaned, Dusty focused on his friends. “So what brings you two to Baltimore County?”

  Matt leaned closer to Honor. “Think they’d buy it,” he said from the corner of his mouth, “if I said we were just in the neighborhood?”

  “Can’t hurt to try,” she said, mimicking his facial expression.

  “Truth is, we made a special trip out here. Wanted you guys to be the first to know. . . .” Matt grabbed Honor’s left hand, held it up so they could all see the diamond, winking on her ring finger. “This crazy broad has agreed to become my wife.” He shrugged. “Go figger!”

  Congratulations and high fives made their way around the table, and then Honor said, “The real truth is, we’re here to ask you a favor, Dusty.”

  “Okay, but I have to warn you . . . there’s no room for you in my will. . . .”

  Matt snapped his fingers and started to get up. “C’mon, hon. No point wasting our time with this cheapskate.” He sat back down and slid an arm across Honor’s shoulders. “Is your preacher’s license up to date?”

  Dusty looked at Grace and made a “What’s he babbling about?” face. “Yeah . . . why?”

  “We haven’t decided on a date yet,” Honor said, “but when we do, we’re hoping we can hold the ceremony in the Last Chance church. And we’d like you to marry us.”

  “If that isn’t against the law,” Montel said, grinning, “it oughta be.” He shook his head. “Now I understand that old saying . . . ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd.’ ”

  When the laughter waned, Dusty said, “I know the guy who owns the comedy club down on Water Street. Behave yourself, and I might be able to wrangle an audition for you, funny man.”

  “So what do you say, old buddy?”

  “Haven’t performed a marriage ceremony in . . . ever. I’ll get the old wedding book out and polish up my ‘Do you take this man’ spiel.” Then he looked at the bride to be. “It’ll be an honor, Honor.”

  “Hmpf,” Montel snorted. “Looks like maybe you’d better see if your friend’s willing to listen to a double audition.”

  “Like Lewis an
d Martin,” Mitch said.

  Grace laughed. “Or the Smothers Brothers.”

  “Or those guys from Laugh-In,” Dusty added.

  “Rowan and Martin? They’re hilarious!” Matt said.

  “You mean ‘were hilarious,’ don’t you?” Mitch shook his head. “Half of ’em are telling jokes to the angels these days.”

  “Aw, really? Even Tommy and Dickie? That’s sad.”

  Matt patted his fiancée’s hand. “There, there, dear. If they are up there,” he said, aiming a thumb at the ceiling, “at least they could go directly to the source, to find out which one their mom liked best.”

  The boys exchanged puzzled glances. “You know what they’re talking about?” Cody whispered.

  Trevor sprinkled more Parmesan on his lasagna. “Not a clue. Pass the garlic bread, will ya?”

  “So, Grace,” Honor said, “have you seen Mrs. Logan lately?”

  “Matter of fact, I have.” She explained the whole Taylor Manor/rehab situation, providing only the necessary details. “It’s only been a few weeks, but she seems to be doing really well.”

  “That’s good to hear. Poor woman has been through a lot lately. If there’s any way I can help. . . .”

  Grace nodded, though she didn’t see what any of them could do. Molly’s success or failure depended entirely on the strength of her own will.

  It dawned on her just then that everyone at this table had been through a lot. And they’d all come out the other side, happy and healthy and whole, thanks to a merciful God . . . and loving friends.

  “How’s that kid you were mentoring?” Matt asked. “You know, the girl with. . . .” He waved his hands beside his head. “. . . with the crazy hair?”

  “You mean Kylie,” Tony said. “She was over here day before yesterday. Her hair isn’t crazy any more. It’s plain old brown now, like Gracie’s.”

  “Better hold back on the effusive compliments,” Grace teased, “or I’ll have to ask Dusty to fire up his chainsaw, so he can carve keyhole shapes into the doorways to keep me from bumping my plain, old, brown-haired head on the frames.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. Honest.”

  He looked so miserable that Grace got up and walked around to his side of the table. “I know that, you big nut,” she said, hugging him from behind. “And just so you know . . . I love you, too.” She looked at all the boys, at Mitch and Honor and Matt, saving Dusty for last. “I love all of you!”

  “We love you, too, Gracie,” Mitch said.

  Honor and Matt chimed in, and one at a time, so did the boys. They all got back to eating and talking, so Grace doubted that any of them noticed the warm look that Dusty sent her way, a look almost identical to the one he’d given her the other night. The only thing missing, really, was the kiss that changed it from sweet and affectionate to—

  “What’re you staring at, Gracie?”

  Blinking, she felt the heat of a blush creep into her cheeks. “Staring? Moi?”

  Despite the chuckles that followed, not even Grace believed she’d fooled any of them. Least of all Dusty. Unless she was mistaken, his cheeks had reddened, too.

  Did it mean he loved her? A girl can hope, she thought, returning to her chair.

  22

  She’d been crawling around in the rose garden when the big, old convertible rattled into the driveway. Tucking her hand spade into the bucket of tools, Grace got to her feet and peeled off her gloves, used them to whack mud from the knees of her jeans.

  Two men, faces hidden by sun visors and identical aviator sunglasses, exchanged a few words. The one in the passenger seat whipped off his baseball cap and aimed the rearview mirror his way. He ran a hand through his hair and put the hat back on as the driver’s door swung open. A second later, the passenger door opened, too. As they unfolded themselves from the front seat, she resisted the urge to holler out, “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t need any,” because they didn’t look like any salesmen she’d ever seen.

  They weren’t in any particular hurry to close the fifty-yard gap between her and the car. The tall one’s gait put her in mind of John Wayne, enough that it wouldn’t have surprised her if he threw his arm into the air and drawled a friendly, “Well, hello there, li’ lady!”

  There was something familiar about him, about his sidekick, too. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and her heart was pounding like a parade drum. Never should have been so quick to suggest that the boys drive into town with Dusty and Mitch, Grace thought. They could be looking for directions—though that seemed weird, given the length of her winding drive—or Jehovah’s Witnesses. She’d never been one to jump to conclusions. Hadn’t been much of a ’fraidy-cat, either. But unless she was mistaken, these two hadn’t stopped by to ask directions or hand out pamphlets.

  Grace glanced at her bucket of garden tools. She could probably get rid of them with a few terse words and a cross look. But just in case. . . .

  She grabbed the three-pronged fork, a favorite for dislodging stubborn weeds, even from hard-packed soil. It looked imposing enough, she supposed, tightening her fingers around its wooden handle. Trouble was, the thing didn’t measure a foot from end to end. That meant getting close, real close, if things got dicey. . . .

  They were all of twenty feet away when the tall one shaded his eyes. “Gracie? Is that you?”

  Oh good Lord, no . . . it can’t be. . . . By the time she whispered “Uncle Mike?” he was close enough to cast a shadow. Is that what caused the shiver that slithered up her spine?

  “How’s my girl?” he said, arms open and waiting.

  Arms tight at her sides, Grace endured the hug. It seemed to last forever, and when he let go, his son stepped up. She tightened her grip on the tool as her cousin Joe said, “My turn.”

  Mike pocketed his hands. “I can hardly believe what a beauty you turned out to be.”

  “Even dressed up like a scarecrow,” Joe agreed.

  Grace hadn’t seen either of them since before her high school graduation. Hadn’t heard from them, either. She’d tried to find them—Uncle Mike, in particular—when her grandfather died. Tried again when her grandmother was on her deathbed, and only then because the woman hoped to see her only son one last time before she joined her Maker. “I guess you heard that Gran and Gramps passed. . . .”

  Mike nodded somberly. “Yeah. Yeah. Sad news, that.” Then he shook his head. “How long has it been since—”

  “Eleven years,” she snapped.

  His Adam’s apple rose, then fell. If you think I’m going to invite the pair of you inside for a spot of tea, you’re sadly mistaken, she thought.

  “So why are you here after all this time?” As if she didn’t know. Their reputation for gambling and carousing had been the family’s shameful little secret for as long as she remembered. No doubt they’d run low on funds, and decided to hit her up for a loan.

  Joe tugged at the bill of his cap. “Looks like you’ve been taking real good care of the place.” He took a half-step closer to add, “You and your husband, that is.” He nodded approvingly. “Fresh paint. Mowed lawn. Fields all plowed up and planted. . . . Guess we owe him and Grace, here, a big thank-you, don’t we, Dad?”

  “That we do,” Mike said. “That we do.”

  “Got any kids, Gracie?”

  What business was it of theirs whether she was married, or had kids . . . took care of Angel Acres or let it go fallow?

  And then she understood: They hadn’t come to borrow money. They were here to lay claim to the farm!

  Mike slid a legal-sized envelope from his shirt pocket. Why hadn’t she noticed it before, big as it was?

  “What do you say about slapping a couple sandwiches together,” Mike said. “We haven’t eaten since breakfast. I figure you can have a look at that,” he added, handing it to her, “while we eat.”

  “How far did you come to deliver this?” She couldn’t read the numbers on their license from this distance, but the colors told her it wasn’t a M
aryland plate.

  “Would you believe LA? I had a part in a movie.”

  “That’s right. Joe, here, played the part of Anne Bancroft’s son.”

  Did they think she was as stupid and uninformed as they were? The actress had died, years ago.

  Grace folded the envelope in half—not an easy feat, thick as it was—tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans, then flipped open her cell phone. “I’m tired. And I’m out of patience. So do yourselves a favor, and just leave before I do something you’ll regret.”

  Joe glanced at the garden fork, tapping against her side. “But—”

  “I feel it only fair to warn you,” she interrupted, “that my next-door neighbor is a retired judge, and his number is programmed into my phone.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the president of the United States,” Mike growled. “You need to read that document. It’ll explain everything.”

  “You’re trespassing on private property. The judge is very protective of me, since his daughter and I were in the same graduating class.” Mike opened his mouth to add to his tirade, but she said, “Oh. And he’s an avid hunter. You should see the stuffed trophies on his library walls . . . moose, elk, caribou, even a grizzly.”

  Joe started for the car. “All right. Have it your way. We’ll leave.”

  “But we aren’t going far,” Mike said. “We’ll be back . . . with the sheriff. Once he gets a gander at that document, we’ll just see who’s trespassing.”

  She stood her ground, even as an arc of gravel spewed out behind them when they peeled out of the driveway. When Grace was sure they couldn’t see her, she dropped to her knees, praying that the envelope in her pocket was as useless as her Uncle Mike and her cousin Joe.

  Because if it wasn’t, Dusty and the boys would feel the impact, every bit as much as she would.

  23

  Hey, what’s that?”

  Squinting, Dusty followed the line of Cody’s arm. “Is that . . . is it Gracie?”

  “What’s she doing?” Dom wanted to know.

  Axel poked his head between the front seats. “Looks like she’s praying.”