by Camille Eide
Bertie turned to Joe, face taut. “She’s not wearing a helmet.”
“Yeah, I know.” Unease nagged at his gut over Sue’s total disregard for her safety and the law. She was an experienced rider, but she was also upset and, therefore, not totally focused. Not focused and on two wheels—a bad mix. If the other bike was running, he would have followed her in a heartbeat.
Jasmine watched the valley as the motorcycle sounds faded, then turned to Joe and Bertie. “When Miss Susan crazy-mad like me, she race. Fast as she can till angry talk far behind.” Jasmine looked toward the valley again. “Don’t worry. She always win race.”
Joe strained to hear, but the bike sounds had been swallowed by the desert. No point telling Jasmine there wasn’t a bike fast enough to beat what Sue was trying to outrun.
Chapter Seventeen
After dinner on Tuesday, Sue squared her shoulders and faced the pantry. Based on what she and her teenaged helpers had found on the shelves, the next few weeks’ menus looked like pasta with sauce, pasta with tuna, or applesauce with rice. Sue grimaced. Growing up, she’d gotten by on far less. And far worse. But these kids shouldn’t be subjected to that kind of hunger, not in this house.
Temples pulsing, she read her shopping list.
Jasmine stopped rearranging cans. “You write tots and nuggets on list?” Her eyes brightened. “Papa Joe say he make for dinner sometime. He say it soooo good.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Sue snorted. Tater tots and chicken nuggets. Probably followed by candy bars and Kool-Aid. Or maybe just straight shots of pure sugar. What she needed to put on the list was a plan. With Elena gone, not only had she been forced to put Joe in charge of the boys, but now the job of planning meals had fallen to her—a job that wasn’t exactly her strongest suit. Somehow, she not only needed to figure out how to get the most for her dwindling bucks, but also how to come up with nutritious meals that didn’t taste like a shoebox.
She scanned the shelves again. “Okay, girls. Let’s move these cans to the island and sort them into food groups.”
Jasmine scooted a chair into the pantry and climbed up to reach the top shelf.
Sue turned and smacked into Joe.
His arms went around her as if by reflex, steadying her. “Sorry, I—didn’t know you were in here,” he said.
Jasmine and Tatiana giggled.
Joe let her go.
Sue drew a shaky breath. “What do you need?”
“I hate to drop this on you, but we have a busted hot water heater in the boys’ dorm.”
Stifling a groan, Sue turned and grabbed an armload of cans. She took them to the center island. “Can you fix it?”
Joe joined her. Frowning, he read the cans. “I could try replacing the elements, but the heater is pretty much shot. Best to replace the whole unit.”
Fabulous. Sue bunched the fruit cans into a group. “How much is that going to cost?”
“Not sure.” Joe palmed a ten-pound can of applesauce as if it were a softball. “I’ll have to go to Bend to get one. I’ll pray I find a good deal.”
“You’ll pray for a water heater?” Tatiana asked.
Joe chuckled. “Sure. It never hurts to ask God for help, even with small stuff. I’ve been asking God every day to help me get my guitar back.”
Sue pushed a lock of hair from her face. “What guitar?”
“The one that was stolen from my truck just before I came to work here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sue said. Joe sang and played guitar?
“Papa God hear you pray?” Jasmine’s eyes went wide.
Joe nodded. “You bet. He hears you too.”
“Me?” Jasmine stole a look at Sue and lowered her voice. “But my English not good.”
Joe smiled at the girl. “I’m pretty sure God is multilingual, Jas. Besides, it’s not your words. It’s your heart. God’s the best listener. You can talk to Him anytime, anyplace, about anything.”
“So, Joe.” His name burst from Sue’s lips with more force than she’d intended. Time to get back to reality. “How soon do we need the new heater?”
“It’s up to you, but the longer us guys go without hot water, the longer you girls will have to share your bathrooms with us.”
Grimacing, she scanned her shopping list again, an idea forming. “Actually, we need food supplies. If you don’t mind picking them up while you’re in town, maybe you could get both? It would save time and gas. Tomorrow okay?”
“Hey, that’s right—Thanksgiving’s the day after tomorrow.” Patting his belly, he grinned. “Gotta stock up for that.”
“Actually …” A turkey dinner and all the trimmings for the kids and crew was way beyond her budget, but she wasn’t going to bring that up in front of the girls. She shot him a look she hoped was perfectly clear. “Just what’s on the list, okay?”
He opened his mouth, but Jasmine patted his arm. “Did police find bad man who stole guitar?”
“No, they didn’t catch him. But I hope they do. Then maybe I’ll find out what happened to my Martin.” He grabbed the broom leaning on the island and plucked invisible strings.
Tatiana giggled.
Joe handed her the broom. “Man, that was one sweet-sounding guitar.”
The disappointment in his voice quieted the room.
That he could miss a guitar so much didn’t surprise Sue. But then, few things about Joe Paterson surprised her anymore.
* * *
When Joe returned Wednesday afternoon, Sue sent a group of kids outside to help him unload supplies. Then she headed for the door to inspect what he’d bought.
Bertie stopped her and pulled her into the office. She wore a cat-that-ate-the-canary look.
Sue wasn’t in the mood for games. She needed to get outside and see just how far Joe had strayed from her grocery list. “What?”
Without a word, Bertie handed her a fat wad of cash.
Sue unrolled the bundle and looked up at Bertie. “What’s this?”
“You wanted Joe to find a buyer for your Harley, so he did. It’s sold.”
“Sold? It’s gone?”
Bertie nodded at the cash. “Count it.”
Sold? That bike had been like an old friend. A cloud of sadness passed over her, casting a shadow over what satisfaction she might have felt from making the sale.
But it was the right thing to do. She’d been selfish to keep it this long.
Sue thumbed through the bills and frowned. “Eighteen hundred?” She fanned out the cash on her desk, double-checked the amount, then turned to Bertie. “I told him it might be worth that much, cleaned up and during summer. I didn’t think we’d get anywhere near that much, especially this time of year.”
The old woman shrugged. “If that’s what you told him to get, then that’s what he got.” Her voice lowered. “That guy would do pretty much anything you ask.”
What had prompted that remark? Sue stuffed the bills into a money pouch and shoved it in her desk. “Most days he does what he’s asked.” Looking through the office windows, she craned her neck to see the bags the kids were toting into the house. “I have a feeling today’s not one of them.” She went to the door. Time to prove her suspicions correct.
Bertie’s hand gripped her arm. “Maybe you should count it one more time.”
Sue nearly laughed at Bertie’s lame attempt to look innocent. The woman couldn’t act her way out of a tub of tofu. “Seriously? You’d go to that much trouble to cover for him?” Sue sighed. “Okay, I give up. Go ahead. Spend every last dime we have on turkeys and pumpkin pie. I don’t care.” She started to leave, then turned back. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room packing so I’ll be ready to go when the bank kicks us out. Just tell me when the party’s unloaded and out of sight, okay?”
Bertie grinned. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
“Yeah, right,” Sue muttered. She headed for her room out back, but halfway across the yard, a thought stopped her dead cold. Of course she got eight
een hundred for the Harley.
Because Joe bought it.
With a growl, Sue tromped to her studio and stood in the middle of the room, frustration mounting. Why did the man insist on doing stuff like that? The Harley, the extra food—she hadn’t asked him to do any of those things. Why? What did he want?
The question and its possible answers sent a shiver up her spine.
She sat on her bed, suspicion growing. What were his motives?
He must have some. No guy was that nice just to be nice.
She surveyed the room, hammering her brain for a way to avoid getting tangled up in a long column of debt she couldn’t repay on her own terms.
A guitar case sat in the closet. Her old Ovation guitar.
Perfect.
She dug out the case and marched across the lawn to the house, then propped the guitar near the bottom step and went inside.
In the kitchen, kids and staff were putting away groceries in the fridge and pantry. Bertie saw her first, then Joe. One by one, everyone stopped and stared at Sue. Edgar’s left eyelid twitched.
“Hey, Sue,” Joe said, voice dropping to an uncertain tone. “I can explain—”
Sue waved him off. “Yeah, I know, you bought enough turkey and stuffing for all of Lake County. I get it. It’s fine.” She gave him a steady look. “Joe, can I show you something? It’s out back.” She headed for the door but didn’t hear him following.
When she turned to see why, no one had moved, including Joe. All eyes were on her.
“Wow.” Chaz pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and peered at Cori. “See, I told you she wouldn’t flip out. I knew I should’ve put money on that.”
Heat rose up her neck as she stood there absorbing their stares like a taunted kid on the playground. Did everyone think she was a tyrant? She’d had to save every dime, plan everything in careful detail, find creative ways to make things stretch. Did they think she did those things just to be mean? Didn’t they know how hard she tried to feed them and give them a good home?
No, they didn’t. They were just kids. But still—it wasn’t fair.
Sue inspected a super-sized box of pancake mix on the counter, blinking back the sting in her eyes.
Joe came to her side. “So what did you want to show me? Lead the way.” His mass shielded her from the stares as he escorted her to the back door.
Wiping her eyes, Sue led him outside and down the steps, then grabbed the guitar case and offered it to him. “It’s nothing like a Martin, but it’ll play.”
Joe took it, confusion crossing his face. He opened it slowly and eased out the acoustic guitar. He didn’t say anything, just turned it over and smoothed fingers over the glossy black finish. Running a thumb over the strings, he looked up at her. “Is it yours?”
She nodded. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”
Joe planted a foot on a step and rested the guitar on his knee. He plucked a few strings, gave them a quick tune, and then ran through a mellow, bluesy lick, his long fingers flying. He handled the instrument like a pro.
“It’s a bit dusty,” she said quietly, “but you can use it as long as you want.”
His head snapped up, the light in his eyes unmistakable. “I’d hate to see you go without.”
She shook her head. “I don’t ever play it. Besides, I never was any good. You use it.”
He lowered himself to sit on the step and ran through a riff that flowed off his fingers like bubbling waterfalls. Then he played a ballad, picking through a series of ornamental chords in a breathtakingly beautiful, classical style.
Oh yeah. The man could definitely play.
He laid the guitar on his lap and stared at it. “I don’t know what to say, Sue. This is … really nice.” His eyes met hers and his voice deepened. “Thank you.”
She shrugged, forcing down a childish rush of joy. “It’s no big deal. I just thought it should be played by someone who actually knows how.”
Face softening, Joe gazed at her.
The tender look in his eyes gripped her. She turned away. Enough of that. She had work to do.
“You remind me of my little brother, Ben,” Joe said, putting the guitar back in its case.
An unfamiliar jab hit her gut. She laughed to smother it. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But passing for a boy actually comes in handy. You have no idea how hard it is to keep all the supermodel scouts off my back.”
“I didn’t mean the way you look, Sue.”
Heat flooded her face. Of course he didn’t.
“You’re selfless. And loyal to the bone.”
She scrambled for a joke, a quick way to deflect this sudden, too-probing focus on her, but she had nothing. Cheeks cooking, she turned toward the steps. “It’s really no big deal. It was just sitting in a closet collecting dust.”
Joe stood and touched her wrist lightly. “Sue, wait. I …”
At his gentle touch, she turned. From where she stood on the top step, she met him at eye level. The question in his eyes tangled her insides with crazy ribbons of warmth. With a gasp, she turned and fled into the main house.
Even if Joe admired something about her, it didn’t matter—he had no part in this home, this teetering dream of hers. He was leaving and wasn’t coming back.
She sped through the busy kitchen and kept moving.
But that tender look on his face followed her like a full moon on a long, straight stretch of midnight highway.
There was one sure way to get rid of that.
She stormed out the front door, down the steps, and headed for the shop. A cold gust of wind stung her cheeks and whipped through her sweatshirt as she raised the shop door. Maybe that guitar didn’t square everything, but it was a start. No matter what it took, Sue would even the score with Joe Paterson before he could even think about calling in any dues.
As she suspected, the Harley was still there. It wasn’t hers anymore, but since Joe had taken liberties with her shopping list, maybe he wouldn’t mind if she took it out for one last ride.
She reached for her helmet and froze.
Beside the Harley, her wrecked Honda sat in its usual resting place, the paint scraped in spots, but straight, upright, and shining like new.
Chapter Eighteen
Eyes closed, Sue inhaled deeply at the door of the dining hall. Her stomach rumbled at the miraculous aroma of turkey and candied sweet potatoes and seasoned stuffing that filled every corner of the house. She opened her eyes. She wasn’t dreaming—the food was real.
Jasmine stood at the long dining hall window watching the horizon. In fact, she’d been at that window or pressed against the one in the front den several times that day.
“Hey, whatcha looking at?”
Jasmine spun around. A sheepish grin pulled her mouth wide.
“You about ready for your first all-American Thanksgiving dinner?”
Jasmine took another long look out the window, nodded, and followed Sue to the kitchen.
Joe had his crew busy chopping salad, making gravy, and mixing up a giant batch of sparkling cider out of apple juice concentrate and club soda.
By the time the meal was ready to serve, Sue could hardly wait to dig in. Whatever kind of cooking they did on off-shore oil rigs, somewhere along the line Joe had learned to cook a turkey into the picture of mouth-watering perfection. Hopefully, it tasted as good as it looked.
When everyone was seated, Joe turned to Sue. “Mind if I ask the blessing?”
How could she refuse after all the trouble he’d gone to? “Sure, go ahead.” Sue scanned the eager faces around the table.
Jasmine’s seat was empty.
Joe cleared his throat and everyone around the table quieted.
“Father, we thank You for providing this meal and all the ways You care for us. We have so much to be thankful for, but nothing compares to knowing You. So we thank You for this meal, but even more, we thank You for the gift of Your Son, for Your unfailing love that makes a way for us to belong to Your forever family, as Yo
ur cherished sons and daughters.”
Sue opened her eyes and focused on Jasmine’s empty seat. She glanced one seat over and met Brandi’s gaze.
Brandi snickered.
Whether or not Brandi or anyone else believed in God, Joe clearly believed every word he said.
“In Christ’s name, amen.” Joe smiled at the kids, then grabbed the tongs and started serving turkey.
Sue excused herself and went to the den.
Jasmine’s gaze was again plastered to the drive.
“Jasmine? What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing, my foot. “Okay, well, dinner’s ready. Come and eat.”
After one last search out the window, Jasmine went with Sue to the table.
Everything looked amazing, even down to the lumpy gravy, thanks to the combined efforts of Vince, Deeg, and Chaz.
Sue looked around the table. Most of the kids were smiling. Daisy laughed and Edgar stared in amazement at the food.
And then there were Joe’s twinkling eyes, a slow smile spreading across his mouth.
Something about this felt right. Natural. Because even with the other staff away for the holiday, this didn’t seem like a skeleton crew managing a dozen needy kids. This seemed more like—
Family.
Joy seeped through her like a slow trickle of honey, soothing her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The sound of an approaching vehicle halted Sue in mid-scoop of mashed potatoes.
Jasmine twisted in her seat, eyes widening.
A car door slammed.
Jasmine bolted from the room and out the front door.
What in the world? Hurrying to the front porch, Sue nearly slammed into Jasmine, who stood rooted to the top step.
Mr. Stewart climbed the sloped lawn with a smile and two pumpkin pies.
As Sue greeted the farmer, Jasmine made an odd sound and darted back inside. Sue took the pies. “Thank you very much. And will you please thank Mrs. Stewart for us?”
When Sue returned inside, Joe met her in the foyer.
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Jasmine was at the window again, eyes glued to the driveway.