“And I was thinking.” He shrugged. “After he consults with you, he can do the inspection while we’re at the picnic.”
She frowned. “Why do you want to go to the picnic so badly?”
“I don’t. But I was thinking if we go, the preacher might leave us alone.”
A heavenly thought. “Good thinking. And, Ryler, thanks.”
“For?”
“For getting the heat-and-air guy to come early. I really need to be home this weekend.” She might not get to actually celebrate Mother’s Day, but at least she’d be with Chance.
“No problem.” His gaze swept past her. “Speak of the devil.”
Shell turned to see Grayson coming down the drive, holding two foil pans.
A heavy sigh escaped her. They had to get rid of him. Maybe attending his picnic would do the trick.
Purposefully, Shell had picked the too-short shorts to wear to the church picnic to see if the Holy Roller men could keep their eyes off her legs. Most of them could, but a few stole a quick glance, then looked away. The older women’s mouths puckered in disapproval and a few shook their heads.
And though no one said anything about her attire, unease grew in the pit of her stomach. Not just from the constant mention of mothers.
Why had she let Ryler talk her into coming? So, she couldn’t go home for another hour. Mental note: No more scheduling workers on Saturday for her to babysit. She should have stayed on her side of the street doing just that.
But if attending the picnic would get Grayson off their backs, this torment might be worth it.
With the meal finished and cleanup done, everyone gathered at the side of the church. Under a large oak, metal chairs lined the carpet of purple, yellow, and white wildflowers.
She tugged at the hem of her shorts as she sat down. Useless. With her heels, she looked like some ridiculous bleach-blond caricature of Betty Boop. Should have worn something else. Something with a bit more coverage.
Why? She’d never been ashamed of flaunting her attributes before. But these people seemed so genuine.
Warmth rippled through her as she caught Ryler staring at her legs. It wasn’t the first time. Maybe the shorts hadn’t been a bad decision after all. She didn’t fit in with the church people, and neither did Ryler. Two of a kind.
She caught his gaze, but he looked away.
Only a week ago, he’d invited her to dinner at Laken’s. Since then, he’d been all business. Maybe they weren’t two of a kind. Maybe he was above her, too. Maybe he thought her beneath him, just like everybody else did.
And wearing the shorts had only proven everyone right about her.
She needed a new image. A new wardrobe. Buttoned up, longer hemlines, and polished. She’d prove to these holier-than-thou hicks that there was more to Shell Evans than a warm bed partner.
After all, she hadn’t warmed anyone’s bed since Ryler had wormed his way into her heart.
Pastor Grayson cleared his throat. “Wow, look at this crowd. I’m so glad each and every one is here today. I’m especially glad to have so many visitors. If you have your Bibles, turn with me to John 8:32.”
Bibles? No one had said anything about Bibles. Pages rustled as people flipped through to find the right chapter and verse.
“John 8:32, ‘And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ Truth and freedom go together, but we only achieve freedom by putting truth into practice.
“Brothers and sisters, humble yourselves and turn to Christ. Accept His truth, that He is the living Son of God who died for our sins. Give Him the ugliness, the lies, the filthy rags of our lives. Only if we accept His truth, can we attain freedom through Him. Freedom from death and hell.”
A gasp followed by a tearful cry came from the back of the crowd. “Oh my.”
Shell turned to look behind her.
Six rows back, Helen Fenwick sat with a phone pressed to her ear, and tears rolling down her cheeks.
Shell hadn’t noticed her at the gathering until now. But she’d surely noticed Shell and sat in the back to avoid her.
Adrea rushed to Helen’s side. “What is it?”
“Wade’s”—Helen’s voice quivered—“dead.”
Chapter 4
Nausea boiled in the pit of Shell’s stomach as gasps and whispers swept through the crowd.
“I always keep my phone on vibrate in case the nursing home calls. I didn’t think…” The tearful mother’s words ended on a sob and she clamped a trembling hand over quivery lips.
Grayson looked as if he might hurl. “I think we should pray.” He began the prayer, pleading for strength for Helen, but the tremor in his voice proved he needed it himself.
A crushing sense of loss slumped Shell’s shoulders. She stood and fled, not even stopping to check for traffic as she bolted across the highway. Her heels scuffed against gravel, but she didn’t care. She stepped in a hole, and the pain of an almost sprain shot through her ankle, but she kept running.
In her apartment, she slammed the door and leaned against it. Wade. Dead.
It couldn’t be. Just yesterday, Adrea had dumped him. He’d started drinking again, then convinced Shell to move to Missouri—to start over—
A knock jarred the door against her back. She jumped.
“Shell, you okay?” Ryler pressed his ear against the door, expecting her to ignore him. After all, he’d claimed to be all business then asked her to Laken’s dinner party, and this picnic. She must be as confused about him as he was her.
“I’m fine.” Her voice cracked.
He winced. “No, you’re not. Let me in.”
“Really, I’m fine.” Watery sounding.
“I’m not leaving until I can see you’re really okay.” Ryler pounded on the aged wood again. What was he doing? Exactly what he’d advised Collin to do with Jill, if he cared.
The lock clicked.
He pushed the door open.
Pacing the living room, she didn’t acknowledge him.
“I guess you knew the old guy who died?” Duh.
“He wasn’t old.” She hugged herself. “I was engaged to him once.”
Ryler’s gut twisted. She’d loved someone. Someone other than him. Maybe that’s why she’d never been able to commit. “But I thought he was in the nursing home.”
“It’s a long story and one I don’t want to get into right now.” Tucking a silky strand behind her ear, she hurried to her bedroom. “The heat-and-air guy is almost finished and I’m going home for the weekend. Now.”
“You okay to drive?”
While she dug a suitcase out from under her bed, he stood in the doorway, appreciating the scenery. Jerk, she’s upset and you’re checking her out.
She nodded, set the case on the bed, and started stuffing clothes inside. “Will you lock up after the workers leave? I’ll be back late Sunday evening.”
“Want me to drive you, since you’re upset and all?”
“No.”
Her answer came too quick, as if she were hiding something.
With a shaky hand, she raked her hair back from her face. It fell about her shoulders like a silky curtain in some shampoo commercial.
“I’m fine. But thanks for caring.” She frowned, as if his caring confused her.
It did him, too.
“I’ll let you be then. See you Monday.” He turned to go, but a thought hit him. “Do you want to go to the funeral?”
She bit her lip and fresh tears filled her eyes.
Stop looking like that, woman. It made him want to kiss all her hurt away.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“If you want to…” He cleared his throat. “I could go with you—I mean—just so you don’t have to go alone.”
“That’s very sweet,” she squeaked. “I’ll think about it while I’m gone and let you know.”
Turn toward the door. Run. Run while you still can.
“All right then. Safe trip.” He hurried outside and around the big house.
S
ettling on the iron bench in the front garden, he could see the church lot had cleared already.
Why had he followed her? Why did he care if she cried? Why did he care if she was hiding something?
Because he still loved her. Just because she’d dumped him, his feelings hadn’t died.
In the JC Penney dressing room, Shell smoothed the black sheath over her flat stomach and turned sideways in the mirror. The high neck, short sleeves, and hemline barely above her knees was unlike anything she’d normally buy. But the only little black dress she owned would just solidify the further impression that Shell Evans was nothing more than a bimbo.
Not dowdy, this dress still showed her curves, but left everything else to the imagination. Perfect for the funeral. She almost looked respectable.
With satisfaction she shrugged out of it and back into her jeans and shirt. On the way to the register, she picked several cotton camisoles in different shades. The blouses she owned all had low necklines. But with something underneath, they’d be totally decent. She paid and strode out of the store feeling better about herself already.
The least she could do for Wade was show up at his funeral fully clothed.
Funeral. She shuddered.
Did she want Ryler to go with her? Did she need him to?
He hadn’t reissued the offer, so maybe she’d just leave it at that.
“Why, hello, dear. Fancy meeting you in Searcy.”
Sylvie Kroft.
Shell turned to face her. “Hello.”
“I saw you at the picnic Saturday, but I was on kitchen duty, so I never got to even say hi to you. I’m a member at Palisade.”
And that’s supposed to impress me?
“Listen, Shell, you probably know me as a gossip, but I’ve repented of my tart tongue. I’d like to apologize for hurting you in the past. You were just a child when you came to Thorndike, and I personally ran you out on a rail. For that, I’m truly sorry.”
“Don’t you know who her mother is?” Sylvie’s voice hissed from the past.
“Okay.” Uncertainty echoed in Shell’s tone.
“Really, I’m not in the gossip mill business any longer. Do you have dinner plans?”
Shell couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less. Having her legs waxed perhaps? Not even that.
“No ulterior motives, I promise. I’ll even buy and you can pick the place.”
Might as well get a free steak out of the deal. “How about Colton’s?”
“Oh, I love that place.” Sylvie clasped her jeweled hands together. “The first time I went there with a friend, I was kind of iffy. I mean peanut shells? On the floor? But I guess it grew on me and the steaks are excellent.”
“I’ll meet you there.” Shell checked her watch. “What time?”
“Now, if you’re finished shopping.”
“I am.”
“All right then.” Sylvie beamed. “I’ll see you there.”
She could just drive home. Stand Sylvie up. After all, it was probably a trap. She wanted information. Probably about Wade. After spreading rumors for years, Sylvie couldn’t possibly have changed that much.
“Please show up.” Sylvie’s tone pleaded. “I imagine you don’t trust me. I’ve given you ample reason not to, but I’d like to make it up to you.”
Like a steak could fix it all.
“I’ll be there.” She wasn’t a child anymore. If Sylvie tried anything, she could stand up to this woman and tell her what she really thought of her. Once and for all, put Sylvie Kroft in her place. Her hands balled into fists. The way someone should have done years ago.
Traffic on East Race inched as usual and Shell caught every red light. Even though the strip mall wasn’t even a mile from the restaurant, it took ten minutes to get there.
Shell steeled her backbone, ready for a fight at the slightest jab.
Waiting inside the door, Sylvie looked relieved to see her.
“Oh good. I was worried…” She clamped her mouth shut. “I’m glad you could join me.”
Not sure if she was glad, Shell didn’t say anything.
Since it was an off night, the waitress had no problem finding them a table. Peanut shells crunched under their feet as they followed. Crying-inyour-beer music played loud. With dead, stuffed animals, branding irons, and spurs decorating the walls behind her, Sylvie didn’t blend into their surroundings at all. They sat across from one another in a booth with mirrors lining the wall beside them.
Sylvie patted Shell’s hand. “How are you doing since Wade’s death? Oh dear, I still have a lot to learn about tact, don’t I? I’m not being nosy. I promise. I just know it must be hard on you. You loved him at one time.”
“Or I wouldn’t have stolen him from Adrea.” Shell’s veins boiled. “Is that what you’re getting at?”
Sylvie’s watermelon-tinted lips pursed. “You don’t trust my motives, and I don’t blame you.”
The waitress came and they both ordered sweet teas.
With a shaky, bejeweled hand, Sylvie tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let me tell you something. When I was seventeen, I wasn’t married and I got pregnant.”
Shell’s jaw dropped.
“That’s right. Martin and I weren’t married and I got pregnant. Back then, it was still somewhat of a scandal in well-to-do families like mine.”
“So, Collin…?”
“No, before Collin. My parents were horrified. They moved to Little Rock to avoid the humiliation and forced me to give my son up for adoption.”
Shell’s heart twisted. “You don’t even know where he is?”
Shaking her head, tears filled Sylvie’s eyes. “For years, I was so ashamed and tried to make sure no one found out. I latched on to any rumor I could find and spread it like wildfire. I guess I thought if I kept enough gossip circulating, no one would find out about my secret.”
“I’m sorry.” Shell swallowed. At least she knew where Chance was. “No mother should have to give up a child.”
“No.” Sylvie’s voice was barely a whisper. “We’re trying to find him now, but we haven’t had much luck. So, now with my bombshell, maybe you might trust me. Are you okay? Do you plan to go to the funeral?”
“I came to Searcy to buy a new dress for it.” Her voice quivered.
“I think you should go. Funerals are for the living. If you don’t go, you might never have closure. What about the visitation? I think it’s tonight.”
“No. I thought it might be too hard on the family for me to show up.”
Sylvie patted her hand. “You should go if you want to. Adrea is over what happened and I imagine Helen is by now. They’re both very forgiving souls. You can trust me on that. I’ve hurt them both. They should never give me the time of day, but you’d think nothing ever happened.”
Visitation? Standing around looking at Wade? Dead Wade. No way.
“Do you really think they’re over the past? Or just covering how they really feel?”
“Adrea and Helen aren’t the type who can cover their feelings, and I honestly don’t think they could harbor ill will toward anyone. For very long, anyway. We should all be more like them.” Sylvie laughed. “I never would have dreamed I’d say such a thing.”
The waitress brought their teas and took their order.
When she’d agreed to the meal, Shell had planned to order the most expensive item on the menu just to stick it to Sylvie. But now she ordered what she actually wanted. Sirloin tips. She could almost taste the savory meat, onions, and peppers. Baked sweet potato with sugar, cinnamon, and butter. Yum. Why didn’t all restaurants offer it instead of the traditional potato?
She waited until the waitress left. “So, why the change in you?”
“For a long time, God’s been poking me in the ribs every time I cause people problems. And for a long time I ignored Him.” Sylvie’s chin trembled. “I guess it got to where the pokes were so frequent, my ribs bruised. And I wanted everyone to pray for me to find my son. Why would anyone want to
pray for me if all I did was cause them pain?”
Sylvie sucked in a quivery breath. “That part sounds selfish, but I long for him so. Sometimes, my arms literally ache from wanting to give him a hug.”
Shell’s throat convulsed as she tried to swallow the large lump there. “I’d like to make a new start. I’m tired of everyone hating me and looking down on me.”
“I don’t know anyone who hates you or looks down on you. It could be your imagination.” Sylvie sipped her tea.
“You, of all people, know what my reputation is. I didn’t even have anything decent to wear to the funeral.” All my clothes have plunging necklines and thigh-high hems.
“Did you find something?”
“I did. It’s nothing like I’ve ever owned. I think Wade’s death made me realize life is short. Just because my mother is a certain way and raised me a certain way, I don’t have to follow in her footsteps.”
Up until now, her life was like that old country-and-western song “Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places.” If there was love out there waiting, she wanted to find it in the right place. Maybe with Ryler. Could he return her love?
If she could reinvent herself, could she be Chance’s mother?
“If you don’t mind me asking, how is your mother, dear?”
“She got out of jail a few months ago.” Solicitation. Such an innocent-sounding word. Her gaze lowered to the table. At least I never did that. “I think she’s back in on drug charges.”
“You poor dear. I’m sorry. Truly I am.” Sylvie patted her hand. “You know, speaking of a new image, I’ve been thinking about getting a makeover. Maybe a softer look would warm up my image. Red isn’t my natural color. My hair is actually brown with auburn highlights like Laken’s.”
“So, you’re going natural.”
“Actually, I’ve been thinking I might go a soft blond.” Sylvie scanned her appearance in the mirror beside them. “According to my hairdresser, as we age, our skin fades and our hair along with it. So maybe a light shade would make me seem kinder, gentler, less of a busybody.”
“Mine’s mousy brown, but I’ve been thinking of going with more of a slightly darker shade.” Less bleach-blond bimbo.
ARKANSAS WEDDINGS: THREE-IN-ONE COLLECTION Page 39