by Peggy Webb
So there was nothing new about walking into her kitchen and seeing the Bird Lady perched on a bar stool or Lance lounging against the counter with a cup of coffee. The unusual thing was that a guest had prepared the food.
Jolie’s nose led her to a vast array of delicacies lined up in front of the Bird Lady: sausages and eggs and bacon, waffles cooked to a golden perfection that made her mouth water.
“Good morning,” Lance said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. But I always do. The sleep of the innocent, Elizabeth calls it. She’s an insomniac.”
“I made breakfast.”
“No, you made a feast. My goodness, how did you do that?”
“With a great cheering section. We got up very early and I cooked while she had macadamia nut soup.”
“The songbird didn’t hatch,” the Bird Lady said, then added another sausage to her plate, poured syrup on it and happily forgot all about her birds.
Jolie filled her own plate, choosing a little bit of everything. “If I could cook like this I’d weigh a ton. Why don’t you?”
“I rarely get a chance to cook.”
“Why not?”
“I travel a lot. It’s part of my job.” Before she could ask more, Lance changed the subject. “I found out who our guest is. They call her Birdie, and she’s a resident at Hanging Grapes Haven.”
“But that’s in another county. How did she come so far? And with that little red wagon?”
“The director says Birdie is very clever at escaping and hitchhiking. Every time she’s brought back, whether it’s December or May, she tells them she’s been looking for Christmas. In fact, she’s been caught near here before.”
“So our tree drew her.... Doesn’t she have family to watch out for her, to take her home on the holidays?”
“No.”
Her plate forgotten, Jolie said, “Oh, I think I’m going to cry.” Naturally, she didn’t have a tissue. Which turned out to be a wonderful thing, because Lance cupped her face and wiped her tears away with his fingertips.
“Don’t cry, Jolie. I can’t bear seeing you in tears.”
A girl could build a whole future around moments like this…if she wasn’t trying so hard to be practical.
“Do we have to take her back right away?” she asked. “I’d like to get her some clothes and some Christmas presents. Surprises. Frivolous baubles she can set around her room.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. Just like that, he made her feel pampered, as if her every wish was his command.
She watched while he made the call, then when he said, “Thanks, we’ll bring her home this evening,” Jolie threw her arms around him. And for a lovely moment, he hugged her back.
Then he gently disengaged himself. “Where would you like to go first?”
“I didn’t think men liked to shop.”
“Who told you that?”
“Well, I don’t know. I guess I just assumed.”
“Don’t ever assume anything, Jolie.”
He didn’t add especially about me, but Jolie got the distinct feeling that’s what he meant. If Lance Estes was anything, he was a man of mystery.
Plus a fabulous cook. How come some people—such as Elizabeth and Matt and Lance—had so many talents and others—such as Jolie—had so little?
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was a darn good ball player, and nobody could clip and groom poodles the way she could. But she was thinking about real talent, the kind that counted for something.
“Why the long face, Jolie?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Lance let it slide, and Jolie was glad. Self-analysis and self-improvement were wearing her out. Besides, she absolutely, positively was not going to fall in love with a man who didn’t love her back.
She gave Lance and Birdie her best Jolie’s-having-a-great-day smile, then said, “Who’s ready to have some fun?”
Birdie raised her hand like a little kid in second grade, and Lance smiled. Jolie wasn’t about to let a smile sidetrack her.
She had an agenda, and this time she was determined to stick to it, come hell or high water.
“Okay, then, let’s do it.”
With Lance’s help—a girl could get used to that—she made quick work of the dishes; then they climbed into the car and drove to the new gift shop in Shady Grove. Jolie hadn’t been in yet, but she loved the name, My Favorite Things.
The Bird Lady went straight to the wind chimes. “Music,” she exclaimed, then set every one of the chimes to tinkling.
“I think I know what I’m going to get her for Christmas,” Jolie told Lance. “If they don’t cost an arm and a leg.”
The living she made was modest by any standards, and her last trip had just about cleaned her out. What little she had saved she planned to use to further her education.
When she looked at the price tag her face fell. Wouldn’t you know it? Sixty dollars. What had happened to shops that sold items for ten dollars or less? How could wind chimes cost so much?
She turned the tag over. “Tuned,” it stated. She’d gladly have settled for an out-of-tune chime, but Birdie was standing there enchanted and hopeful. Jolie could cut a few corners. When she got back to Memphis she might even find a cheaper apartment, something without a view of the river. Who needed to see the river? And who was she to complain when she had so much and Birdie had so little?
Jolie started digging around in her purse. Naturally, her credit card was hiding. Now where had she put it? As soon as she got home she was going to add “buy a credit card wallet” to her list. Elizabeth had one made of real Italian leather. Jolie had seen some nice five-dollar knockoffs at the flea market in Memphis.
“Jolie.” Lance put his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need your credit card. The salesclerk has mine. Put anything you want on it.”
“Good grief. I can’t let you do that.”
“In view of your family’s generous hospitality, it’s the least I can do.”
She grinned at him. “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus....”
Oh, help. She wanted to kiss him right in the middle of downtown Shady Grove, and from the look in his eyes, he wanted to kiss her right back. Or was it just wishful thinking on her part?
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome. More than welcome. You’re…” His eyes held hers for another small eternity, and then he walked away.
Sighing, Jolie selected a wind chime, then followed him and Birdie to a sparkling display of stained glass. The one that caught her eye featured a red bird among green leaves.
Jolie picked it up. “Do you suppose her room at the nursing home has a window?”
“If it doesn’t, I’ll get her moved to one that does,” Lance murmured.
“You can do that?”
“I can try.”
“A man like you could come in handy. Why hasn’t some woman snatched you up?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
Now what in the heck did he mean by that? That he was lucky, or the woman?
Jolie wasn’t about to ask. For someone dedicated to making herself over, she was far too interested in this man.
He could clean like a demon and cook like a dream, and he was generous besides. Maybe if she looked hard enough she’d find something awful about him, something that would turn her mind away from fantasies and back toward her goals.
“Let’s get all of these with birds,” Lance said. In addition to the cardinal, there was a bluebird, a canary, a mockingbird and a finch. He plucked them off the display, and when he held them up, the sun reflected through the prisms. “She can have rainbows, too.”
Jolie’s heart did a flip-flop. Oh help, she was fixing to do something rash and foolish again. If she didn’t take some drastic evasive action, she was going to fall in love.
“That’s nice. I think I’ll go over here and look at CDs. My old CD player is still at O’Banyon Manor, and I’m going to give it to Birdie.” She sai
d this as casually as possible, then strolled away. It was hard to act nonchalant when your skin was flushed and your chest felt like a boom box.
Putting her hand over her heart and breathing deeply, Jolie stood in front of the display of CDs for three minutes before she could make out the titles.
One more deep breath. She was in the blues section, and she had enough cash in her purse to get the John Lee Hooker CD she was sure Birdie would like.
The back of her neck prickled. Shoot, her whole body prickled. She could feel Lance off to her right, watching her. Lord, some men generated body heat, but he generated lightning bolts. With her breath coming in ragged spurts, she snatched up the CD and marched to the cash register.
“I’ll take this,” she said, then plopped down her cash.
Lance stood behind her with an armload of CDs. “Add these to my bill,” he told the clerk, who positively beamed at him.
Wouldn’t you know she was a dark-haired beauty with a perfect complexion and a beautiful smile? Why wouldn’t she flirt with the best-looking man in Shady Grove?
And how come her flirtatious manner made Jolie want to spit ten-penny nails?
“I think we should move on,” she said.
“To another store?”
Darn his hide. Why did he have to smirk?
“Yes. We need to get Birdie some clothes.”
Jolie made a magnificent exit. The only downside was that she left Birdie in the store. Swallowing her pride, she went back inside, where she found the Bird Lady patting Lance’s arm and calling him Jacky.
“I’ve already put my package in the car,” Jolie said. Lame excuse.
“Great. If you’ll hang on to Birdie, I’ll stash the rest.”
By the time Lance got the car loaded, Jolie had forgotten her pique with the flirtatious salesclerk and regained her Christmas spirit. Feeling festive and generous-hearted, she turned on the radio and sang along with Elvis, who was crooning “Blue Christmas” in his inimitable voice.
To her surprise, Lance joined in, while Birdie clapped and added a few doo-wahs.
“Hey, you’re not a half-bad Elvis,” Jolie told him after the song had ended.
“Neither are you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have the sideburns.”
“Neither do I.”
“But you can grow them and I can’t.”
“Thank God. It would ruin that pretty little face of yours.”
Jolie’s spirits got so puffed up the entire town took on a sparkle she had never noticed before. Even the ordinary green awnings over Martha’s Boutique looked festive.
“Birdie’s new wardrobe is on the Coltranes,” she told Lance.
“I’m more than happy to pay.”
“Mother will be, too, when I tell her I used her charge account for a very good cause.”
Lance had never figured he’d enjoy shopping in a women’s boutique. But as he sat near the dressing rooms on a pink satin boudoir chair about three sizes too small for his big frame, and watched Jolie’s delight at outfitting the Bird Lady, he realized he hadn’t stopped smiling in the last hour.
“What do you think about this one?” she said, holding up a bright red dress, and he said the same thing he had the last five times she’d asked: “It’s great.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
He didn’t know the first thing about fashion, particularly women’s fashion; he was simply taking his cues from Jolie’s face. Observing her from his uncomfortable perch—his bottom was dangerously close to the floor, his knees nearly up to his chin—he could tell when she believed she had unearthed a treasure.
If he’d known it was this easy and this much fun to make a woman happy....
Whoa, boy! That kind of thinking’s dangerous.
But he wouldn’t have done a thing differently, Lance told himself firmly. Today he was doing a good deed for a sweet homeless lady, that was all.
Oh, yeah? Then why is your undivided attention on Jolie?
He was losing his perspective. That’s what came of being in the bosom of a Southern family. Well, the rest of the family would be there soon, he reminded himself. Too much Southern hospitality was making him sentimental.
“Look at this one!” Cheeks flushed and eyes glowing, Jolie paraded by with a blouse the color of a bluebird’s egg. “Don’t you just love it?”
“To tell the truth, I don’t know much about dresses.” He unfolded himself from the chair. “I need to go outside and stretch my legs.”
“Okay. We’ll be finished in a minute.”
“Take your time.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’re a sweetie pie.”
A sweetie pie?
Nobody had ever called him anything endearing, let alone sweet. Pet names were for babies and old ladies and fools in love.
Then why did he like it? God, he needed fresh air more than he’d thought. He all but ran from the boutique.
As the day had progressed, it had warmed up. That was the Deep South for you, even in December. However, there was still enough breeze to fan his hot face. He gulped air like a runner who had just completed a marathon.
Sweetie pie!
The next thing he knew he’d be looking around for a drive-in movie, then asking Jolie out just for the privilege of sitting in the car with her hips close to his and her face shiny with moonlight.
Damn.
He had to do something, and fast. He glanced through the window long enough to see that she was still avidly going through the racks, then he stalked down the street. He needed physical activity. He needed air. He needed a brain transplant.
“Lance.” He heard Jolie’s voice, then her footsteps, and the scent of her perfume reached him.
He stood on the sidewalk with his heart on his sleeve, feeling just like a teenager. Like a besotted fool who didn’t know better than to stand around gazing at her pretty, flushed face and wanting to run his fingers through her thick, tousled hair.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“You look disgruntled.”
“I’m not disgruntled.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” Her cheerful smile faded, and he was instantly contrite. “It’s okay. Really. I’m used to lots of physical activity. That’s all.”
“Okay.” Her smile came back. Thank heavens. “I just came to tell you Birdie is trying on her last dress, and then we’re ready to go.”
“Where to?”
“What time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“I suppose we should go home so we can eat lunch, and I can wrap Birdie’s Christmas gifts.” Jolie drew a deep breath. “And then I guess we have to take her back.”
He wanted to cup her face and kiss her softly, then say, “Everything’s going to be okay.” Instead he rammed his hands into his pockets to prevent involuntary acts of soft-hearted nonsense.
“I’ll load the packages,” he said.
Chapter 7
After a lunch where Birdie ate the rest of the soup plus a ham sandwich, and Jolie ate hardly a bite, they loaded the car and headed toward the nursing home in Pontotoc. It was called Hanging Grapes Haven.
When Lance commented on the strange name, Jolie told him, “The Chickasaw Indian name for Pontotoc was Land of the Hanging Grapes.”
She barely got this out without bursting into tears. What would happen to the Bird Lady after they left her off? Would she run away again? Would anybody search for her? What if somebody awful found her?
Jolie parked the car and then just sat there gripping the wheel.
“Jolie…” Lance touched her arm, then quickly withdrew his hand. “I know how you feel.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I feel the same way. I’m going to have a talk with the director.”
She nodded. “Put my name down as someone to contact on her behalf. Even after I go back to Memphis, I’m only an hour
and a half away.” She jotted her address and phone number on the back of a blank check, and made a mental note to add “notepad for purse” to her list.
“You’re a good person, Jolie Kat Coltrane.”
She smiled. “So are you, Lance Estes.”
When they helped Birdie out of the car, the old woman put her hand on Lance’s arm and said, “Are we home, Jacky?”
“We’re home, Birdie.”
Jolie swallowed hard, then followed a nurse’s aide to Birdie’s room, while Lance went into the office of the director to straighten things out. The room wasn’t bad by nursing home standards, holding a bed, a nightstand with a cheap lamp, two chairs, and a small chest with a mirror above it. Everything was clean and neat. And depressingly uninviting. The room looked as if nobody lived there. There were no flowers, no pictures, no rugs, no cozy afghans.
Birdie stood in the middle of the room looking forlorn.
“Let’s get you settled,” Jolie told her, but the elderly woman didn’t move, just stood there gazing out the window.
“You know what this room needs? Your baby birds.” Jolie reached into one of the bags and brought out the Christmas ornaments in their makeshift nests.
“My birds!”
“Yes. Where do you want to put them?”
Birdie fluttered around the room, placing ribbon nests on the windowsill, on the chest, on the nightstand. While she sat on the edge of her bed caressing a bright red Christmas ball, Jolie hung the sun catchers in the window, plugged in the stereo and put on a Christmas CD—Nat King Cole singing “The Christmas Song”—and hung the wind chimes above the vent so the draft would set them tinkling.
In addition to her stereo, she had brought a tabletop tree she’d found in the attic. It had twinkling colored lights and miniature ornaments in the shape of Frosty and Santa Claus and the Snow Fairy. When Jolie was six she’d thought it was the most wonderful tree in the world.