He hadn’t left his custom-built home and taken up residence at his deceased Uncle Jake’s farm in Loveland on a whim. He’d done it for a reason. It was because he wasn’t the same person he used to be. The injury to his elbow had changed him. No, that wasn’t altogether accurate. God had changed him. His Creator had given him a second chance. An opportunity to redeem himself and all his bad boy ways.
Couldn’t she give him a moment to redeem himself with her, too?
He drew in a deep breath, attempting to maintain full control of himself as he tried again with the pretty but exasperating woman. “Hey, look—” he started, keeping his voice soft, non-adversarial.
But it was no use. She turned, huffing back to her car without giving him so much as another second to explain himself. Standing there with his mouth half open, he blinked out into the rain. Obviously, protective moms were a lot tougher audience—and a lot less forgiving—than the Almighty Himself.
Chapter 2
We almost gaw hit,” Sammy told Allie as she set down a brimming mound of french fries and a kid-sized burger in front of him.
Megan noted they were definitely getting the royal treatment just as they always did when visiting their friends at Paxton’s. Allie even put them at a table at the rear of the restaurant, a cozy nook, where there was more room for Sammy’s wheelchair.
“But we didn’t get hit, Sammy,” Megan countered, disregarding the grilled chicken Caesar salad that Allie had just served her. Instead, she first grabbed for the container of catsup sitting in the center of the wooden table. Shaking it in the air, she reached across the table, squirting a few blobs onto Sammy’s plate.
“We’re fine,” she told him. “Really,” she added, bobbing her head in confirmation at her lifelong friend.
Allie slunk down into a black vinyl chair next to Sammy, her eyes narrowing in concern. “But it was a close call, huh?” Biting her lip, she shook her head of loose blond curls. “How scary!” she said, looking both incredulous and pretty at the same time.
Ever since Megan could remember, people always thought she and Allie looked alike when in reality, they didn’t one bit. But it must have been some kind of osmosis or best friend thing that kept onlookers saying so. Not that Megan ever minded really. All throughout their growing up years, she’d always thought Allie was the prettiest girl in their class, inside and out.
“Are you okay, honey?” Allie ruffled Sammy’s tufts of toffee-colored hair, shades lighter than Megan’s own deep brown. “A little shaken up? Need some more fries?”
“We’re fine, Allie,” Megan repeated, picking up her fork, stabbing at layers of romaine lettuce. “You know how people get when it rains around here. A little bit of precipitation and everyone turns crazy.”
“Cray-hee,” Sammy mimicked. Pausing from his munching, he slowly turned his head, looking straight at Allie. “Maw-mee yell at man.”
Wasn’t it funny how she could never get Sammy to talk when she wanted him to? But now, when it wasn’t something she necessarily wanted the whole world to know, or at least something she’d prefer to have the option of sharing with her best friend when and if she felt like it, her child couldn’t keep quiet. Of course, she was glad he felt so at home with Allie that he could talk freely with her—but still, it never failed, did it?
“Your mommy yelled at the man? The other driver?” Instantly, Allie’s head flew around to face her. “You? Yelled?” She could tell from Allie’s shocked expression her friend didn’t know whether to be worried or amused. “So, it was really, really close.”
“Well, it was …” Megan’s gaze dropped from her friend’s inquisitive eyes down to her plate without really seeing it, playing out the scene in her mind once more. Yes, it had been close. Too close really. Not just Mr. Neil’s truck and her car, but at one point she’d actually almost leaped on the man. Had entirely invaded his space, and gotten in his face, and almost poked her finger into his shoulder, and … Oh, how her face burned at the memory of her outburst.
And it wasn’t just her outburst that was causing her some discomfit, it was the realization that she hadn’t been that close to a man since—well, there’d been the time with Aaron Jensen—but that was several months ago. She and Aaron had taken Sammy to a pumpkin patch and they’d been all scrunched into a hay wagon together with a group of strangers. But that was her last sort of contact with the male species that she could remember.
Really, how had she let herself get so out of control with Mr. Neil? She usually wasn’t like that. Sure, she’d defend her child to her death, but in a calmer, more dignified manner.
But then was it really her fault? The man was a maniac on wheels! Even if he didn’t look like one … even if his eyes appeared sympathetic when she mentioned having a child in the car.
But he could’ve just been faking that, trying to placate her. Trying to smooth over the fact that he was, after all, the one who had been out of control behind the wheel and had gotten her acting so nutty. To the point where she’d jumped out of the car, into the drizzling rain, calling him names that she wouldn’t even call her dog—if she owned one.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious and overheated, she laid her fork aside, taking a long sip of her water, not even finishing her reply to Allie. But it didn’t matter. Apparently Sammy had a lot more to say, and Allie leaned closer to him, eager to listen.
Smacking his lips, his hand wrapped around several fries, he gave Allie a hint of description regarding “the man.” “Man was tall,” he told her.
“Oh?” Allie’s eyes widened at Sammy’s disclosure and Megan’s did likewise, astonished by the little tell-all.
It was more information than Megan even realized he knew. Somehow from the way her car had been angled, and the way she and Mr. Neil had been standing in the street, Sammy must’ve seen far more than she’d imagined from between the front seats and through the windshield. Because, yes, Sammy was right. The man had been at least six feet tall. He’d crossed his arms over his chest, and he’d had to sort of lean down a bit to her, as if listening hard to hear what she had to say.
Or—no, that wasn’t it at all, was it? He leaned down as if to taunt her. Yes, that’s why she lost her temper and behaved so wildly. Because he was taunting her with those sympathetic eyes of his. Which was confusing and frustrating and—
“Anything else?” Allie wanted to know, quirking a brow at Sammy.
Sammy nodded. “Dark hat.”
“Hmm … is that right, Meg? Tall, dark hat, and—dangerous?” Allie’s eyes twinkled at Megan. “Those are the very best kind.” She giggled.
“Please, Allie.”
“Did you exchange information?”
“No, of course not. He didn’t hit us—he almost hit us. Came really, really close to hitting us.” Her mind tried not to linger on the word close again. Reaching across her salad, she scooped up a handful of fries from Sammy’s plate, downing them before her taste buds barely had time to register what had hit them.
“So you didn’t get his name or number?”
“No I did not get his phone number, silly.”
“But you did get his name.”
Of course, Allie had noticed her exclusion. “His name was … Neil. Mac Neil.” Fork in hand again, she pierced the lettuce maybe a tad aggressively, remembering how he’d even been irritable telling her his name. That hadn’t been very nice of him, had it? Not nice at all.
“Wait a minute—Mac Neil? Or MacNeill? Are you sure he didn’t say—”
But before Allie could finish her question, a blast of Orphan Annie’s voice singing “Tomorrow” erupted from Megan’s purse, interrupting her friend. Hastily wiping her hands on her napkin, she fished out her cell phone and eyed the incoming number. “Sorry, Al. It’s Mrs. Biddle. She might need a ride.”
Flipping open her phone, Megan tried to half listen to Allie and Sammy’s conversation while Mrs. Biddle prattled on, as she normally did, always taking her time to get to the crux of her call.
&
nbsp; But she couldn’t make out what Allie and Sammy were talking about. Although she could just imagine as she watched her best friend reach into the pocket of her bib apron and pull out a few after-dinner mints for Sammy. It was Allie’s way, her bribe, Megan knew, to get more information about the stranger out of Sammy.
Megan had to smile. Leave it to her happily married friend to continually try to make romantic connections on her behalf. Just because their moms supposedly had a talent for matchmaking, Allie had always thought she’d inherited the trait as well.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Biddle,” Megan apologized into the phone. “I lost you on that last part. You asked if I’d been out in the rain? Yes, I have. And I can come pick you up if that’s what you’re asking.”
Sometimes Mrs. Biddle’s husband ran her over to Megan’s house and the couple watched Sammy together. Other times Megan provided transportation—which was more than fine with her. A little extra driving was well worth it for her to have the retired schoolteacher to depend on. When Megan counted her blessings, for sure, Mrs. Biddle was someone she always counted twice.
“What?” Megan sat up straight, trying to wrap her head around what Mrs. Biddle was saying. “You’re in the emergency room?”
Megan realized she must’ve said the words a bit loudly because Allie and Sammy ceased their conversation and were both looking straight at her. Meanwhile she listened intently as her usually dependable babysitter told her how she’d slipped in the rain and may have possibly fractured her hip.
Taking in a deep breath, she tried to focus on the other woman, rather than her own concerns about finding another sitter. A replacement sitter she’d need for how many months if Mrs. Biddle needed surgery? Six maybe? At the very least?
Oh, but she shouldn’t even be thinking about that right now. How awful of her to even think about her own needs first. Mrs. Biddle was the one who’d been hurt. She could hear the discomfort in her voice.
“Mrs. Biddle, don’t worry. We’ll be fine. You need to take good care of you. And please have your husband call and let me know how you’re doing. Okay?”
“Miss Biddle hurt?” Sammy wanted to know before Megan could even hang up the phone and toss it back into her purse.
“She’s at the hospital?” Allie frowned.
Luckily, Allie had served Sammy a mountain’s worth of fries because Megan had been eating more than she’d intended to. Anxious about the turn of events, she grabbed another fistful before answering. “She was coming out of the grocery and slipped on the curb in the rain. They’re running tests now to see how bad her hip is. She said her husband will call with her prognosis.” She bit off the top of several fries all at once. “I don’t know … maybe I should reschedule the meeting. The problem is, I wouldn’t know how to get a hold of anyone. That is, if anyone is coming.”
“No way, Meg. You’ve wanted to do this for so long. Sammy can stay here with Greg and me.” Allie pulled his wheelchair closer to the table. “He can help us close up. Right, Sammy?”
“Thanks, Allie, but you guys have work to do and dinners to serve.” Megan shook her head. “And I’m sure you’d like to cut out early to get home to Justin and Carrie if the opportunity arises. Besides, I really don’t know how long the meeting will last. It could be two minutes or two hours, who knows?” She felt her shoulders slump forward, knowing full well the next call she had to make.
But still, she hesitated. She never did like calling her mom and dad for help. Not that they didn’t love seeing their grandson any and every chance they got. But they worked all day long, her mom planning weddings and plotting romances, and her father as a counselor at the high school. Although for Megan, it wasn’t just their work schedules that made her hate to call so much. She didn’t like to lean on them. It had always made her feel “less than” somehow.
But since she didn’t have any other choice …
“I’ll call Mom and Dad. They’ll be happy to see their Sammy.”
Retrieving her cell phone once more, after a quick call and a thrilled “yes” from her mother, Megan glanced at her watch. “Sorry, Al.” She frowned. “I guess we’ll need to-go boxes for our dinners since we’ll have to spend extra time running over to their house now.”
Her best friend nodded and offered to watch Sammy one more time, before popping up and heading back to the kitchen for boxes.
Sitting at the table waiting for Allie’s return, Megan sighed, slogging another several fries through the dabs of catsup left on Sammy’s plate. How she hoped the All-Stars Sports Day meeting went well—at least better than the rest of the evening had gone so far anyway. What, with a near car crash and a sitter with a possible broken hip …
Could the rainy evening get any worse? she wondered, and then wished she hadn’t put that negative thought out into the cosmos.
By the time MacNeill walked back to his uncle’s truck, the brunette with some of the more annoying accusations he’d ever heard—and the most interesting eyes he’d ever seen—had already pulled away and was gone from sight.
For a minute, he considered turning around and heading back to his uncle’s farm, maybe making some scrambled eggs for supper. It would be a fitting penance since he’d probably shaken up the woman and her child and possibly ruined their dinners. It would also give him a chance to switch out vehicles before meeting up with his old buddy Ted Slater in a couple of hours.
But even through the haze of light rain, Paxton’s neon sign beckoned him like it always did. And so did fond memories.
Righting the truck back into the line of traffic, he promised himself he’d retrace his route up the winding country road back to the farm to grab his Corvette after a visit to the local grill.
Driving a short ways up the street, he found an empty parking space and waited for a few cars to go around him before parallel parking there. The truck door creaked again as he shut it behind him, and with a light step, he hopped up onto the paved sidewalk that outlined downtown Loveland. The same sidewalk he used to ride his Stingray bike on.
Back when he was ten, he’d known every crack and bump in the surface. Back and forth, he’d ride his bike to baseball practice, balancing so well that half the time he didn’t even bother clasping the handlebars.
When he was a bit older, he and his friends had hung out on the sidewalk for hours at a time, popping wheelies and getting in the way of passersby. All in the hopes of catching some cute girl’s attention.
More than once, Mr. Keller had come running out of his hardware store to shoo their group away from the front of his business. And the pharmacist at the drugstore ran them off a few times as well, except when they had enough spare change in their pockets to come into his place to buy pops and candy.
But both of those businesses were long gone now. And as Mac clomped along in the cowboy boots he’d found in the back of his uncle’s closet—more comfortable and broken in than the expensive leather loafers he usually wore—he felt as if a part of his past had gone missing, too.
Not that there weren’t plenty of new businesses framing Loveland’s downtown strip these days. Because there were. Unique, cutesy establishments like the Loveland Music Academy, a tea parlor, a yarn store, and a gift shop—all of which seemed to be more the trend now. In fact, downtown Loveland had become a colorful place since the last time he’d visited, and he figured it had to have been a committee of women who had made it that way.
Who but a woman would think of the window boxes and urns full of plants and flowers spilling out from everywhere? And the American flags and fun-looking flags that poked out of doorways or hung next to awnings? Plus, there were park benches and antique lampposts strewn along the sidewalks in a picturesque style.
No doubt about it, Mac shook his head, the look of West Loveland Avenue had changed considerably since his family had moved away to Florida at the end of his sixth-grade year. Even his beloved Paxton’s had undergone a minor makeover, he noted, as he closed in on his destination.
Named after Colone
l Thomas Paxton, the first settler to the area, the grill had a foothold on the main corner of downtown and was still the hub of the strip. But it looked slightly more sophisticated than he remembered, with a black wrought iron fence surrounding it, sandwich board signs announcing specials, and outside—in front of the restaurant—were café tables, vacated at the moment due to the inclement weather.
One thing hadn’t changed though. Mac smiled thankfully as he whiffed the air: the mouth-watering aroma of Paxton’s charbroiled burgers. Even after all the places he’d traveled to and all the restaurants and hamburger joints he’d eaten in, nothing compared to the delectable scent of a Paxton burger. It seeped out of the place, drifting toward him temptingly, making his mouth water. The sensation hit him full force as a handful of patrons poured out the door. Mac sidestepped them, letting them pass by before he entered, conditioned to protecting his mending elbow, keeping it out of the way of being bumped.
Stepping inside, he immediately tugged on his cap, pulling it a little lower, hoping no one recognized him. But then he caught himself.
All that was in his past. In the other circles he used to run in. Used to be men would approach him, wanting to buy him a drink. Women used to smile flirtatiously, their eyes full of promises. All had wanted something or had some proposition in mind, but that had been okay with him then. He’d been more than happy to give everything he had to take all they had to offer in return.
It wasn’t until after the accident he stopped to realize how empty most of those exchanges had made him feel.
But since he’d been living in Loveland throughout his entire recovery, to date no one had made a big deal about his residing in their midst. For the most part anyway. Sure, every now and then a person here or there would ask for an autograph or come up to chat with him. But mostly everyone acted respectful of him and his privacy.
Wedding Homerun in Loveland, Ohio Page 2