Uncomfortable with this line of questioning, Grace wandered to the end of the aisle, pretending to hold an immense fascination with the pyramid of facial tissue they had on display. She shook her head. “Uh-uh.”
Lucy let out a small sigh. “Good.”
Grace’s focus was pulled to the front of the store by a high-pitched titter that would have put any good soprano to shame. She looked up to see Sophia standing at the checkout several yards away, her back to Grace. She tossed her brunette mane to the side in a flirtatious laugh.
The warmth rushed from Grace’s face so quickly she must have looked like the plug on her blood supply had been pulled. There next to Sophia, also laughing playfully, stood Devon. Grace’s heart pounded out a bewildered recitative. She nearly ripped the plastic off the package of Kleenex she’d grabbed to keep from lunging at the little viper’s throat. She stepped closer to the pyramid, peering around and trying to get a view of the bag boy’s hands as he filled a canvas tote with their apparent purchases.
A long baguette, two kinds of cheese, grapes, and a tall slender bottle of wine—cabernet sauvignon, if her eyes didn’t deceive. She huffed, her throat clenching. What did this mean?
“So, I’m really relieved about that.” Lucy had been talking, but Grace hadn’t heard a word. She faked a smile and nodded in agreement.
Lucy seemed in better spirits. “Anyway, don’t think we’re nosy, but we just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Grace looked again toward the front of the store. Still engaged in lighthearted banter, Devon and Sophia walked out the front door, his hand on the small of her back.
Grace bit her quivering lower lip, forcing herself to speak. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.” She tipped her head, watching as the pair strolled up the sidewalk. “Just peachy.”
Chapter 27
Grace paced in front of her fireplace, stopping to watch Trouble attack a ray of sunlight that danced across the living room rug. She hated being lied to. Devon could have at least been honest with her. She expelled a small growl of frustration. The thought of Sophia getting the guy she wanted was too much for her to take.
The clang of the doorbell sent her heart into a sprint. Was Devon finished with his picnic already? Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward the door, hastily rehearsing her charges against him. Crimes of the heart should not be easily dismissed.
Peeking through the cut glass, her heart fell. It wasn’t Devon.
She groaned. The sight of Sam reminded her that she still hadn’t found anyone to build that silly crate. Why hadn’t she just let him go ahead and do it? Using more might than necessary, she turned the deadbolt and flung open the door. Surprise forced her to take a step back.
“Morning, Miss Addison.” Mr. Roberts stood next to his son, a warm smile gracing his face. She instantly lamented her hostile stance.
Sam spoke in a tone that was gentle, almost apologetic. “I told my dad about your cupboard door. He pretty much insisted on fixing it. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her fiery attitude from the moment before was partially doused. “Of course not.” She stepped back, allowing them to enter.
Mr. Roberts slipped Sam a sly wink. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He disappeared around the corner, while Sam lingered next to her in the foyer.
Grace laced her fingers together, leaning back on her heels. Sam put up a decent front, but knowing what she knew about him made her want to keep her guard up. He couldn’t fool her.
“So, good news.” He fixed her with a look that could melt chocolate. “‘Speedy Plumbing’ lived up to their name. I have all the parts to finish the repair. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be able to get the tile down this morning too and your kitchen will be good as new.”
“Oh.” Her voice felt thick. She hadn’t expected the project to be done so soon. Why did she feel a little let down?
He flashed a reticent smile. “Then as soon as the Roto Rooter guy does his thing, I’ll come back and fill in that hole. I hope it hasn’t been a hazard for you.”
A hazard? She’d practically forgotten about it. “Only when I have the gang over for a rousing game of ‘tag’.”
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I’d be happy to resod it for you, as a favor.”
Indignation gave way to confusion. Why did he want to do her any favors?
She thought again about Devon and realized her head was starting to hurt. Maybe some caffeine would help. She lifted a hand toward the kitchen. “Will I be in the way if I make coffee?”
“Coffee?” He gave her a quizzical look as he rubbed his neck. “In this heat?”
“You’ve never heard of iced coffee?” She couldn’t keep the tease from her tone. Something about Sam made it difficult to stay irritated with him. How annoying.
He chuckled. “I guess not.”
“I’ve been making iced mochas for everybody in town.” Folding her arms, she pinned him with a snappish taunt. “Maybe you should stop by the concession stand once in a while.”
Hope flashed in his eyes. She bit her lip. What she’d intended as an admonition had come out sounding like an invitation.
She quickly recanted. “I mean, your dad does own the place.”
The glint of hope dwindled slightly. “I know. I should be more supportive.” He tilted an innocent glance. “Maybe I’ll stop in this weekend.”
A tingle of anticipation danced across her back. She shook it off. “Suit yourself.” Why on earth had she even brought it up? The further away he stayed, the better. Resenting the urge to linger and chat, she started for the kitchen.
He followed, his toolbox clanking as he walked.
Pushing through the kitchen door, she smiled at Mr. Roberts, who was crouched in front of the errant cabinet. Gingerly, she made her way into the room, thankful that her kitchen would soon return to normal and she could stop feeling like she was moving across a river on stepping stones every time she entered it. She pulled open the fridge, and grabbed a jug of water. “It’ll be a relief to be able to use the sink again.”
Sam set down his tools and started to peruse the work he’d already completed. “I hope it hasn’t been too much of a hardship.”
She shrugged, speaking under her breath as she poured water into the pan on the stove. “I’ve lived through worse.” She crossed to the counter and grabbed her jar of Nescafé.
Mr. Roberts chuckled. “You’re making coffee in this heat?”
“Come on, Dad.” Sam glanced up. “You’ve never heard of iced coffee?” His eyes met Grace’s with a shrewd wink.
The older man held up his hands. “Matter of fact, no.”
Grace’s face relaxed into a smile. “Would you care for one?”
Pulling a screwdriver from his box, Mr. Roberts nodded. “I’m game.”
Suddenly feeling awkward, she looked over at Sam, who was kneeling on the floor, putting the new piping into place. “Sam?”
He looked up. “Oh, no thanks. I have a lot of work to get done here.”
“Son,” his father shot him a pointed glance. “When a woman offers you a cold drink on a hot day, you should accept. Haven’t I ever told you the story of how I won your mother’s heart?” He turned to Grace, who blanched at the implication. “It involved an unseasonable heat wave and a thermos of pink lemonade.”
Sam tossed his dad a glare, his face turning a color to rival the lemonade in the story. “Yes Dad. You’ve told me.”
“Too bad.” Mr. Roberts cocked his head. “It’s a good story.”
Grace reached up into the cabinet next to the sink and grabbed the glasses she’d gotten six for five dollars at the Peach Basket. “I’d like to hear it.”
The older man looked at her with a pleased glint. “I love a willing audience.” Holding the counter for balance, he stooped down and began to remove the screws from the latch. “It was the summer of ‘76 and I was building a fence out on the Sutton Ranch. A part of the fence line runs along Hanson Road, and I couldn’t help but noti
ce that a young lady rode her horse past at some point every day. Now, being the bright young buck that I was, I made sure that part of the fence got built to perfection. In fact, I put extra effort into that particular section. Took me a solid week to finish that chunk of the project, but I was there every day, waiting to flash that young lady a smile.”
Listening intently, Grace took the ice from the freezer and leaned on the counter while she popped the cubes.
Removing the latch from the door, Mr. Roberts continued. “Since I never knew exactly when she’d ride by, I was constantly on the alert, but one particular day, it was hotter than blazes and I was about ready to give up and move on to a shadier section of the line. Right about then, a shadow appeared from out of nowhere, giving some much needed relief. I turned around, and realized that the horse was standing right behind me. I’d been so caught up in what I was doing that I hadn’t even noticed. I about fell over. This gal was even more beautiful than I’d realized.”
Grace smiled at the image. Her eyes lit on Sam, who kept an uncomfortable focus on his work.
Mr. Roberts’ voice grew animated. “Then, she reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a thermos. She handed it down to me with a single word. ‘Lemonade?’ It was like an angel’s song, the way she said it. I was smitten. I reached up and took it, and to make a long story short, that was the beginning of a beautiful romance.”
Grace swallowed hard, blinking her dewy eyes. She glanced again at Sam, who had stopped working and seemed lost in thought. She took in a ragged breath and crossed to the stove, where bubbling water made her pan dance.
Mr. Roberts looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Here’s the capper. About twenty years later, that fence blew over in a windstorm. The only part they didn’t have to rebuild was the stretch that runs along the road.” He chuckled. “I guess my diligence paid off in more ways than one.”
Grace snickered, but Sam looked away solemnly. His voice crackled when he spoke. “I, uh, have to go get the tiles out of the truck.” He stood, running a hand through his hair.
Mr. Roberts set down his screwdriver. “I’ll go with you.”
Sam held up a hand. “No. You’ll never get that done if you stop to help me.” Without waiting for a response, he bounded out of the kitchen.
Grace watched, puzzled, as she grabbed her jar of Nescafé and shook loose the residual crystals that stuck to the bottom. She looked at Mr. Roberts. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded. “Take your time.”
Moving through the house, she questioned her own motives. Something was clearly bothering Sam, but that wasn’t the reason she was going after him…was it? She felt obligated to help carry in the tiles, that was it. Pulling open the front door, she expected to see him hoisting boxes from the back of his truck. To her surprise, he was standing on the porch with his head down and his hands on his hips. He looked up.
She smiled tentatively. “Hope I didn’t startle you.”
He faced forward, his gaze distant. “I just needed a second.”
She nodded, not really understanding. “Are you okay?” As if she expected him to tell her what was bugging him.
He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’ll be fine.” He hooked his thumbs on his belt loops, apparently lost in his concerns.
Feeling awkward now, Grace drummed her fingers on her thighs. “Was it something your dad said?”
He looked at her as if gauging whether to share his thoughts. “My dad talks a lot about my mom. I guess that’s good in a way, but…”
Impatience gnawed at her. Did he realize how lucky he was to have great parents? He probably drove them crazy with worry, the way he behaved. “Why wouldn’t that be good?”
He looked away again. “He talks about her, but he’s not really dealing with it.”
Confusion bubbled in her throat. “Dealing with what?”
His look registered surprise. “Oh, sorry. I forget you’re new here.” His eyes dropped along with his volume. “My mom died last year.”
His words were like a blow to her gut. Now she recognized the emotion that welled in his eyes as the all-too-familiar pain that had been a constant in her own life for months. She swallowed hard to keep from shouting out I know what you’re going through. I know how it feels to lose a parent. She wanted, for both their sakes, to tell him she knew exactly how he felt.
The words were there. All she had to do was back them up with a breath of bravado.
Chapter 28
Grace toyed with the temptation to tell Sam she’d lost a parent too. It would have been a relief to just say it, but instead she held her tongue. Her good intentions weren’t exactly in sync with Grace Addison’s made-up life story.
She studied his face as his mind seemed to wander to a different time. She understood that too.
Silence settled for a moment. She knew how it felt when you just wanted to forget, at the same time wanting to confide in someone. Maybe Sam would welcome the opportunity to talk.
She cleared her throat, then took the plunge. “How did she die?”
His gaze dropped, and a tear glistened in the corner of one eye. He seemed to struggle for the right words. “She was helping out a family from church. They needed to sell their place, and their barn was a real mess. Mom offered to clean it out for them and she wound up breathing in a lot of dust. We didn’t figure out till she got really sick a few days later that she’d inhaled some kind of deadly bacteria.” He glanced up at her. “Something to do with rodents. Anyway, once it got her, that was pretty much it. We took her to the hospital but she was gone in a couple of hours.”
Grace felt her breath leave her. “Oh…”
His face lifted subtly. “The good thing is, I know where she went.”
Confusion colored her gaze. “Where she…?”
“But the gift of God is eternal life.” He finally looked at her. “See, she’d accepted the Lord the year before. It’s good to know she’s with Him.”
Accepted the Lord? Unsure how she should respond, Grace fumbled for comforting words. “That is good.”
He went on, his voice raspy. “Trouble is, I’m the only one in the family who sees it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad and my sister, they…” His eyes welled up again. “They totally blame me for what happened.”
“Blame you?” Her heart ached at the injustice. “She breathed in dust. How could that be your fault?”
He let out a controlled breath. “If it hadn’t been for me, my mom wouldn’t have started going to church. If it hadn’t been for the Holy Spirit guiding her to help that family—”
“She wouldn’t have died?” Grace’s mind boggled. “But she was doing a good thing. How could anybody have predicted what would happen?”
“I know. And I know the Lord allowed it and that He uses everything for good. I’m just having a hard time figuring out how He’s using this because the whole thing has really hardened my family against God and against me. I’m not sure they’ll ever forgive me.”
Grace pressed two fingers to her brow, then pointed her thumb toward the house. “But, your dad doesn’t seem like he’s mad at you.”
A sardonic smile crept over his lips. “It comes out. Mostly in small ways. I can tell it’s still eating at him.” His face grew remorseful. “Look, I really didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”
“It’s not a burden.” Her hand brushed his elbow. “It’s good to talk about things.”
He nodded. “You’re a good listener. Thanks.”
Their eyes locked for a moment. With a start, he looked away. “I should grab those tiles.”
Her stomach clenched. What was going on with her? “Right.”
He moved from the porch and toward his truck, which he’d backed into the driveway.
Lingering at the crest of the steps, she watched him with fresh eyes. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he had more than his share of positive attributes. He wasn’t bad looking,
if you pictured him in something designer with his hair gelled just a touch. In fact, under the right circumstances, she might even consider him a hunk.
He reached into the back of his pickup and unhooked the tailgate, his biceps clearly bulging under the fabric of his work shirt. She took in a resolute breath. Okay, fine. He was a hunk.
She scolded herself. Looks weren’t everything. True, he was witty, in his own way. Now that she’d seen his vulnerable side, she had to admit she found it appealing. He even knew something about music. She hovered on the porch steps, warmed by this unexpected attraction to him.
A sudden jab to her heart brought her to her senses. What was she thinking? How could she possibly overlook the facts? He was, by the look of things, an abusive, neglectful husband who had turned to drug dealing. Even if he had his reasons, they couldn’t possibly be good enough to justify any of that. A tsunami of irritation washed over her. Why was she feeling drawn to a guy who, for so many reasons, was clearly not a candidate for romance? Besides, she already had that area of her life covered.
At least, she’d thought she had it covered. Anger twisted in her stomach. A vision of Devon’s hand on Sophia’s back as they’d exited the Peach Basket that morning burned into her brain. She wanted to strangle that little wench.
“Oh, and I have something for you.” Sam called out from across the yard, tugging her out of her homicidal thoughts.
She frowned. What could he possibly have for her? She heaved a sigh, hoping against hope that this wasn’t going to be one of those awful moments where a guy tried to win her over with an inappropriate gift. Didn’t she have enough problems?
She stomped down the steps and over to the driveway, determined to tell him that whatever this ‘gift’ was, he could just take it back. She didn’t want or need anything from—
Staring into the bed of the truck, her mouth fell open.
“Lucy mentioned that you still needed it.” He spoke with a swift, almost apologetic tone. “And since Bob doesn’t have any time right now, I thought that…”
Much to her surprise, her eyes started to well up as she stared at an intricately constructed wooden crate. It was exactly what she’d described to him.
Saving Grace (Madison Falls) Page 16