He gave her a smile that doubled her heartbeat. “I’m sure you can. I have complete faith in you when it comes to cooking.”
“Only cooking?” she asked, hearing the hurt tone in her question. She bit her lower lip, wishing she hadn’t said anything.
His look drilled into her. “Let’s go into the main salon and have a look. I have a table in there where I can spread everything out.”
“How was your trip to Jackson?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard by now that Mary Lou is coming this Saturday to see Garrett play baseball.”
But not from you. She nodded, careful to keep her expression neutral.
The main salon offered a slight reprieve from the afternoon sun. “My, don’t you think it’s unseasonably warm?”
Michael looked up from examining the designs. “It’s the humidity. You’ll get used to it.”
“Most of the time I feel like a limp noodle.”
“Mmm,” he said absently, turning his full attention to the papers before him.
Anxiously, Rachel waited, perspiration rolling down her face. She wiped her hand across her brow.
“I like this design, Rachel. The only thing I would change is the area over here.” Michael pointed to one wall. “I would move some of the cabinets to here and have the other preparation area along there so the two people don’t have to stand so close together.” His gaze trapped hers. “In the summer, even with air-conditioning, it can get awfully hot in a kitchen. I think spreading the people out might keep wars from erupting.”
“I heartily agree,” she said, brushing her hand across her brow again.
He straightened and removed a clean, folded handkerchief from his back pocket. He wiped it across her forehead, down her cheeks and along her neck. “I believe I heard we’re having a heat wave.”
“Isn’t that a song?”
His thumb paused at the base of her throat. “Not any I heard of.”
“Ah, yes, you used to be partial to rock and roll.”
“Still am. And your favorites are classical and show tunes.” He pocketed the handkerchief while the other hand remained on her shoulder, his thumb drawing slow circles where her life force beat beneath it.
“Yes. I see we still don’t like the same music.”
“But I can think of a few things we still have in common.” His gaze linked with hers.
“Like what?” She took an unsteady breath.
“We both like chocolate.” His impish grin caused her to think of the past, when he’d made her laugh.
“That doesn’t sound like much.”
“But it’s a start,” he replied with a wink.
Rachel laughed, relaxing for the first time since coming to the river landing.
A flash of red, a sound, pulled her attention from Michael. Amy stood in the doorway with a sullen look on her face.
Rachel’s tension returned. “Hello, Amy. Did you need me for something?”
“I came to talk to Michael.” Her sister peered at Michael as if Rachel weren’t there. “Kevin needs a summer job. We were wondering if you needed people to work on the boat.” Amy glanced at the door and motioned for Kevin to come inside.
“Good to see you, Kevin,” Michael said, shaking the teenager’s hand. “I could use some help with painting, sanding, moving heavy stuff.”
“That’s sounds great, Mr. Hunter. I was supposed to work at the gas station, but Bob’s nephew is going to spend the summer with him.”
“Well, then, the job is yours. You can start tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be here.” Kevin started to leave, but Amy remained.
“Thank you, Michael.”
Amy refused to look at Rachel. “Will you be home for dinner?” Rachel asked.
Her sister arched one of her brows. “No, I’m helping Helen at the café. I’ll be home later.”
“When?” Rachel hated dragging information out of Amy bit by slow bit.
“Twelve.”
When Amy left, Rachel sagged. “I have to keep repeating Reverend Williams’s advice to have patience.”
“You talked to him?”
“After church. I looked for you, but you were gone when I came out.”
His gaze shifted away, then back. “It was a rough weekend.”
“And you didn’t feel like talking to a friend?”
“Is that what we are?”
“I hope we are.”
Michael dragged his hands through his hair. “If you say so. Frankly, I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore. My emotions have taken a beating lately.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Then we have something else in common.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Dad, where’s my uniform? You cleaned it, didn’t ya?” Garrett yelled from the laundry room.
Michael sauntered into the kitchen, poured himself another cup of coffee and faced his son, who looked as if his whole world was about to fall apart.
“I put it on your bed this morning.”
“Oh.”
Garrett started to leave when Michael said, “When we talked after our trip to Jackson, everything was fine. Is everything okay now? You seem a little tense.”
“Mom’s gonna see me play today. I need to look my best. Dad, I need to get dressed or we’ll be late. We can’t be late!”
Michael drew in a deep, fortifying breath as he watched his son head for his bedroom. Michael took a sip of his coffee, then decided against another cup of caffeine. He was already wired from the six cups he’d had, starting at three o’clock this morning.
He pitched the coffee down the drain and rinsed his cup. Not only were Mary Lou and Tom coming to Magnolia Blossom, but after yesterday with Rachel on the riverboat, he was wound so tightly it wouldn’t take much for him to slip over the edge.
The worst part of today would be seeing Rachel in the crowd of people at the ballpark. He ran his hand through his hair repeatedly. Today could be a very long day, he thought as he scooped up his keys.
“Ready, Garrett,” he called to the second floor.
His son came bounding down the stairs. “How do I look?”
For the first time Michael could remember, Garrett had combed his hair and scrubbed his face clean without Michael telling him to do so. His uniform shirt was tucked into his pants. His son had never been concerned about his appearance until today.
“Great. Your mom will be impressed.”
“She said her husband will be coming, too.”
“Nervous?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
Michael tousled his son’s hair and hugged him to his side. “You don’t have to be.”
“Dad, you messed up my hair. Now I have to go upstairs and comb it again.” He raced up the stairs. “We’re gonna be late.”
Michael heaved a deep sigh, thinking of the long day ahead.
* * *
Rachel stared at the massive front door, inhaled a deep breath and marched up the steps to Harold Moon’s house. Her hand shook as she reached to ring the bell. The door swung open a minute later, and the man stood in the entrance as though he would fight anyone who dared to cross the threshold. And Shaun was somewhere inside. What had possessed her to ask him to allow her little brother to play with Charlie?
“Shaun said he was coming over here to see Charlie. He has a baseball game.”
“He’s in the backyard.” Harold jerked his thumb in that direction, his usual scowl firmly in place. “Go around by the gate.”
She stepped inside the yard and called, “Shaun, time to go.”
Her brother glanced up from throwing a Frisbee for Charlie. “Just a sec.” He hurried to the back door and knocked.
Her neighbor opened the door a crack. “Yes?”
Rachel’s eyes widened at the man’s tone of voice. It wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t gruff, either. And she could swear, even though the door blocked some of his face, that Harold Moon wasn’t scowling. Of course, he wasn’t smiling, either.
“I hope you can come see me play this afternoon. I’m pitching. We’re playing our arch rivals, the Seahawks.” Shaun puffed out his chest, proud of the fact that he was the best pitcher on the team.
“Probably not, kid. I have things to do around here.” Harold shut the door quietly.
“Why did you ask Mr. Moon to your game?” Rachel asked as they were getting into the car.
“Ah, he’s not so bad. You should see him with Charlie. You know, he used to play minor league ball.”
“He did?”
“Yep. He even showed me a new pitch.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, and he helped Garrett with his swing.”
“He did?” Rachel slanted a look at her brother, astonished.
“Boy, is Garrett nervous about today. His mom’s coming.”
Rachel was very aware that Mary Lou was coming. Rachel had tossed and turned last night with dreams about Mary Lou and Michael. Rachel couldn’t have slept more than a few hours, and she was wrung out.
“Is he glad his mother is coming?”
“Heck, yes.”
“Most kids would be angry with a mother who hasn’t been around much.” Rachel thought about her situation and knew she was speaking from experience.
“Garrett isn’t like most kids. Besides, Michael explained everything to him a long time ago.”
“What did he explain?”
“That his mom needed to find herself. That she had been too young to have a child. That she loved him very much because she left him in Michael’s care and knew he would be fine.”
Something in Shaun’s voice made her glance at her brother. His brow was wrinkled as though he was thinking. “What about our mother?”
He looked at her, his eyes clouded. “Mom loves us. She left us with Aunt Flora. One day she’ll come back just like Garrett’s mom.”
Rachel’s heart swelled; her throat constricted. She wished she felt the way her brother did about their mother and father. Reality would hit one day, and he would learn their parents only cared about their work. Rachel was determined to be there for her little brother when it happened.
She pulled into the parking lot next to the ball field. The second she cut the engine Shaun was out the door and running toward the dugout. She remained in the car, gripping the steering wheel while she composed herself. The mention of their mother had been a mistake. It brought to the foreground feelings she didn’t want to deal with today.
When she saw Mary Lou walk past the car, Rachel’s grasp on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles were white. Michael had married Mary Lou eighteen months after Rachel had left for Paris. That had hurt. She had wanted him to pine for her the way she’d pined for him.
You had no right to feel that way, a voice inside her head said.
This had nothing to do with rights and everything to do with emotions. Rachel realized she had never been totally rational about Michael Hunter, and that had not changed. That was why she had run when he’d declared his love for her. She didn’t want to feel intense, all-consuming emotion. Her parents had that, and they excluded everyone else from their lives.
Sliding from the car, Rachel looked toward the stands, which were filling up with parents and friends of the teams. Mary Lou was sitting between a man who must be her husband and Michael. This was going to be a long afternoon.
* * *
Michael watched Rachel climb from her car and look at him. Their gazes connected.
“Garrett looks good in his uniform.”
Mary Lou drew his attention with her statement, and he reluctantly turned his head toward his ex-wife. “He especially wanted to look good for you today,” Michael said, hearing the warning in his voice.
“That makes two of us. I think I changed four times before deciding on what to wear.”
“Five, dear,” Tom interjected with a wry grin.
Mary Lou glanced toward Rachel, who was walking to the stands. “I see I’m not the only one who has returned home.”
“Rachel’s aunt died a month ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Flora Sanders was always nice to me.”
“She was nice to everyone. That was her way.”
When Rachel started to mount the bleachers to sit on the top row, Michael snagged her hand and pulled her toward him. “Sit here.” He didn’t give her a chance to say no. He tugged her down next to him on the wooden seat. “Rachel Peters, I’d like you to meet Tom Bantam, and of course, you already know Mary Lou.”
Rachel smiled and nodded toward both of them, but the look she sent Michael spoke of her displeasure.
“I’m sorry to hear about your aunt.” Mary Lou leaned around Michael to talk with Rachel. “What happened?”
“A heart attack. Very quick.”
The tight thread in Rachel’s voice underscored her leashed anger. Michael realized he shouldn’t have asked—okay, forced—her to sit next to him, but he didn’t want to spend the whole afternoon listening to Mary Lou.
He bent close to Rachel’s ear and whispered, “I need your help. Please.”
When the edges of her mouth and the look in her eyes softened he knew she would help. He relaxed his tensed muscles and squeezed her hand, then quickly released his grasp.
“Oh, look, Garrett is first up to bat,” Mary Lou exclaimed.
Michael shifted his attention to the field, comforted by the fact that Rachel was sitting on one side of him. Maybe this afternoon wouldn’t be too bad, he thought as his son swung and missed the ball.
When his son struck out and tromped off the field, Michael decided he probably should reassess his assumption that everything would be all right. He could taste Garrett’s desire for a home run. He had swung at the first three pitches with everything he had. Michael needed to have a word with his son. He started to get up to walk to the dugout when Harold Moon beat him to it. The man pulled Garrett to the side and whispered to him. His son nodded a few times, smiled, then went into the dugout.
Michael frowned. “What’s Harold Moon doing with Garrett?”
“Shaun told me he has been giving Garrett a few pointers on swinging the bat.”
“He has?” Michael rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.”
“I can’t believe he actually showed up. Shaun invited him, but Harold said he had things to do around the house.”
“Who’s Harold Moon?” Mary Lou asked.
“My neighbor.” Rachel didn’t look at Michael’s ex-wife but kept her gaze trained on the field. Shaun was coming up to bat.
Michael cheered when Shaun got a base run. Rachel’s enthusiasm was interesting to observe. When he had played baseball in high school and college, she hadn’t cared much for the sport. If she came to the game, she would applaud with everyone else, but that was all. With Shaun she jumped up, clapped and whistled. If Michael didn’t know better, he’d have thought she’d changed.
When the Tigers took the field, Rachel straightened, clasping her hands so tightly in her lap that Michael laid his over hers and said, “Shaun’s good. He’ll be all right.”
“I know. It’s just that the last time the Tigers lost and Shaun was pitching he blamed himself. I couldn’t get him to see that no one person was to blame for losing.”
“Shaun has always been more competitive than Garrett.”
“Tell me about it. I actually played one of his video games with him the other night. I have great eye-hand coordination, but there was no way he was going to lose.”
Rachel grew taut as Shaun threw the first series of pitches. She began to breathe easier when the first two batters struck out. She relaxed even more when Helen sat next to her.
“Sorry I’m late. Some customer had a mix-up that I had to see to personally. How’s it going?”
“Zero to zero,” Rachel replied as the third batter hit the ball, and it went sailing out into left field.
When Garrett caught the fly ball, Mary Lou leaped to her feet and yell
ed, “That’s the way to go. Three up. Three down.”
Helen leaned close. “So, is this not cozy?”
“Shh.” Rachel grinned and mouthed the word behave.
“Who me? I always do,” Helen whispered.
Rachel rolled her eyes and hoped she got through the afternoon unscathed. Between dealing with Michael and Mary Lou and watching Shaun play an important game, she was sure her nerves would be shredded like pieces of confetti by the time the game was over.
By the ninth inning Rachel had bitten two fingernails down to the quick. She glanced at the scoreboard for the hundredth time. The score was still tied, five to five. Nothing magical had changed while she wasn’t looking.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take. No wonder I never liked to watch you play, Michael.”
He chuckled. “Relax.”
Again, he took her hand. She kept telling herself to withdraw it from his, but she couldn’t. She enjoyed the contact but wished she didn’t.
Garrett was getting ready to bat. Rachel noticed Harold motioning the boy to the fence and saying a few words to him. Garrett grinned and went to the plate. She felt the tension in Michael’s grip as his son swung at the first pitch. The sound of the bat hitting the ball reverberated through the park. Rachel stood next to Michael as the ball soared over the playing field. She shouted and clapped when it landed on the other side of the fence.
“A home run! He did it!” Michael wrapped his arms about Rachel and spun her around and around.
When he placed her on the ground, she was dizzy, and that would be her defense if anyone asked why she allowed Michael to kiss her in front of half the town. He pressed her against him and settled his mouth over hers, not in a quick congratulatory kiss but in a long one that curled her toes.
When he pulled back, his gaze captured hers, and for a brief moment everyone else faded from view. They were the only two people in the whole ballpark. His look melted her insides.
“Hey, y’all sit down in front. The game isn’t over. Some of us would like to see the rest of the game.”
The Courage to Dream Page 11