Her Small-Town Hero

by Arlene James

  Cara smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful for the first time in months. “That sounds fine.”

  “Does that mean we get black-eyed peas tomorrow?” Holt asked, digging into his food again.

  “Mmm, maybe some greens, too,” Hap said longingly. “There ought to be a can in there. I hope there’s a can in there.”

  “I think I’m not used to the same kind of cooking you’re used to eating,” Cara confessed.

  “Oh, it’s simple fare,” Hap said, “nothing you can’t manage, I reckon.”

  “It’s sure to beat his cooking,” Holt said, wagging his fork at Hap.

  Hap pretended to take offense, frowning and grinning. “My cooking’s what’s kept these skin and bones together these past weeks, son, and don’t you forget it. How many meals have you cooked since your sister married? Answer me that.”

  “None,” Holt admitted. He grinned at Cara, grooves bracketing his mouth. Suddenly he looked heart-stoppingly attractive, sitting there in his faded chambray shirt that emphasized his strong, wide shoulders. “I like breathing even more than eating,” he quipped and went back to doing just that.

  “There you are!” Hap declared, slapping a hand lightly against the edge of the table. He looked cajolingly to Cara. “So do we get them black-eyed peas?”

  “Black-eyed peas,” Cara promised, gulping. “For tradition’s sake.”

  But, oh, she thought, watching Holt chew a big bite of steak, I could use just a little luck, too.

  Cara looked around the tiny, crowded bedroom with dismay. It still contained much that belonged to its previous owner: books, photos, various other keepsakes, even a yellowed set of crocheted doilies. An old-fashioned four-poster bed, dresser, domed-top trunk and wicker laundry hamper left only a narrow corridor of walking space around the bed.

  She felt Holt at her back, watching her judge the room, and fought the urge to curl into a tight little ball. She’d hoped never again to live in someone else’s space, meeting their standards rather than her own, always the outsider, never truly belonging or having control of her own life.

  Hitching Ace a little higher on her hip, their outer garments clutched in one hand, she bucked up enough courage to say, “I think we’ll be more comfortable renting a room for the night.”

  After a moment of silence, Holt replied, “I’ll get a room key for you.”

  Relieved, Cara watched him stride for the lobby. After she’d taken a look at those frozen black-eyed peas—and thankfully found the preparation a simple matter of stewing in water for an hour or so—Hap had suggested Holt show her where she could stay the night. She’d never expected to be offered a room in the apartment.

  A chime sounded as Holt crossed the room. Hap, who was stacking dishes in the kitchen, having insisted on helping her clean up after the meal, exclaimed, “Tell ’em I’ll be right out!”

  Just then the door opened and two elderly men appeared, their happy voices calling, “We’re here!”

  One of the newcomers wore dark pants and a white shirt beneath a sweater vest. More portly than the other, he boasted glasses with heavy black frames and a luxurious head of snow-white hair. The other, dressed in denim and flannel, possessed neither. Spying Cara and Ace, they stepped forward.

  “Looks like y’all started the party without us,” the flannel-shirted man said.

  The other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”

  “Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.

  Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”

  Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.

  The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”

  General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”

  Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.

  She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.

  “We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”

  “Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.

  “I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”

  “Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”

  Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”

  Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”

  “That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.

  To her surprise, Holt slid it into his pocket before grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. “I’ll just see you settled in.”

  “That’s not necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”

  “Hap’s guests,” he said, shrugging on the leather-trimmed canvas coat. “They’ve got enough to make up a table. They won’t miss me.” He lifted a brown cowboy hat from another peg and fitted it onto his head, suddenly seeming ten feet tall. Nodding toward the kitchen, he said, “We can go out through the back.”

  Cara put on a smile and moved ahead of him, holding Ace closer to her chest to keep him warm. He babbled in a singsong voice to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement, cold enveloping them.

  Shivering, Cara hurried ahead of Holt to the car parked beneath the drive-though. At least, she told herself, they’d gotten a meal out of this and would sleep warm tonight. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.

  Chapter Three

  “I ’ll, um, move the car later, if you don’t mind,” Cara Jane said.

  Holt shrugged. It seemed odd to him to leave the car sitting there under the drive-through, but a great deal seemed odd about Cara Jane Wynne. He reached into the trunk of her car for the two bags there.

  “You can park your car in that space just to the left of the door to your room,” Holt told her, hoisting their two bags. Neither of them, he noted, weighed enough to tax a child, let alone a grown man. A wise woman wouldn’t pack more than she could tote herself, but Holt figured that starting a new life would require a great deal more than Cara Jane seemed to be carrying.

  All that remained in the trunk was a lightweight baby backpack, which told him just how Cara Jane intended to manage her son while she worked. Trying to do such work with a baby strapped to her back seemed foolish to him, but he supposed she’d figure that out soon enough.

  While he carried their bags to the room, Cara Jane
closed the trunk lid and went to rummage around in the car.

  Opening the door, Holt entered and hit the light switch with his elbow. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he hoisted the bags onto the long, low dresser, then went to turn on the heat. The place could best be described as utilitarian, he supposed, but at least it was clean and neat.

  She came in moments later carrying Ace, a stuffed diaper bag and a small plastic tub of groceries. Holt took the tub from her and closed the door so the place would warm up. Already the air that blew from the vent above the closet felt toasty enough to take the immediate chill off.

  “Should be comfortable in here soon,” he told her. Nodding, she dropped the diaper bag on the bed and turned to face him. “Furniture’s bolted down,” he informed her.

  She shrugged. “Safer that way. Ace likes to pull up on whatever he can find.”

  “You’re traveling light,” Holt commented, waving a hand at the suitcases.

  “I live light,” she replied.

  He had no idea what that meant, but he intended to make sure that she had a clear picture of what she would be getting into if Hap hired her. “A job like this requires hard work,” he told her. “Take it from me.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m not trying to discourage you, and God knows we can use the help. I just want you to be aware of what you’d be getting into.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I’m not sure you can,” he said, rubbing his ear. “You and the boy want to come along, I’ll show you one of the kitchenettes so you can get a better idea of what you’d be up against.”

  For a moment, he thought she might refuse. He had to admit that if he was standing here in nothing more than a jean jacket, he might have balked himself. Where, he wondered, was her coat? Didn’t they wear coats in Oregon?

  Cara nodded, held the boy close and headed for the door. Holt followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him and trying not to watch the sway of her hips.

  Holt used his passkey to let them in the room next door and snapped on the light. The kitchenettes basically contained two rooms, pass-through closet and bath in one, bed, sitting area and tiny kitchen in the other. Cara stood in the center of the room, the boy on her hip, and looked around. Holt couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes lit at the sight of that puny kitchen. Then she swept her fingertips along the arm of the tweedy sofa.

  “It makes into a bed,” he told her, “but because of the lack of space, it’s usually folded up when we get here to clean, so you always have to check the sheets, even if only one person is supposed to be in the room.”

  “I see.”

  “Then there’s the kitchens,” he went on. “The regulars usually do their own dishes, but if they don’t, you have to. The kitchens have to be meticulously cleaned to keep the bugs out.”

  “Good policy.”

  “Half our units are kitchenettes,” he pointed out, wanting to ruffle her for some reason. “The rugs have to be cleaned periodically, as well as the draperies.”

  “All right.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’m an old roughneck, and I’m telling you, it’s hard work.”

  She turned on him, her face stony. “Okay, I get it. You don’t think I can handle the job.”

  “I didn’t say that. I just want you—”

  “To know what I’m getting into,” she finished for him, brushing by on her way to the door. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Irritated, he caught her by the crook of the elbow. “I just think you should have all the facts before you make your decision.”

  She jerked her gaze up at him. “Are you saying that the job is mine if I want it?”

  For an instant, he felt as if he might tumble headfirst into those soft gray eyes. Abruptly, he released her and stepped back, clearing his throat. “I’m saying you should be fully informed. The rest is between you and Hap.”

  She flicked a doubtful glance over him and walked out into the cold night. He didn’t blame her for not buying that. She, however, didn’t know Hap. If Hap made up his mind to take her on, nothing his grandsons could say would make any difference, not that Holt wouldn’t dig in his heels if he thought he should. He just hadn’t really decided yet whether or not he would.

  On one hand, Holt badly wanted the help she could provide. On the other, something wasn’t right about her. Too pretty, too alone, too quiet, she set his every sense on alert.

  He wondered, as he fetched the portable crib and hauled it over to her room, just how he might go about running a background check on her. They’d never had to worry about things like background checks before, though Ty had suggested they consider it. Holt would speak with his brother-in-law about it. Meanwhile, he’d keep a close eye on Cara Jane Wynne.

  Cara rolled onto her stomach and folded her arm beneath the pillow under her head, listening to the faint whir of the heater and Ace’s easy breathing. He’d objected when she’d belted him into his car seat and moved the car after Holt had gone back into the apartment, but she hadn’t wanted Holt to hear the awful knocking racket that her old car had started making earlier in the day. She couldn’t help feeling foolish for having traded her dependable, almost new minivan for an older, high-mileage car, but she’d desperately needed the cash, which hadn’t gone as far as she’d hoped. She certainly didn’t want to give Holt Jefford a reason to question her good sense, so she’d waited until he’d gone to move the car.

  After his bath, Ace had sucked down a bottle of formula then dropped off to sleep in no time, but she had not been able to. A giant clock in the distance seemed to be counting off the minutes—ka-shunk, ka-shunk, ka-shunk—while her mind whirled with the possibility of working for the Jeffords and all it involved. She kept thinking, too, about the kitchenette next door and imagining herself sitting down to that little bar with her son. It would almost be like having their very own place.

  Cara thought back to her bitter disappointment upon realizing, on the heels of her husband’s death, that the house in southern California had not belonged to her and Ace. Learning that it had been sold out from under her had sent her into a sharp decline.

  Rolling onto her back, Cara cut off that line of thought. She and Ace were together and free of the past, and it was going to stay that way. No matter what she had to do, she would prove herself capable of making a good life for her son.

  Provided she could make this job work for them.

  Holt worried her. She couldn’t escape the fear that he knew she’d lied. Thankfully the old man seemed more trusting. She’d prefer to concentrate on him, but she sensed that she must convince Holt, too, if she had any chance of staying on here.

  Recalling words that Hap had spoken during dinner, she sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. She felt the lonely weight of the darkness, heard the relentless ka-shunk, ka-shunk of an invisible machine and let the curious words wash over her.

  “There are mysteries to which none are privy, and greater mysteries revealed to all. We must trust God with the first and thank Him for the last.”

  What had he meant by that? She would never understand Addison’s death, but what “greater mystery” had been or would be “revealed to all” and why should anyone give thanks for it? She had never heard her aunt speak of such things, but no doubt the Jeffords could tell her. They seemed to be devout Christians, which only made her dishonesty seem worse, but she had to protect herself and her son.

  “We believe that God is in control of our lives, not random luck.”

  Had God, she wondered, brought her here? She’d been praying a lot lately, and this certainly seemed the perfect place for her and Ace. For one thing, no one would think to look for them in the Heavenly Arms Motel in Eden, Oklahoma. Plus, this job offered not only a modest salary but shelter and food, as well, and the Jeffords seemed willing to let her keep Ace with her while she worked. If she could convince them to let her and Ace stay in one of the kitchenettes, it would be very nearly perfect, no matter how difficult the j
ob might be.

  Besides, she had the feeling that she might find answers here, answers to questions she didn’t even know to ask yet.

  If only she had the chance. If Holt would give her the chance.

  Laughter filtered in from outside.

  Feeling terribly alone, Cara glanced at the clock and saw that the old year had passed. Ka-shunk, ka-shunk, ka-shunk. Closing her eyes, she did what Hap had suggested and said a prayer.

  Please let this work out for us. Please let this be the start of a new life, a real life, for us.

  Needing reassurance, she leaned far to the side and peered over the edge of the crib at her sleeping son. “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  Ace slept on undisturbed, so innocent, so precious, so deserving of love and protection and all the things that a good parent provided. She would be that good parent, Cara vowed. No matter what anyone else thought or said or believed, she would give her son everything she had never had, things that even his father had not enjoyed.

  Somehow.

  She settled down to wait for morning, one ka-shunk at a time.

  Holt stretched, then sat up in the bed in his sister’s room, the one in which Cara Jane might have slept if she hadn’t been too proud or too wary or something. Thoughts of her had intruded far into the wee hours of the first morning of the new year, he realized as he swung his feet down onto the floor and stood. He had been too tired after the party to drive out to his ranch, and since Cara hadn’t wanted to use this room, he’d figured he might as well.

  While pulling on his clothes, he smelled bacon cooking. Hap—or someone—was making breakfast. Holt wondered if they had enough eggs in the house. He felt like he could eat a good dozen himself, despite the dinner and all the goodies he’d consumed last night. Bless Marie Waller anyway.

  The pastor’s wife had done her best to make up for Charlotte’s absence these past weeks, sending over one dish or another with her husband, Grover, whenever he came to play at Hap’s domino table, which was almost daily. Unfortunately, Grover suffered from diabetes, so those tidbits rarely included anything sweet, and Holt possessed a powerful sweet tooth. Maybe they’d get pancakes for breakfast if someone happened to be in the kitchen.