Stone Hearts
Page 17
He returns, drops my bag beside the door, and joins me.
He plops down heavily beside me. He looks beat.
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes and hums in appreciation.
“How tired are you?” I ask.
“On a scale from one to ten? Twenty,” he deadpans.
I let out a disappointed mewl.
Then, he cracks one eye open and focuses it on me. “What was that?”
I bear up and straddle him. His hands land on my hips as I settle against him.
“I think I can rally,” he says as I bring my lips to his ear.
“I’ll do all the work,” I offer.
That’s all it takes to convince him. He stands and carries me to the bedroom.
And I make good on my word.
I wake to the smell of sausage and coffee. I roll over and blink my eyes open. I’m in Myer’s massive bed. I stretch and sink back into the pillows. I’m so comfortable that I don’t want to budge, but the aroma of food is beckoning me.
I wrap myself in the top sheet and pad into the kitchen.
He is behind the island, stirring something on the stove. I come up behind him and kiss a trail across his bare back. I slide my hands around him and across his abs and lay my cheek against his skin.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he greets.
I mumble something incoherent, and he chuckles.
“Are you hungry?”
I nod against his skin.
He turns and takes me in. I’m sure I look a mess. All tangled hair and tangled sheet.
He leads me to the island and sits me down. Then, he proceeds to make my plate. Homemade biscuits smothered in sausage gravy.
I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t be too impressed. Momma made the biscuits. She makes a batch about once a week and stocks my freezer.”
“Still impressed,” I say as I take a bite.
It’s fantastic, and he watches me as I devour the entire plate.
“What?” I say as I pop the last morsel into my mouth. “I worked up an appetite last night,” I remind him.
His eyes go dark.
“Don’t look at me like that. Finish your breakfast,” I say as I grab my mug and shuffle into the living room.
He follows and sits beside me as I study the view.
“I’m going to build a deck out there this summer. One that spans the entire backside of the cabin with doors that open from here and the master bedroom.”
“That would be amazing. Sitting out there, having breakfast, watching the sun rise over the mountains,” I muse.
There is nothing more beautiful than our mountains.
I lie back into his arms as I sip my coffee.
“What time are you heading over to Braxton’s?” I ask.
He sighs. “Soon. I know his ass is already up and over there.”
Bummer. I could lie here in his arms all day.
He must sense my disappointment because he suddenly shifts us, and I’m on my back.
He peels back the sheet and runs his hand up my inner thigh.
My legs fall to the sides to give him access.
“He can wait a little while,” he says against my mouth.
Dallas
The next few weeks are a whirlwind of activity. Rustic Peak hosts its branding party, as do several other local ranches. We basically spend two solid weeks eating and drinking, and now, Poplar Falls is gearing up for the annual Memorial Day celebration.
It consists of more food, a parade, games, vendor booths, and a bluegrass concert downtown.
Today, after I drop Beau off at school, I’m helping Momma at the bakery to prepare for the influx of people in town.
“What day is today, Beau?”
“The best day ever!” he replies.
“Why is it the best day ever?”
“Because we woke up this morning,” he answers.
“What are we gonna do today?” I ask.
“We are going to be kind and give everyone our brightest smile.”
“What aren’t we gonna do?”
“Let anyone steal our shine.”
“How much do I love you?”
“All the way up to the moon and back.”
“That’s right, baby.” I look at him through the rearview mirror and smile. “Your cast comes off next week. Are you excited?”
He nods. The novelty of the Hulk arm wore off a couple weeks ago, and now, he’s begun to complain more and more about the itching and discomfort from chafing.
I drop him off and head to the shop.
Main Street is in full bloom. The gorgeous pink cherry trees line the streets, and all the flower beds are bursting with spring color.
I love this time of year.
I pull into the spot in front of the shop. I see Miss Elaine walking a little white poof on a leash and call her over.
“Good morning, Dallas,” she greets as I bend to pet the poof.
“Good morning. Who do we have here?”
“This is Lou-Lou; she’s a bichon frise,” she says proudly.
“Aren’t you just adorable, Miss Lou-Lou?” I coo as I scratch her head.
“Why don’t you two come in and have a cup of coffee?” I invite.
She accepts my invitation, and we find Momma and Doreen inside, chatting over pastries.
“Hi, y’all. Remember Dr. Haralson’s momma, Elaine?” I say as we make our way in.
“Yes, of course. Good morning, Elaine,” Doreen says as she pats the chair beside her.
“And this is Miss Lou-Lou. I’ll go grab us a cup of coffee and her a bowl of water.”
The three of them are discussing the church’s ladies’ auxiliary when I return. Always recruiting, those two.
After a nice visit, Doreen offers to take Elaine and Lou-Lou and introduce them around to the other shop owners in town before her appointment with Janelle. Momma and I get to work on making all the red, white, and blue cupcakes for the church’s table at the Memorial Day picnic as well as an assortment of brownies, lemon bars, cookies, chocolate croissants, and of course, her signature apple pies—made with apples from our orchard—to fill the bakery’s display cases.
“I can’t believe Sophie’s wedding is in a couple of weeks. Spring sure flew by,” I say as I load another batch of cupcakes into the oven.
“I know. I’ll be starting on her cakes soon. I might need extra hands.” She nudges me.
“You know all you have to do is ask, Momma.”
“Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something. Patty wants to start keeping her new grandson when her daughter-in-law goes back to work, and I need to hire someone to replace her. Would you be interested?”
“I have two jobs, Momma,” I remind her.
“Yes, but I’m not getting any younger, and now that your daddy is somewhat retired, I’d like to think about retiring myself in the next few years. I was thinking maybe you’d like to take over the bakery one day?”
I pause and turn to her.
“Hear me out. I can pay you what you’re earning at Faye’s. You can work for me, and I’ll teach you everything from the baking itself to running the business. All the state health code rules and regulations, my wholesale partners, how I run the books. The entire business inside and out.”
I look around the shop, a place where I spent most of my childhood under her feet. I can’t imagine it without her behind the counter.
“Oh, stop it,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, but I want to start preparing, and I’d love to see this place stay open and in the family. Your daddy was so proud to hand the farm and orchard over to Payne and know that the Henderson legacy would live on in Poplar Falls, and I feel the same about this bakery. Your grandmother helped me get it up and running, and I’ve poured everything I have into it for nearly forty years. The name Bountiful Harvest Bread Company means something to this town. But if it’s not your dream, I understand.”
“I think I’d like that,” I tell her.
“Oh, wonderful!” she squeals as she pinches my cheeks like she did when I was small.
I’m excited as I leave the shop to pick up Beau. It feels like I have a plan for our future. I’ve honestly been adrift since I landed back here in Poplar Falls, doing whatever I need to do to keep us afloat, and I’m not complaining. I love the diner and Butch’s Tavern and even working with Sophie at Rustic Peak, but all of those are the results of other people’s dreams come to life. I can see myself with gray in my hair, opening the bakery every morning, my grandchildren underfoot.
Ha! Who am I kidding? As long as Janelle has breath, I’ll never be gray.
Beau is a bundle of energy when I pick him up. His class made Memorial Day crafts for the celebration, and he has a handful of flags he made for us and Nana and Pop-Pop to wave during the parade.
“Matthew’s pop-pop died in the war, and so we made the flowers with our handprints for the sign that he and his daddy are going to carry in the parade,” he informs me with pride.
“That’s awesome, baby. I’m sure his nana is going to be so proud.”
He beams. “Momma, how come I don’t have a daddy?”
I look at him in the mirror. He has asked this question before when one of his friends’ fathers showed up for a school activity or at a birthday party. It’s been a while since he asked. In the past, I evaded the question or changed the subject as quickly as possible, knowing he was too young to understand. This time, I decide to be as honest with him as I can.
“I told you I used to live in another city before you and I came to live with Nana and Pop-Pop, right?”
He nods.
“I was married to your daddy, and … well, he did some things he shouldn’t have. He got into a lot of trouble, and the police took him to jail. You were still in my tummy, and that’s when I came back home.”
I see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
“So, my daddy is a bad guy?”
“Do you remember when you got in trouble for throwing that rock at McKenzie, and I had to punish you? We talked about making choices, and when you make the wrong one, you have to suffer the consequences,” I ask.
“Yep. I couldn’t go to Jeremie’s birthday party.”
“That’s right, and you aren’t a bad guy. It’s like that. Your daddy made a mistake, and he has to suffer the consequences. He has to stay in jail, and he doesn’t get to be my husband or your daddy anymore.”
“Will we forgive him?”
Jesus, please help me here.
“Yes, baby, we will forgive him, but that doesn’t mean he gets his privileges back.”
“Do you think he misses me?”
“How could he not?”
He looks out the window. The conversation is over, and my heart is racing.
I say a quick prayer, Lord, if you could help me to keep from scarring this child for life, I would greatly appreciate it.
Dallas
Sunday morning, we all attend church service, and Reverend Burr takes the rich opportunity to drive home the message that the church’s pews should always be as full as they are on holiday weekends.
When you are the reverend of a church in a town predominately populated by men and women who operate ranches, which require seven-days-a-week care, it’s hard to get everyone to Sunday service.
Not that I have that excuse. Late nights at Fast Breaks or around a bonfire, drinking moonshine, doesn’t exactly compare in the reasoning department. I know I need to make it here more often. I’m going to make more of an effort.
Doreen side-eyes me and Sophie, saying as much.
After the service, we all head downtown for the parade and celebration.
Momma, Doreen, Ria, and Myer’s momma, Beverly, sell cupcakes and potted tomato plants for the church’s veterans assistance fund.
Sophie and I are at a booth, selling jewelry she created and donated, using red and blue stones—also for the church’s fund.
Myer, Braxton, Walker, and Payne are helping with the parade floats while Daddy looks after Beau.
The day couldn’t have turned out any better. The weather is perfect. Sixty-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky. All the shops along Main Street are open today even though most are closed on Sundays. All donating a percentage of their sales to the veterans family assistance program in Poplar Falls.
Memorial Day is a big deal here, as is Veterans Day and Fourth of July. Poplar Falls is a town teeming with American pride and people who want to help their neighbors in mourning or in need. People come from miles away and several towns over for events like today’s, and even folks who grew up here and moved away choose weekends like this to visit family and catch up with old friends.
I look out into the sea of faces and recognize some I haven’t seen in years.
Braxton and Myer stop by to bring us lemonade and check and see if we need anything else.
“Looks like you’re doing well,” Braxton says as he sees how low we’re getting on stock.
The jewelry has been a hit. All the ladies have had a fit over Sophie’s creations.
“Yep. Looks like we’re going to have to convert it into a kissing booth soon,” I tease.
His eyes flick to me. “You’d better be the only one offering kisses.”
“What? Sophie here will bring in a ton of cash. Don’t you want the church to make lots of money? I bet, between the two of us, we could make at least two hundred dollars, selling kisses for five dollars a piece,” I say.
Sonia’s grandfather, Mr. Pickens, is at the next booth, purchasing a T-shirt, and he turns to us. “I’ll give you ten dollars for a kiss,” he says with a wink.
“See,” I say with a giggle.
“I’ll match whatever you make on the jewelry,” Braxton offers.
“I’ll do the same,” Myer pitches in.
“Really?” Sophie squeals.
She wants to raise as much money as the aunts. They have some sort of competition going.
“Jeez, you two are no fun at all,” I tell them.
Braxton cuts his eyes to me.
I throw my hands in the air. “I was just kidding. No kissing booth. Got it.”
“You, I don’t trust,” Braxton accuses as he points to me. Then, he looks at Sophie. “And you, I don’t trust not to let her talk you into it.”
Sophie huffs.
Beau comes running up with his face painted to look like The Incredible Hulk. “Look, Mommy! They painted my face to match my arm!” he announces excitedly.
“Wow, you look just like the Hulk,” I praise.
“Can I have ice cream? Pop-Pop said I could if you said it was okay.”
“I think you need lunch first.”
“Ah, man.” He pouts.
“Braxton and I were just about to get cheeseburgers. You want to eat with us? I’ll take you for ice cream afterward,” Myer offers.
“Can I, Mommy?”
“May I,” I correct. “And, yes, you may, as long as you eat a burger first.”
“Okay.” He reaches for Myer’s hand.
Braxton leans in and kisses Sophie, and the three of them take off in search of food.
We sell out within the next hour, so we close our booth and go to find the fellas before the parade starts.
I spot Beau playing the ring toss game with Daddy and head that way while Sophie looks for Braxton.
“Hey, guys. You about ready to watch the parade?” I ask when I reach them.
“In a minute. Look, Mommy, I won a prize.” Beau points to the plastic bag in Daddy’s hand.
“Is that a goldfish?” I ask, hoping he says it’s not.
; “Yep,” Daddy says with a grin.
Fabulous.
“I’m going to run to the truck and grab the quilts and find us a spot near the gazebo. Come find us when you finish up here,” I tell Daddy, and he nods.
I head toward the parking lot and spot Myer standing with a group that includes Morgan, Braxton’s ex, and a few others in front of the hardware store. I cross the street to let him know where we’re going to set up to watch the parade. When I get close, I overhear a snippet of the conversation.
“So, you’re just working the ranch now?” asks one of the guys standing in the group.
“Yeah, I run it with Pop,” Myer replies.
“Damn, man, that sucks. I hate that the ankle injury sidelined you. You would have made it to the pros for sure. You ever consider coaching?”
“Not really, no.”
“I know the University of Colorado is looking for an assistant offensive coordinator. I bet they’d love to have you. I can get you a meeting with the head coach if you’re interested.”
Myer shifts, and I can see the owner of the voice is one of his old teammates from high school.
“Samantha is still in Boulder, and she’s single again. She split from that banker she was engaged to last year. When I told her I was coming home for a visit this weekend, she asked me to say hello for her and to give you her new number.”
“Is that right?” is all Myer says.
Samantha is the ex-girlfriend who dumped him the minute his football dreams died. I guess she wasn’t able to find another player of his caliber to latch on to after all.
Sophie comes jogging up behind me. “Dallas?”
I turn to answer her.
“You find Myer? Oh, there he is. Where are the blankets?”
“I was on the way to the truck to get them,” I say.
When I turn back around, the old teammate and Myer have their phones out, and Myer is typing something into his.
My heart sinks.
“Hey, Myer,” Sophie calls to him, and he looks up and smiles at us. “The parade’s about to start. We’re gonna set up in front of the gazebo.”
“I’ll be right there,” he says before turning back to the group.