Hawks Mountain - Mobi (15 page)

This would probably make for more grist for
Laureene’s
gossip mill, but Becky didn’t see any other way out. In an hour or less everyone in town would know Becky Hawks had gotten in a truck with Nick Hart. At this point, she didn’t care as long as it got her away from this old biddy. And if
Laureene
wanted to pass the news around town, then so be it.

The truck pulled up beside her. Nick leaned across the seat and lowered the passenger window. “You okay?”

Lowering her voice so
Laureene’s
sharp hearing couldn’t pick up on it, she leaned into the open passenger’s window and whispered, “Can you give me a lift home?”

“Sure. Hop in.” Nick opened the truck door and peered at her with a puzzled expression.

She turned back to
Laureene
, flashed a saccharin smile at her, and said, “Goodbye,
Laureene
.” Then she climbed into Nick’s truck and leaned back against the seat with a deep sigh.

“Was I right?’

Becky turned to Nick. His lips were turned up in an ear to ear Cheshire cat grin.
“Right about what?”

“That I was a means of escape from that woman?”

Becky stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. “Yes, I’m afraid you were. Was it that obvious?”

He grinned and nodded. “I think that look of desperation on your face, when you dashed in front of my truck, gave it away.”

“Well, I doubt she saw it. She was too
busy .
 . . digging. She one of the worst gossips in town, and she loves to pry into other people’s business then carry her version of the tale to anyone silly enough to listen.”

“And what were you silly enough to be listening to?” He pulled the truck away from the curb and exited the parking lot.

Becky hesitated to answer. Should she tell him? Recalling his reaction to her mention of the snails, she decided against it.
“Oh nothing.
Just her usual tales.”

“Well, since I’m now a part of this community, I think I deserve to hear the dirt going around town.” He drove down
Main Street
and then headed out of town toward
Lower Mountain Road
. “Come on. Give.”

She glanced at him, still unsure if she should tell him what she and
Laureene
had been talking
about .
 . . or rather, what
Laureene
had been talking about. But it appeared that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She took a deep fortifying breath.

“Actually, she was speculating on us.”

He wrenched his head around to gape at her, and then quickly jerked his attention back to the road.
What did she mean by us? There
is
no us. Is there?

Giving her a ride hadn’t been one of his smarter moves, especially when it meant they’d be alone for the trip up the mountain. He’d made good his own escape and effectively avoided having to talk to Becky about the night before, but when he’d seen the desperation on her face, he couldn’t refuse.

“So, what did you tell her?”

Becky shrugged. “There was nothing to tell her. Besides, she probably wouldn’t have believed me if I’d tried to explain. I’m afraid she had already put her own spin on the victory kiss I gave you at the race. She’s convinced we have
a .
 . . a . . . relationship.”

She paused as if waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t think of one word that wouldn’t sound like he was making light of the entire situation. Thank goodness no one saw the kiss at the lake or good old
Laureene
would be decorating the church for their wedding.

“Then on top of that, she said Bessie Wright saw us at the lake having dinner.”

Nick stifled a groan.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship with Becky or that he felt ashamed to be seen with her.
Every bone and nerve in his body had been begging for a relationship since he’d first seen her in the meadow. He just didn’t feel it was fair to saddle her with his emotional problems. She didn’t need to get hooked up with someone who had crazy nightmares and who had lost faith in his ability to help people.

Bottom line?
Becky was too good for him. She deserved a man who wouldn’t wake her up in the middle of the night screaming or who jumped when a car backfired or who couldn’t stand the sight of a wounded dog without getting sick.

“I ran into Davy in the
market.,
” he said, knowing she already knew it. Hopefully a change of subject would reroute her thoughts and get him out of this verbal swamp in which he’d suddenly found himself floundering. “He was looking for a job.”

“A job?
Davy?” Becky laughed. “Isn’t he a bit young to be job hunting?”

Nick frowned. “He said his mom got laid off, and he’s looking to help out.”

“I knew about the layoff. That’s what Granny wants this stuff for.” She patted the bag on her lap.

Nick glanced at the bag, then at Becky. “I don’t understand.”

“Around here, when somebody gets hit with hard times, we all pitch in to help out. Granny’s putting a basket together for me to take over to
Lydia
. The cake is mostly for Davy, but she’s got some of her preserves ready to go and a big pot of stew and some fresh-made bread.”

Nick fell silent. The huge hearts and friendly smiles of people around here just continued to amaze him. But it also unnerved him. For the first time since he’d settled on the mountain he began questioning his decision to move here.

Having grown up in the city, where people rarely knew their next-door neighbor, he found this constant monitoring of one another’s business unsettling. Since isolation had been his goal, he’d have probably been better off renting an apartment in the middle of
Manhattan
.

Clutching the handle
of the basket of goodies Granny had prepared, Becky stood in front of the tiny cottage that
Lydia
and Davy Collins called home. Although
Lydia
had obviously done her best to keep the place looking respectable by mowing the lawn and planting a few flowers, the neat landscaping couldn’t hide the fact that it was the house that needed attention. Peeling paint had curled up on the siding, shutters hung askew, the front porch stairs leaned dangerously and roofing shingles, most likely displaced by the last storm, were stacked in a neat pile against the foundation.

Anger boiled up in Becky. How could George Collins allow his child to live like this? Then for perhaps the thousandth time she had to wonder why sweet Lydia Wallace would have married that
insufferable .
 . . that . . . Oh! There just didn’t seem to be a word in the English language to describe George adequately.

Haunting memories of places that she’d visited as a social worker in
Atlanta
, places that looked exactly like this and worse, flashed through Becky’s mind. Her steps faltered as her mind began to swirl with ideas of how to improve
Lydia
and Davy’s living conditions. It wouldn’t take much. A coat of paint, a nail here and there and replacing the shingles—

Stop it! What makes you think you can change this anymore than you could the living conditions of your clients in
Atlanta
? Give it up. You’re not a social worker anymore, Becky.

But she was a human being and from her early childhood, Granny had always taught her that she’s her brother’s keeper. The deeper meaning of that adage had been half the reason she’d gone into social work. Then the total disillusionment of realizing how little she could do to change things had driven her away.

With that memory weighing heavy on her soul, she straightened her shoulders and made up her mind to deliver the basket as Granny had requested, then go home. But, despite her firm resolve to stay out of it, Becky couldn’t dismiss
Lydia
’s problem from her mind.

There had to be someone in town who could replace the roof shingles.
Maybe .
 . .

While she waited for
Lydia
to answer her door, Becky thought back to their school days together. Back then the bubbly Lydia Wallace had been considered the town beauty.
Midnight
black hair had framed her lovely face and lay in soft ringlets on her shoulders, and her twinkling blue eyes had rivaled the sky on the brightest summer day. She’d been voted prom queen, homecoming queen and the girl most likely to succeed.

Aside from her beauty queen looks, Lydia had been an A student with dreams of college and aspirations to travel through Europe before settling into an internship as a weather girl at a Charleston radio station, the first step toward her dream of becoming a newscaster.

Then she met George Collins, a man several years her senior, married him and got pregnant with Davy within months of the wedding and all
Lydia
’s dreams went up in smoke.

The door opened and Becky had to stifle a gasp.
Lydia
had been at the church social, but she hadn’t gotten a good look at her. The last time she’d seen her before that had been a few years ago when Becky had come home on Christmas break. She couldn’t get over the changes.

This
Lydia
did not resemble the woman Becky remembered. Random strands of gray peppered her ebony tresses. Those lovely blue eyes had lost their excited sparkle. Though she was the same age as Becky, she looked years older. But maybe that’s what life with George Collins could do to a woman.

That nothing remained of that self-assured woman broke Becky’s heart.

“Becky Hawks. I heard you were back.
How nice to see you.”
Lydia
’s flat voice didn’t match the enthusiastic words of her greeting. A trace of recently shed tears glistened on her cheeks. “What brings you calling?”

Becky held out the basket. “Granny sent me with this.”

Lydia
took the basket. “She’s such a sweetheart, but she shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.” A new sheen of moisture appeared in
Lydia
’s eyes.

“No trouble. She hasn’t forgotten how kind you were when
Grampa
Earl passed.”

“Hey, Miss Becky.”
Davy squeezed between his mother and the doorframe. With his dark hair and blue eyes, his face mirrored a much younger version of his mother’s.

“Hi, Davy.”

“What’s that?” He stood on tiptoe and peered into the basket. “Wow!
Cake.
Can I have a piece, Mom?
Puleeeze
?”

“May I, and no, you may not. We’ll have it for dessert after dinner.” His mother smoothed his hair lovingly.

His lower lip protruded in a pout, which, when his mother raised an eyebrow, quickly disappeared. “Okay. I’m
gonna
go feed my rabbits and then take a hike in the woods and see if I can spot that momma deer and her baby.” Cake forgotten, he darted past Becky. “Bye, Mom. Bye, Miss Becky.”

“Bye, Davy.”

“Be careful and make sure you’re home in time for dinner,”
Lydia
called after him. She shook her head.
“That boy and his animals.”
Then she turned to Becky. “Where are my manners? Come on in.” She stood aside and opened the door wider. “Can I get you something?”

Becky stepped over the threshold into the cozy living room. “No thanks. I can’t stay long.”

“Make yourself at home. I’ll just put this stuff away and be right back.”
Lydia
hurried off toward the kitchen with Granny’s basket.