Mom in the Middle (9 page)

“Alexander Theodore Guy! Tell me you're not smitten with that girl!” She tugged hard, demanding a response.

“Ouch!” He yelped and pulled Casey close to reduce the resistance. “And what would be so awful about that?”

“You cannot be serious! For starters, she's what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Way too young for a man looking down the shotgun barrel at forty.”

Actually Abby was only twenty-four, so there was no defense there.

“Number two, if everything I've heard about her is on the up and up, the poor girl has got her hands full. She doesn't need a man who freely admits the time it takes to frame and dry in a new store is the perfect lifespan of a romantic relationship.”

That was a ninety-day job so Casey wasn't far off the mark with her accusation.

“Three, she comes with a ready-made family, exactly what you've insisted your entire life that you don't want.”

“You ladies change your minds at the drop of a hat. Why can't a man?” The question was just for argument's sake with Casey, but he was beginning to ponder that one for real.

She ended the painful tug-of-war and rested fists on her hips, double-huff style.

“Women may occasionally change their minds, but leopards don't ever change their spots. Bro, you have been adamant since you were fourteen that there's no wife and kids in your future and everything you've done since then has affirmed that assertion.”

Casey's ability to cut straight to the bone was accurate, as always. What on earth had he been thinking? It was time to get back to business and bury these crazy daydreams that surfaced each time Abby was near.

His sister cupped his face in her cool hands and pulled him down close. “Now hear this, handsome stranger, I don't know what you've done with my brother, but hand him over! We have deadlines to meet and there's a fancy pair of boots in some western-wear store in Galveston just waiting to become part of the Guy Hardy collection.”

 

The drive from the little house a few blocks off Guadalupe to the rehab center seemed to take forever. Shorty had a hundred questions about the construction plan. Actually they were more objections than questions, a communication style Guy was becoming accustomed to hearing.

“I don't see how you can add another six square feet of floor space to the bathroom unless we blow out that side wall far enough to take down the neighbor's fence.” The old fella was as antsy and short on patience as a kid on the last day of school.

“It'll work, Shorty. I've done the math.” Guy tapped the roll of blueprints on the consol between them. “But don't take my word for it, you've got the drawings right there to prove it.”

Shorty grunted, looked out the window.

“There can't possibly be a whirlpool tub that will fit into that space in the corner,” he grumbled. “Not one we can afford anyway.”

“One of our suppliers is bound to come up with just what we need.”

“We'll never round up all the materials to finish this thing before Mother's Day.”

“Of course we will.” Guy was struggling with the negative comments. All he wanted to do was lock his thoughts on something positive. Something uplifting.

Something Abby.

“Are you as crazy about my girl as she seems to be about you or is it just the high pollen count that's got
both your heads in a fog?” Shorty's voice was sour, as if he'd just taken a sip of dill pickle juice. The question sliced through the mental haze he had succinctly identified. Guy snapped to attention, considered the comment and the fact that the man beside him was, after all, the father of the woman he'd been daydreaming about and the man expected a straight-up response.

Guy risked a glance to his right. Incredibly, Shorty was grinning and scratching the new stubble of white whiskers on his chin.

“Well, Hopalong Cassidy, you gonna answer me or pretend you don't follow?” Eyes glinted beneath the bushy brows.

The truth of Abby's earlier statement cut deep. The gleam in her father's eyes said he hoped there might be something going on between his daughter and Guy. As much as he liked to make everybody happy, there was no point in leading the poor fellow on.

Lord, this is so confusing. Give me the words to make it sound simple. I don't want to hurt the Reagans or let my family down, but playing both ends against the middle has got me wondering which side I'm on anymore.

“I follow.”

“And…” Shorty waited.

“And I think you're reading too much into my friendship with Abby.”

“Friendship, huh?” He rubbed gnarled hands together and glanced out the passenger's window.

“Friendship was what she had with Phillip, no matter
how she tries to remember it for that poor dead boy's sake.” Shorty dropped his chin and wagged his head side to side, then cut eyes at Guy that were dark pools of wisdom.

“No, sir, I see the way my girl stares at you when you're not watchin'. And I don't believe I like it even one little bit. The last thing she needs is another man who values duty over his wife and child.”

Guy pulled into the restricted parking zone and cut the engine. “Sir, the truth is I'd like to get to know Abby better in the few weeks I have left in Austin, and I hope we'll remain good friends after I leave. But she asked me just today to clear up misunderstandings that might lead to hurt feelings for anybody in your family. So I want to make my intentions on that subject clear before it's too late. Abby and I are friends, nothing more.”

“Son, if that's really what you believe, it's already too late. There will definitely be some hurtin' later on. But I'm afraid you'll be the one doin' it.”

 

Perched on a tall stool at the kitchen counter, Abby had a clear view of the H&H truck as it passed the front window and turned into her driveway. The men shouldn't be back for another couple of hours. Something had to be wrong. She abandoned her lesson plans and hurried toward the sharp knocking. Without checking the peephole, she yanked the door wide. As expected, there was a Hardy on her porch.

But it was Casey, not Guy.

“S
o, where's that adorable baby boy of yours?”

Casey chirped the question as if arriving unannounced and uninvited on a virtual stranger's doorstep was the most normal thing in the world. She'd changed out of the overalls into tailored navy slacks with a white silk blouse. She wore a stunning pair of snakeskin pumps that Abby guessed cost more than her entire school teaching wardrobe. Did the whole Hardy family have a thing about shoes?

“What a nice surprise,” Abby tried to sound pleased. She had a ton of work to get done, but she stepped aside and extended a hand inviting her guest in. “But if you're looking for Guy, I'm afraid it'll be a while before he and my dad get back.” She returned to the kitchen with Casey following close behind.

“So, let me get this straight. Guy took off with your father for the evening and left you here alone?”

“Sure. He's been a huge help, offering to drive
Dad to see my mom several nights a week. I run over there at lunchtime and then Guy takes Dad to visit in the evening.”

“Whew!” Casey fanned the back of her hand across her forehead, pretending to wipe sweat from her brow. “For a while there I thought he was coming over here to see
you.
That would have been a disaster in the making.”

The blunt words stung Abby like the unexpected attack of an angry yellow jacket. She assumed the composure she'd developed for dealing with the difficult parents of her schoolchildren.

“My goodness, Casey. Where would you get such a silly idea?”

“Yeah, it was dumb, wasn't it?” She chuckled and shook her head at what seemed to be an absurd thought. “But with that man, trust me, it's an easy mistake to make. I guess I didn't need to interrogate him so hard after all.”

Interrogate him? No wonder he called this sister the Warden!

“Please don't be hard on your brother, and certainly not on my account. Guy's been very kind and a huge help to me.”

“That's our boy all right.” Her tone was a curious mixture of sarcasm and fondness. “He has this all-consuming savior complex, which explains why there's been a constant stream of women through his life. It's always been Guy to the rescue! The helpful hardware man making things right. He's bailed so
many females out of their problems that it's second nature to him now. It's what makes him happy.”

So there it was. Saving the day was how he got his kicks. It wasn't personal at all; it was his addiction. Casey was looking at her, waiting for a response. Abby's tongue went dry, like she'd just inhaled a mouthful of dust.

“Well, he seems like a wonderful man so I'm not surprised he's had his share of relationships.” She forced the comment to sound casual when the truth was her ribs ached from the verbal sucker punch. Then things got worse.

“Relationships? Ha!” Casey threw her head back, whooped over what was obviously some inside joke. “That man has the attention span of a gnat when it comes to relationships. And no matter what he puts the ladies through, they give him the benefit of the doubt. I don't know what he says to charm them, but women always overlook his faults. At first, anyway.”

“Faults?”

Casey arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow in that same skeptical way Guy did when Dillon offered up a bite of soggy cookie.

“Are you kidding? He relocates every nine months, works seven days a week, openly admits he has no intention of marrying, absolutely refuses to bring a woman home to meet our family and works on his art projects at crazy hours of the night.

“After a few months they get fed up with him, but sooner or later the poor fools show back up on his
doorstep willing to compromise in case he's changed his mind about marriage.” She stopped to swipe fingertips against the corners of her eyes where tears of hilarity gleamed. Then she let out a relieved sigh. “Honestly, Abby, I just had to come see for myself that you weren't one more in a long string of hopefuls.”

Abby held both palms out, as if blocking the very idea. “Rest assured there's no chance of that. The two men in my life have my heart all filled up and there's no time for romance even if I was ready for it.”

“Good, because even though he does it unconsciously at this point, Guy has turned pleasing females into an art form. And I'll be the first to admit it's the gaggle's fault. We're his training ground. He honed his charms with us and he is nothing if not subtle.” She reached up and touched the small piece of colored glass suspended from the ceiling fan. “See, he's already left his mark on you, and my guess is this isn't the only piece of his work in your house.” She gave the chain a pull and the blades overhead began a slow turn.

“Is it?” Casey's eyebrows rose as she waited for a response.

Abby shook her head, remembering the comforting glow of the night-light in Dillon's room, the stained-glass sun catcher that had materialized in the window of the family area and the charming robin red breast that hung from a suction cup in her laundry room.

She didn't even want to think about the lovely amethyst-filled geode that had appeared on her night table.

“Guy was always a silent shadow in the corner of the room, sitting so still we'd forget he was there. He listened to us talk about men, picked up all the right things we wanted to see and hear. And today he's a an expert with women. Ever the champion fisherman. He sets the hook and settles back. He lets the catch run out of line, struggle with the circumstances and inevitably give up. Then he cuts and releases. And it's not the trophy he's setting free either. Oh, no, it's Guy Hardy who's getting off the hook.”

Abby tilted her head, studied this woman who was full of information on the man who'd inserted himself into their lives and seemed determined to take charge in so many ways.

“Lord knows I love him,” Casey continued, “but he's completely self-absorbed and for all of his thirty-eight years he's been adamant about never having a family of his own. I used to think that was all talk but the older he gets the more I believe he's made the right choice. Guy is not cut out to be a one-woman man and the Hardy women accept full responsibility for that.”

Abby smiled to cover the confusion and the hairline fracture that split her spirit. No sophisticated X-ray technology could detect it, but the damage was done. She knew the pain of deep loss firsthand and suddenly sensed the potential for more looming in her future. So, there was a long string of this in his past, huh? It was easy to believe. Guy exuded an unusual charm. Oh, he was handsome in his snug
jeans and fancy boots but his looks weren't the main attraction at all. He was educated and smart but in a practical sense so it wasn't like he threw off executive vibes that drew the power groupies.

The money might be an important element to certain women. It seemed he had plenty of that to meet all his needs and then some, but Abby had never been around wealth and had no expectations of doing so in the future. That definitely wasn't the draw. Not for her, anyway.

No, there was something special about Guy that she hadn't been able to identify. And now it came to her.

He was… He was…

Endearing.

A quality that a number of women before her had evidently seen, admired, and tried to claim but failed miserably. And sooner or later they'd all wanted to come home, hoping he'd changed his mind about marriage. Was that how Casey had put it? Abby wanted to barf. She was on her way to being one more on the stringer after all.

Well, wake up girlfriend. Not anymore. You have a son to raise and parents who need you. There's only one Savior in your life, and He has a plan for you. So lean not on your own understanding. Which clearly is faulty!

She ached inside but had to admit it was entirely self-inflicted. Guy hadn't made any inappropriate overtures, not even the slightest hint now that she thought about it. If anything, he'd probably treated her as another sister.

Ick.

And like an idiot she'd been the one to caution him against giving anybody the impression there was more than friendship between them? And here she was letting herself wax otherwise. Definitely time for a reality check.

And as if God sent confirmation, Dillon howled.

“Oh, can I see him, please? If he looks anything like he sounds, he's a bruiser.”

The interest in Casey's eyes was sincere.

“As long as you're not grossed out by a stinky diaper, I don't know why not.” There was nothing to do but accept what she'd just learned and move on. Sadly Abby was adept in that area.

In Dillon's doorway she paused to give her son a chance to notice the newcomer. Standing in his crib, chubby fingers gripping the side rail, he stopped mid-wail. As usual there were no tears, just noise enough to call the cows home and produce a face the color of a boiled crayfish. Pleased with the results of his efforts, Dillon's pink lips curved and he ducked his head playing his “shy baby” game.

“May I?” Casey was considerate to ask permission. “I've just gotta cuddle him.”

“Oh sure. He'll go right to you. The stinker can't resist a pretty woman who needs a hug.”

Casey grinned. “Just like Guy!”

 

Something was up. Guy felt it the minute he helped Shorty into the house. Abby said the usual
things, welcomed her dad home, asked after her mother, thanked Guy for his help, but there was a change in her. All business, no warmth. Not toward him anyway. Strangely, that was consistent with Shorty's behavior since he'd come rolling out of his wife's room.

Guy had lots of experience in the area of getting women past that claiming-nothing's-wrong pouting period into the here's-what-I'm-really-upset-about phase.

Shorty was a different story altogether.

He'd grumbled good-night and wheeled his chair down the darkened passage past Dillon's door where all was quiet.

“I'll be there to check on you in a few minutes,” she called.

“Don't bother. Nobody wants to give me credit for it, but I can still pull my pants off and drag myself into the bed under my own steam,” he snapped, obviously in a funk and spoiling for a fight.

“Daddy, wait.”

Abby quirked a brow toward Guy in question before she abandoned the pile of papers she was sorting at the kitchen counter and made a beeline for her father. As she passed the light switch, she brushed her hand over the toggle, sending a slash of warm yellow light across the scarred wooden floor, illuminating the hallway. Shorty stopped his forward motion, sat with his back to them. Abby trailed her hand across his shoulders, crossed in
front of him and squatted so she could look up into his eyes.

“What's wrong? Is it Mama?” she questioned, her voice soft.

Shorty glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging Guy was still present. They needed privacy.

“I'll see myself out,” he offered.

“Wait for me on the back deck. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

It was a statement, not a question. She hadn't even said
please.
He was obviously expected to comply. This was new territory with Abby. Yep, something was definitely up.

The full moon hung high above the tall Texas pines and cast a circle of light over the small backyard that smelled of treated lumber and honeysuckle vines. Guy's boots clunked across the solid deck laid under Shorty's watchful eye as he'd sipped coffee and rattled off instructions between nonstop stories of life back in the day. Before MS. The poor man was at the end of his patience with longing for his wife and there were still a couple more weeks to go before she transitioned home. Why else would he have imagined something was brewing between Guy and Abby?

But Casey had made the same assumption, with some help from big mouth Andrea. And when they'd spoken on the phone two nights ago even Meg, the oldest and most hands-off sister, had quizzed him about what was holding him up in Austin. There was certainly a common theme here, but was there a message?
Great Grandpa Hardy always said if it brayed like a mule and kicked like a mule, it must be a mule.

And would it be so bad if they were all correct?

Would it be wrong if he and Abby did feel an attraction?

There hadn't been anybody special in his life in months, so maybe that was all there was to it. Guy needed to find some quiet time to be still and listen for guidance. So far God hadn't led Guy to the right woman, though it was probably unfair to blame his considerable list of short romances on the good Lord. Guy was open to the idea of a relationship, just not a long-term one. And certainly not a permanent one that involved a family.

Some work with his hands would help. He needed to immerse himself in a glass project. Sketching, soldering and creating meaningful beauty from jagged pieces of broken glass always reminded him that God took broken lives and made them whole and valued again. It was that certainty that had gotten Guy through the debacle in Nashville and it would get him through this, too. Trouble was that for the first time he wasn't one hundred percent certain what he wanted the outcome to be.

“Guy.” Abby's voice preceded the thwack of the screen door closing behind her. She moved into the warm glow of the outdoor lights he'd installed. Her face was serious, no hint of a smile or other indication she was happy to see him.

“We need to talk.”

Oh great. That really meant she had something to say and he needed to listen up. Those words never boded well for the male on the receiving end of the “talk.”

“So, what's up?”

She crossed to the wooden picnic table, raised a dollar-store flip-flop to the edge of the bench seat and stepped up to sit on the tabletop. She motioned for him to join her. She was comfortably dressed in what she'd once pointed out were her favorite pair of cutoff jean shorts, creatively patched with a rainbow bull's eye on the tush. She also wore a T-shirt covered in small colorful handprints, a child's classic summer-camp art project. He couldn't help admiring the shapely thighs and muscles in her calves as he crossed the deck and took a seat on the bench opposite the end where she rested her feet.