The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (13 page)

“We have a problem,” Winnie whispered, pointing toward a platter on the counter.

“Heavens preserve us,” Birdie whispered. They were out of fried chicken. How could such a thing have happened? Distracted by the preacher’s love life, she hadn’t noticed. How could she have acted so irresponsibly?

“What do we do now?” Mercedes picked up an empty plate while Birdie shoved a casserole of Pansy’s delicious chicken spaghetti into the space left on the counter.

“I’ll run down to the H-E-B and pick up more,” Winnie suggested. She pulled her keys from her purse and studied Birdie, a question so obvious in her eyes even Birdie couldn’t ignore it.

Mercedes watched both women and waited.

Birdie knew what Winnie’s words and actions meant: a test of Birdie’s leadership, a day of reckoning, Armageddon in the kitchen of the Christian Church. If she took Winnie up on her offer, there was no retreat, no going back. Winnie would be a Widow against all the rules of widowdom.

Birdie sensed that everyone in the fellowship hall froze, as if time had stopped. Every eye in the hall lifted to the two women. Those in line stared, their gazes hopping back and forth between Birdie and Winnie as if they were watching a tennis match. Birdie saw that the preacher—poor young man, he should be spared a scene like this—had been attempting to chat with the blond visitor. His efforts at conversation stopped as his glance leaped toward the Widows and the wannabe.

The moment immobilized those at the tables with their forks halfway to their mouths, but their stares glued to Birdie’s face.

The time had come.

How should she answer the challenge?

Not a sound came from the room, but it seemed as if Winnie’s words and the jingling of her keys still echoed around them.

Then Birdie nodded. “Get two large buckets.”

With that, everyone went back to eating or talking or picking up food from the dishes scattered across the counter while Winnie hurried out the side door and into the parking lot.

Mercedes said, “She did a good job in rounding up and delivering the food to Sam Peterson.”

Birdie knew exactly what her friend meant. She’d done the right thing to add one more Widow to the group, but she had needed an excuse, like fried chicken.

“Hey, Grandma.” Bree stood in front of her, piling her plate with more food than a girl should have been able to put away without gaining at least a pound or two—no matter how tall and thin she was. Bree had her mother’s eyes but her height came from her father. Dad gum man.

“Hello, dear.” Birdie patted her granddaughter’s hand. “Where’s your sister?”

“Over there with Willy Marti, Jesse’s grandson.” Bree rolled her eyes. “Grandma, she’s too young to have a boyfriend.”

Before Birdie could answer—she agreed but now wasn’t the time to discuss the fact—Bree hurried over to the dessert table and grabbed the last piece of Pansy’s better-than-sex cake.

“They’re good kids.” Mercedes picked up a pile of empty dishes and put them in the sink to soak. “You know they are. You worry too much.”

“Their mother was into drugs at fifteen. That could happen to them also. No one’s immune.” Birdie joined her friend to clear the counter as the last few members filled their plates. “Could end up like their mother.” She hated to even consider that, but they could, either one. The possibility broke her heart.

“Do you see any signs they’re doing drugs?”

No, she hadn’t, and she knew what to look for. She’d watched her daughter’s slide and been powerless to stop it. Even now, tears clouded her eyes as she thought of that precious child and how she’d destroyed her own life.

When Birdie didn’t answer, Mercedes said, “I haven’t heard anything bad about them, and you know I hear everything. They’re good kids. They make good grades.”

“Lots of things to worry about with kids today.” Birdie picked up a sponge and wrung it out in the sink. “Pregnancy. You know how many girls don’t finish school.” She’d spoken to each granddaughter often to warn them of the dangers of unprotected sex, to beg them to abstain until they were old enough to handle the responsibility involved. How likely was it they’d remember that when one of them was out in a car with a pushy teenage boy whose testosterone levels were through the roof—the usual status for a high school boy—and the moon shone romantically and love songs played on the radio?

Just then, Winnie hurried in with the chicken, which started a rush on the counter.

“They’re good girls,” Mercedes said as she picked up a few serving spoons.

Yes, they were good girls, Mac and Bree, but a lot of unknowns awaited them outside the walls of this church and the little house they shared, temptations that could lead them astray, exactly as they had dear Martha. She had no idea how to keep the girls safe without tying them to the sofa.

And she didn’t know any knots that would keep them there.

H
ey, Captain,” Nick shouted. “Did you realize there’s a chocolate cake all wrapped up in foil in the freezer?”

Sam eyed the bundle as he spread mustard on three pieces of bread. “How do you know it’s chocolate cake?”

“I peeked.” Nick paused. “You know, only to make sure it… umm… wasn’t something that might spoil.” He fingered the foil. “I think if we unwrap it while it’s still frozen, the frosting won’t come off.” Nick put the lumpy package on the counter and carefully stripped off the covering.

“Looks good.” Leo snapped off a small chunk of frozen icing and chewed, his head to the side as if considering the flavor. “And it tastes good. No freezer burn.”

Sam picked up the note wrapped inside and read it. “It’s from Farley Masterson.”

“He doesn’t like us,” Nick mumbled from a mouth full of frozen cake.

“You know Farley Masterson?” Sam asked.

Sam did. Deputy Masterson had given him a hard time when he visited his aunt. Not that he didn’t deserve some of it, but Masterson was a hard man who didn’t like boys. The guy must have mellowed a bit. Nice of him to bake Sam a cake.

“Yeah.” Leo nodded. “He doesn’t like us.”

“He said we’re loud and have bad manners. He upset Mom.” He shook his head. “We hate it when that happens.”

“He’s the reason we started playing in your yard. We didn’t think anyone lived here, not at first. ’Cause you didn’t yet, not when we first came around.”

“It worked out okay.” Sam glanced at both boys, who looked at him with wide, admiring eyes. He was getting deeper into the lives of these kids than he should, liked them more than was wise, but he couldn’t ignore them the way that jerk of a father did. “You might want to let it thaw.”

Before he finished the sentence, the boys had used a sharp knife and a lot of force to cut the cake into large slices, placed them on napkins, and began to wrap it up in foil again.

“Don’t forget your mother, men.”

Looking guilty, they cut a small piece for their mother.

“Mom’s not a big eater,” Leo said. “Always watching her weight.”

“Eat your sandwiches first,” Sam warned with a grin. He figured these two devoured everything that wasn’t locked away before she had a chance.

He picked up the small piece of cake, covered it with foil, and handed it to Nick. “Put this in the refrigerator. Don’t eat it.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

After they finished lunch, including the still-icy cake, Sam picked up the clipboard and totaled the boys’ hours. “That does it,” he said. “You guys are finished. You’ve paid off the four hundred dollars.” He glanced up expecting to see smiles. Instead, the boys studied him with the sad, puppy-dog expressions that broke the small section of his heart he allowed the brothers to touch. The part that expanded every day, whether he liked it or not.

“Don’t you have more work we can do?” Nick asked.

“You guys are good workers. I can’t think of anything more and I don’t have the money right now to pay you.”

“You don’t have to. Maybe… maybe we could just hang out with you.” Leo stood and came to attention. “For free, sir.”

“Hang out?” Sam said.

“You know. Do stuff together.” Nick followed his brother’s example and stood. “Sir.”

“I know what
hang out
means, Nick. You guys want to hang out here?”

The surprise in his voice must have wounded the boys. Did they think he didn’t want them around? They nodded, their expressions even more vulnerable. Crap. He couldn’t hurt them. “Okay, but doing what?”

“Well,” Nick said in an uncertain voice. “Could you…​could you…”

“What?”

“He wants you to take him to the first day of school. He’s afraid to go alone,” Leo said. “Sir.”

Double crap.

“Am not
afraid
.” Nick glared at his brother but knew better than to punch him, not in Sam’s house. Instead, he thrust his lower lip out as if daring him to disagree. “I’m not afraid.” Then he turned to Sam. “Sir, Mom wants to take me, but I’m too
old
for my mother to take me to school.”

“Are you enrolled?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Leo said. “I’d like you to go with me, too. We’re both at the elementary school, so you’d only have to go one place.”

“Won’t your mother want to take you and meet your teachers?”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Nick made a disgusted face by stretching his lips out and frowning. “But we’re not little kids. We don’t want the other guys to make fun of us.”

“How does your mother feel about this?” Sam guessed she’d be hurt, but what did he know about this woman’s feelings?

“She won’t care,” Nick said.

“It’s going to hurt her,” Leo corrected. “But we’re men now. Gyrenes.”

“Gyrenes honor all women and care about their mothers,” Sam said. “Gyrenes don’t hurt their mothers’ feelings. That’s not being a man. That’s being a grunt. Do you want to be a grunt?”

“Sir! No, sir,” they shouted in unison as they stood at attention.

“And I don’t have a way to get you to school. Have you noticed that, marines?”

Nick said, “Sir, no, sir,” at the same time Leo said, “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Sir,” said Nick, his thin shoulders held straight and high, his narrow chest thrust forward. “My mother can pick you up. You could go with us.”

“Why would I want to do that, marine?”

Neither boy had an answer. Their silence and the solemn entreaty in their eyes made him feel like a heartless, selfish jerk. They were kids, just kids.

“What day?” Sam asked.

“Tuesday after Labor Day, sir,” the boys said in unison.

Had they practiced this?

He had several handy and completely believable excuses, good excuses. His leg hurt. Even after having more cushioning and doing exercises in PT with the prosthesis, he couldn’t walk for long. He didn’t have a car and he didn’t like getting into a car because he looked so clumsy and Willow’s car was really low. He could tell them he had no interest in their lives. But he couldn’t lie. And he couldn’t hurt them.

He wasn’t their father. He wasn’t even related. He had no responsibility here. Still, he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“Sir, please?” The last word ended with a quaver in Nick’s voice that made the kid swallow hard and glance, embarrassed, at his older brother.

Sam could tell them no if real Gyrenes stood in front of him, but not these two. They needed a man in their lives, even a half-used-up man like him.

In his head he cursed. They were opening him up like a trout being gutted. It hurt.

“Then, sir, yes, sir, I will come to school with you next week.”

The boys looked at each other and laughed and shouted, then started toward him.

“Do not break formation, marines.”

They stopped, completely still, and came to attention. “Sir, no, sir,” they said.

“Sir, will you wear your uniform?” Leo asked.

Where had he put his uniform? Had the general taken it back to Ohio with him? It wasn’t in his closet. Other than jeans and T-shirts, nothing was. “No, but I will wear my marine T-shirt.”

“Cool,” they said, still at attention but smiling happily.

He’d never seen such happy marines. No, kids. He couldn’t make these guys into fantasy. They were kids. He was a washed up ex-marine with only one leg. In his fantasy, these boys had become his men, his troops. Pitiful.

Even worse, every time they were here, he hoped their mother would drop by, so he could catch an eyeful of her. Even more pathetic.

Okay, if the boys wanted to hang, he had to come up with something for them to do. If they had the material, they could start on that fence, but they didn’t. They’d already measured but the lumberyard couldn’t deliver until next week. Neither he nor their mother wanted them to just sit around and watch him sleep. He had allowed them to spend a little time watching DVDs of old war movies with him, and that would eat up thirty minutes before they became restless. What could they do the rest of the time?

Maybe he could teach them manners. A couple of weeks earlier, the general had sent him stationery in case he felt like writing anyone. Oh, sure. The box lay in the bottom drawer of his dresser, still sealed in cellophane or whatever that plastic stuff was.

“Marines, time to write a thank-you note to Mr. Masterson for that great cake.”

After Leo completed that chore and Sam found a stamp in the package of stationery, the boys ran to the corner and mailed it while Sam watched from the porch.

He was becoming a mother hen, but if anything happened to those kids, their real mother would kill him. Or shout at him. Or give him that disappointed look her sons had described. Sam didn’t think he could take that.

“What are you guys doing?”

His attention had been so focused on the boys he hadn’t realized Willow had approached the house, even climbed the steps of the porch, and stood only five feet from him. What kind of marine allowed an incursion like that? What kind of
man
didn’t notice a woman like Willow standing that close?

“Mom.” Nick bounced up the steps. “We saved you a piece of cake.”

“Chocolate cake,” Leo added.

“Where did it come from? Did you bake it, Captain?”

“I’m not much of a cook, ma’am.”

“There was a note from Mr. Masterson with it,” Leo said.

“He must have donated it when Miss Pansy brought me food.”

“Because we ate so much, Sam made us write a letter to thank him,” Nick said, then gulped when Leo glared at him for giving away the fact they’d eaten chocolate cake, not exactly a health food.

“Thank you for helping the boys with their manners.” She smiled at Sam. “I’ve tried. It’s not easy.”

“Come on inside, Mom. The cake’s in the refrigerator.” Leo opened the front door for her.

“Do you mind?” She glanced at Sam, oddly uncomfortable; he noticed.

“No, ma’am.” He liked calling her “ma’am.” It put a little distance between them. Probably why she called him “Captain.” “You’d better hurry before your sons eat the whole thing themselves.”

Nick took her hand. “Come into the kitchen.”

She glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her. He lifted his eyes to her face. Had she noticed? Probably didn’t matter. Most likely she was accustomed to guys checking her out.

“Have a seat.” He remembered as he spoke that there were only two chairs at the kitchen table and the stepstool the boys dragged in so the three of them could all sit there. She took one chair and he took the other.

Nick took a fork from the drawer, placed it on the table in front of his mother, then stood at attention next to her while Leo brought her the piece of cake.

“Looks lovely.” She looked at the sliver and grinned.

“It’s not very big, is it?” Leo said. “We should have cut you more.”

“This is exactly the right amount. Thank you.”

“We asked the captain to take us to school,” Leo said. “Along with you. Is that okay?”

“Oh?” She glanced at Sam, but he couldn’t read the expression. Was she hurt that they wanted him along? No, he thought she looked more nervous than displeased.

“Is that all right?” he asked.

“Of course. I’ll have the boys give you the information when we know more.”

She cut the tip of the cake, placed it on her tongue, and closed her mouth to chew.

Oh, Mama. He could watch her do that all day.

It only took her a few seconds to finish the small piece. Then she glanced at Sam. Obviously he hadn’t hidden the emotion that had flooded him as he’d watched her savor the cake.

“Gyrenes, pick up the equipment in the backyard.” With a quick movement of his head, Sam signaled for the boys to leave. As they ran out to obey his orders, he put his hand on hers.

She glanced down at their hands, then lifted her eyes to his. “Captain, this is a very bad idea.” She stood but he held her hand in place so she couldn’t move away. She didn’t struggle but she didn’t sit, either. “Captain…”

“Sam,” he said.

“I need to go. It’s not a bit professional for me to be here.” She nodded toward his hand. “Like this. Alone.”

“You’re not my only physical therapist. What’s-his-name works with me, too.”

“Yes, but I do work with you and will supervise the fit of your prosthesis.”

He grinned. Although he didn’t know why, the expression was usually very successful with women.

“Oh.” She blinked.

Obviously the grin worked on her, too, because she sat back down slowly, as if she’d lost the strength in both of her legs and the will to resist. He could only hope.

He was glad she’d settled in the chair next to him because standing, balancing on one good leg and a prosthesis wasn’t easy. Even seated, he couldn’t keep his feet steady on the floor. Sure that falling out of the chair wouldn’t show his macho-ness, Sam kept his right elbow on the table to stabilize himself. Feeling secure enough to make a move, he leaned forward to run his thumb down her cheek. He hadn’t flirted with or attempted to seduce a woman in forever. Had he forgotten how to do it?

She blinked again and swallowed, but she didn’t say anything. Then she shivered a little. He grinned, inside. He still had it.

Slipping his hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward gently and leaned in enough—keeping himself balanced—to touch her lips with his. Then he pulled her even closer until their mouths met, hard against each other. He nibbled her lower lip. For a moment she relaxed and opened her mouth a little, but when he started to slip his tongue inside, she pulled away and leaped to her feet.

“No fair,” he said. “I can’t stand up that fast.”

“I… I… have to see how my sons are doing.” But she didn’t move, just stood still and studied him.

“Coward,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then what?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I… my husband…”

“Must have been a complete idiot.”

For a moment she stared at him. Then she grinned. “Yes, he was, but Tiffany’s a young and gorgeous creature. One day he’s going to realize she has no brain, but right now he doesn’t care.”

Pushing on the table, he stood. “Don’t run away.”

“I wasn’t.” She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Okay, I was. And I am, but…”