The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (7 page)

“This is an intake session that covers all areas, to make sure you receive optimal care. Also, many of our services overlap.”

He nodded and enjoyed the view of her beautiful hair.

“You drink a great deal?” she asked without a trace of emotion. “How much would you say you drink a day?”

“As much as necessary. I drink until I feel better, pass out, or can’t feel anything.”

She studied him for a moment, her face expressionless. “You do know alcohol can change the effect of or weaken some of the medications you’re taking?”

Too stupid a question to answer. Of course he knew. He didn’t care. No drinker would, but at least she didn’t give him the lecture about how he was ruining his life.

She scribbled a few notes before asking, “Do you live alone?”

He nodded.

“How did you get to the hospital today?”

“The community bus for cripples.”

When her gaze flew to his face, he felt a spark of contrary pleasure. He’d gotten to her, but not for long. She looked back to her page, cool as ever.

“Tell me about how you handle the chores of daily living.”

“Chores of daily living?” He laughed without one note of humor. “They don’t get done.”

“We offer in-home services like housekeeping, a medication aide, help with bathing.”

“No,” he said. When she glanced up he added, “Thank you,” but didn’t mean it.

“Are you aware of the veterans’ support groups in the area? One meets at—”

He snorted.

“I take it you’re not interested.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “When you’re ready, if you’re ever interested, I can give you some information. One meets at the Christian Church.” She jotted more notes. “How well do you sleep?”

“Have trouble nodding off.”

“Pain?”

He nodded. “But once I have a couple of nightcaps to blunt the pain and fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up. Could probably stay in bed all day.” He paused. “If it weren’t for the kids.”

She glanced up at him quickly, a touch of confusion in her eyes. “Kids?”

“Yeah, sounds like a dozen but I’ve only seen two boys. About this high, and this high.” He used his hand to indicate their heights.

“Two boys? In your neighborhood?” The confusion had changed to concern.

“In my backyard.”

She blinked. He was getting to her. Good. She looked nervous.

“Yeah, redheaded little fiends, make more noise than you could imagine. Running around in my backyard.”

“Redheaded little fiends?” She closed the file with a slap and leaned forward. “In your yard?” Her voice remained even but her eyes flashed.

He’d pierced her calm facade. Could he tell her she was beautiful when she was angry? No, too clichéd and too forward. Rudeness didn’t bother him these days, but he hated clichés. He nodded and hid a grin of triumph.

“They broke my slider yesterday. Threw a rock through it.”

She glared—only a bit—but emotion in those eyes was much more interesting than her cool, professional demeanor. Obviously the kids hadn’t told her. Of course, it had only happened the day before. Probably hadn’t gotten up their courage yet.

“Yes, the little scamps did. Took me forever to clean the glass off the floor. Talk about chores of daily living. Using a broom and dustpan is difficult for a guy with one leg.”

She swallowed and attempted to mask her response. Cool on the outside but obviously upset inside. “Has the glass been fixed?”

“I took care of it right away but it cost more than I had in the budget.”

The therapist’s beautiful green eyes grew large.

“Funny thing.” He paused. “I gave them my phone number, to have their mother call me. No one did.” He shook his head. “Guess she doesn’t care. Guess she can’t control them.”

She took a deep breath. A determined look covered her face, and her eyes showed a resolute glint. She glared over his head, her lips narrowed to almost nothing. An amazing transformation from compassionate professional to troubled mother.

“As you have probably guessed, those two were my sons. Your expenditure will be taken care of and the nuisance addressed.” She stood. “If you will excuse me.” She headed toward the door and opened it. “I’m going to ask Mike to work with you on strengthening your leg and core muscles and on improving your balance. We’ll complete the intake during your next appointment.”

He watched her walk out the door.

He didn’t get as much pleasure out of ticking people off as he used to, but, as long as he got a reaction, he wasn’t about to stop. What else did he have to do, other than watch the great parts of Willow Thomas as she moved away from him? He figured she’d refuse to add that means of entertainment to his treatment plan.

The occupational therapist would expect him to find a wheelchair basketball league or learn to whittle, but neither of those interested him nearly as much as Willow Thomas and the way her eyes flashed when she became upset.

Nothing scared him more than the attraction toward this woman. He was a mess and so was his life. He knew what a bargain he was
not
. She had too much on her plate now without taking on a bitter cripple.

Besides, his interest was completely physical. The woman had a great body, and she was nice enough. But he had no interest in an emotional entanglement with a single mother of two rambunctious boys, or any woman for that matter.

Watching her didn’t commit him to anything, however, and it gave him more pleasure than anything had in a long time.

W
illow pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, parked, and turned off the ignition. Her husband had bought her this very expensive car two years ago, back when he was seeing Tiffany but still felt guilty about it. The insurance payments took a big hunk of her paycheck. Her lawyer should have done a better job on that. Also, the backseat was tiny and the gas mileage was terrible, but it looked great and went very fast on the highway.

As she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, she knew she was delaying entering the apartment, postponing the discussion with the boys. What was she going to do with them? What should she do about them? They were young boys who’d lost their father, friends, and home to come to a small town hundreds of miles away from Chicago with a completely different culture and climate.

Knowing they’d want to be active, she’d enrolled them in a day camp until school started, but not enough had signed up so the last session was canceled. By that time, it was too late to enroll them in the summer soccer league. She could hardly take them to work, but she thought they’d be safe playing in the park, walking to the library, and wandering over to the box store on the edge of town. After all, they were eight and ten. Never had she thought they’d trespass and break a window.

She shouldn’t have allowed the captain’s revelation to bother her so much. For heaven’s sake, she’d run out on a patient during the intake sessions. How incompetent did that appear? But she’d felt overwhelmed by life, and breaking down in tears in front of the captain wouldn’t seem professional to him or to anyone. Certainly not to her.

Exactly what she needed: to have Leo and Nick running wild and to have a patient think she was a terrible, uncaring mother. That would hardly justify his having confidence in any area.

Would it have mattered if the patient hadn’t been Captain Peterson? As much as she tried to ignore it, the question wiggled into her brain. Yes, he was handsome and charismatic. His eyes smoldered. Wasn’t that the word they used in romance novels? Didn’t the hero always have smoldering eyes that burned into the soul of the heroine? But this wasn’t a book and he wasn’t the hero and she shouldn’t care about the opinion of a patient more than that of anyone else.

Nor was this about her. This was about Leo and Nick and how she could guide them without making them more unhappy about their situation.

But as hard as she attempted to ignore this—she certainly was deep in denial this afternoon—she had to admit she liked how the captain had looked at her, as if he found her an attractive woman, maybe even sexy. Her self-esteem had suffered when she first found out about Tiffany, but the captain seemed to…

“Mom?”

She glanced up to see Nick standing at her window.

“Is there something wrong?” He frowned a little as if wondering why she was still in the car in the parking lot. “Are you sick?”

“No.” She smiled at him. Plenty of time to talk about that broken slider once she was inside with both boys. “Just thinking. But I do want to talk to you and Leo.”

“Oh.”

That one syllable, spoken in the high, shaky voice Nick used when he was worried or frightened, tipped her off. He and his brother
had
broken the slider and hadn’t told her. Not that she’d doubt the captain, who had no reason to make the story up, but she’d wanted to ask the boys first. Now she knew.

“Let’s go inside.” She opened the door and handed the sack of hamburgers to him. Probably shouldn’t buy their favorite fast food when she was going to have to punish them, but after a long day of work, she couldn’t face cooking. “Where’s your brother?”

Nick gulped as he took the bag. “Watching television,” he said, his voice still wavering.

When she unlocked the apartment and Nick shoved the door open, he said, “Mom wants to talk to us.”

If she hadn’t already known what had happened, the sight of Leo leaping to his feet and glancing at his brother in silent communication would have tipped her off. She closed the door, walked toward the window, and opened the blinds. That completed, she turned back to face the boys. “Boys, does either of you want to tell me about Captain Peterson?”

“Mom, he’s the coolest man,” Nick said. “He has tattoos—I mean tats—and he’s a marine.”

“He was wounded,” Leo added, his voice filled with admiration.

She could tell by his face that her eldest had just realized a wounded marine might end up at physical therapy. “Have you met him?” he asked.

She nodded.

Nick and Leo exchanged glances again.

“Guess we’d better tell you what happened,” Leo said.

“Yes, and after you do that, explain why you didn’t tell me about it and what you’re going to do to repay the captain.” She’d have to be tough because she didn’t want anyone—not only the captain—to think she let the boys get away with anything.

But making the boys compensate him for the broken door meant she’d have to see him again. She didn’t want to, not outside the secure walls of the hospital, the safe haven of the physical therapy department where she could hide behind her professional demeanor. He and his scrutiny made her feel attractive, like a woman again, as her husband had done for years. But Grant taught her not to trust men, and she’d learned that lesson well. With two sons, she didn’t dare make another mistake.

Adam hurried across the parking lot toward the church, carrying the plate of warm muffins Ouida had handed him on his way out of the parsonage.

Surely there could be no better place for a bachelor than living next to a friendly neighbor who baked. He whistled as he entered the church. When he spotted the frown on Maggie’s face, the whistling stopped.

“You have a guest.” She continued to type the bulletin, but her tone and lack of eye contact suggested he might not be pleased with the identity of the visitor.

Guessing who it was, Adam attempted to recapture his exhilaration. It eluded him. He hadn’t seen Miss Birdie’s old van outside, but she could have walked. No destination in town was too far to walk.

“Who is it?” he whispered.

Maggie kept her eye on the screen and didn’t answer. Surely setting the margin couldn’t demand so much attention.

Squaring his shoulders, Adam pushed the door open and walked into the minister’s study. He knew he should call this his study, but he worried about acting too possessive, as if claiming this as his might make the extraordinary place disappear. Magical and un-Christian thinking, he knew.

Yes, Miss Birdie stood next to the desk. She hadn’t heard him enter and rubbed her shoulder as if… Well, for a moment, she looked vulnerable. Like a real person, like a church member whose minister should comfort her instead of wanting to run and hide every time he saw her.

When she heard him come in, the pillar dropped her hands and turned toward him. Her lips curved, an expression he couldn’t read but made him suspicious. She looked almost friendly.

He had to quit judging Miss Birdie. She was a member of the congregation, a child of God who deserved to be loved and accepted by her minister. Adam smiled back. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, first you need to do something about these books all over the place.”

“I agree, but…” He realized as he began to defend the mess that the books weren’t the real reason for her visit. Oddly, instead of appearing confident, she looked almost uncertain about her purpose. Adam guessed the hesitation would disappear as soon as the reason for her presence emerged. Miss Birdie wasn’t one to hem and haw.

The minister gestured toward the two chairs he’d cleared after her first visit and walked to the desk. Piles of books and tottering stacks of paper littered the surface. As if he’d always meant to do exactly that, Adam opened the large bottom drawer, swept the mess inside, and closed it. “Won’t you have a seat?”

“No, I need to get some things done before the lunch crowd comes in.” She paused. “Preacher, I’d like you to be my guest for breakfast in the morning.”

Now Adam felt incredibly foolish. He’d misjudged Miss Birdie again and should look out for that tendency. He needed to be more accepting. “How nice of you. Thank you. Eight o’clock at the diner?”

“No, no, no. A little earlier. Maybe seven fifteen? Before the crowd gets there.”

Why so early? Had she said
before the crowd
? Although Adam hadn’t eaten there yet, he thought most people who had to get to work would arrive about seven. And if she wanted to discuss something important, why would the restaurant be a better place to converse than the church office?

There he went again, trying to explain and understand her invitation instead of accepting it gratefully. “Seven fifteen. Thank you. I’ll be there.”

She walked to the door before turning and looking a little uncertain. “Oh, and wear a tie, please. Don’t suppose you could get a haircut?”

Odd.

“I… aah… want to show my minister off to all my customers.”

“I’ll try.” But before he could complete those two syllables, she’d disappeared, again without a good-bye.

That night, as Adam walked home after a tough game of three-on-three with Hector and his friends, two questions repeated through his brain. First, considering the aches and pains he suffered from the blocks and shoves, should he play ball with kids ten years younger? Without resolving that concern, because he knew he’d never give the game up as long as he could still dribble, he pondered Miss Birdie’s odd invitation to breakfast. Attempting to understand the twists and turns of the pillar’s brain baffled Adam, and yet hadn’t he promised himself not to always believe she had ulterior motives? Hadn’t he decided to trust Miss Birdie? He gave up trying to figure her out as he approached the front steps of the parsonage.

As Adam contemplated himself in the mirror at six forty-five Thursday morning, he knew he had to get a haircut. Most of the first check had paid for repairs on the car. He’d set the rest aside for food because he’d run out of the goodies people had brought those first weeks. Surely he could scrape together enough to get a haircut soon. At least he was wearing a tie, he thought as he straightened it.

Adam left the house at 7:05, plenty of time to walk to the diner. When he entered the restaurant, he looked around. All the booths lining the walls plus the five or six tables in the center of the room and every stool at the counter were occupied, mostly by men drinking coffee and talking. He spotted a few members of the congregation and was headed in the direction of Howard’s booth when Miss Birdie intercepted him. Her plastic nametag said only
BIRDIE
. If he wanted to escape her wrath, he figured he should never call her that.

“Good morning, Pastor Adam. We’re busy this morning so you’re going to have to share a booth.”

Odd. He thought she wanted to share breakfast with him, to talk to him about something personal, a problem or concern, but how did she expect to do that here? The place was packed. People held up cups for refills all over the room. She obviously had to work.

And this was
before the crowd
?

Adam pointed toward the booth where the elders sat. “I’ll join them.”

“No, no, I have a place set and ready for you.” She grabbed his arm with her free hand and gestured toward the corner with the coffeepot she held in the other.

Adam had made it a rule never to oppose a woman armed with a hot carafe. However, when the two got within six feet of the booth, he realized a young woman sat there, her back to them as she read the paper. He stopped.

“Someone’s already there,” he said although he knew full well why someone was already there. The matchmaker had roped him in, set him up. He’d been dumb enough to believe her sincerity, accept her invitation, and walk into her trap.

When would he learn?

With a quick glance at the woman in the booth—who, fortunately, hadn’t noticed that he and his captor stood only a few feet away—then another peek at the door, Adam calculated his chance of escape. Could he run fast enough to get out of the diner before the woman in the booth could lift her eyes from the opinion page of the
Austin American-Statesman
?