CHAPTER 2
RUSS GLANCED out the kitchen window and saw Beth trying to wrestle the oversize box into the back seat of the car. Why did she refuse his help? What was she trying to prove? That she didn’t need anybody? Ten years after the fact, and she still had a chip as big as a shoebox on her shoulder.
When he’d thought about seeing her again—and he had a time or two over the years—he’d never pictured her still living with her aunt. He’d pictured her living somewhere like New York.
He blocked out Harriet’s voice as his gaze scanned the confusion in the kitchen. This house—it was filled with “stuff.” Boxes and crates of “stuff” were everywhere. How could Beth stand it?
Dave mentioned in his letters that Beth had moved back home during her mother’s illness. Russ supposed at the time the move was temporary. After her mother’s death, he had expected her to place her aunt in a care facility and return to her own life. Now, it seemed a vibrant, incredibly warm, incredibly proud woman was burying herself in familial duty. The idea disturbed him. He valued strong family ties as much as anybody, but Harriet, with her eccentric ways, would suck the life right out of Beth.
He listened to Harry with half an ear while watching Beth beside her car. She had always been focused in school. Intellectual, in the nicest way. That was one of the things that had attracted him to her…that and her cute nose with its sprinkling of freckles. Her clear green eyes had sparkled with fun in those days, even considering the responsibility she’d shouldered.
The freckles hadn’t faded, nor, did it seem, had his attraction to her. That thought was more disturbing than all the others put together. He was having a hard enough time resisting the urge to come home. During the years since college, he’d traveled until he had his fill of it. He was tired of the nomadic life. Tired of waking up in a different place every morning.
He wanted to lay down roots, belong. But he’d worked hard for this new job, and the position required that he live in Washington. Washington D.C. was no Morning Sun.
His eyes drifted back to Beth. In high school he’d wanted to ask her out a second time, but she’d always seemed involved with her family. Everyone in town knew that Beth and her mother were Harriet’s only family, and it was understood that Harriet would always need a watchdog. Every time he’d approached Beth to try to talk, there’d been some crisis at her home and she’d been in a hurry to leave. Then, he’d graduated and had been headed to an out-of-state college. After that, he started working and hadn’t had much opportunity to visit Morning Sun.
He glanced at Harriet who was half-buried in the refrigerator now. Now that was one peculiar woman.
“Here.” Aunt Harry handed him a thermos. “You take this soup home with you. Warm it up in the microwave.”
Before he could explain that David didn’t have a microwave, he saw Beth finally maneuver the box into the back seat. A moment later, her car started down the drive. His eye caught the skateboard lying in her path. He jerked open the door, but before he could yell a warning, the sound of the crunching board drowned out the sound of hard plastic splintering against the bottom of the car.
“Holy moley!” Aunt Harry exclaimed. “It’s a train wreck!”
Handing the soup back to Harriet, Russ opened the screen and limped down the steps, assessing the possible damage to Beth’s car. Beth was still behind the wheel with a stunned look on her face.
“Are you all right?”
“Is she all right?” Harry asked, following close on Russ’s heels.
When he reached the Grand Am, Beth pushed open the door and slowly stepped out. He noted the slow exit. Whiplash from running over a skateboard? She leaned against the fender, staring at the splintered board crushed beneath the fender well, then glanced at him.
“What was that?”
“A skateboard. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I didn’t see it.”
“I’ll check the tire. One of those plastic shards could have punctured it.”
“Beth needs a cup of herbal tea,” Aunt Harry insisted. “Chamomile to calm her nerves.”
“I’m all right, Aunt Harry. I just wasn’t sure what I’d hit. Thank goodness, it wasn’t a person. I want to get that little table back to the store.”
“What’s wrong with the old one?” Harry asked. “You haven’t had it any time.” She shook her head. “Young people today. They don’t know the value of a dollar, always spending money.” She tsked.
“One leg doesn’t fit,” Beth reminded her.
“A leg? Doesn’t fit what?”
“The screw holes are drilled wrong,” Beth explained.
Russ could see Beth’s patience was running thin. Straightening, he brushed his hands. “The tire isn’t damaged, but the skateboard’s a loss.”
“Joe’s always leaving that contraption lying around,” Harry told him. “I’ll call his mother and complain again, but it never does any good.”
Russ opened the car door for Beth. “Why don’t I drive you to the store?”
He was surprised to see color flood her face. “I can drive myself,” she insisted.
“I’m sure you can, but I’m not doing anything in particular, and it won’t take thirty minutes.”
“Beth, now you let David help you,” Aunt Harry said. “It won’t take thirty minutes.”
Releasing a sigh, Beth slid behind the wheel. “You’re welcome to ride along, if you want.”
“I’ll drive.”
“No—”
Leaning closer, he pressed his mouth against her ear. The unexpected warmth touched off a firestorm in his lower half. “You’re being stubborn, and you’re moving a little strangely. What’d you do? Strain your back hauling the box back and forth? I’m going to tell Harry you’re hurt if you say anything more. You wouldn’t let me help you with it before, but I’m going to help now, so stop arguing.”
She shrank back, her gaze locked with his.
“I’ll give you a hundred dollars to let me go,” he mouthed, hoping to woo her with humor.
She stared at him blankly, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”
He was relieved she got the message. Besides, she was his only hope to escape Harry. She gingerly slid across the seat, and snapped her seat belt into place.
Relieved to have won the skirmish, Russ swung behind the wheel. “Miss Morris, thanks for the enchiladas.”
“Call me Aunt Harry, Phillip. And come back for supper.” The old lady beamed. “We’re having eggs.”
Russ backed around the splintered skateboard, and slipped the transmission into drive.
“My back is perfectly fine,” Beth said softly.
“Sure it is.” He adjusted the rearview mirror, squinting. “That’s why you crawled into the car. You’ve strained your back. Why don’t you want to admit it?”
“You can’t prove that.”
When he glanced over at her, she was looking out the window, focused on the scenery. Still stubborn as ever. He flipped on the radio, and found a country music station. “Like the song says, that’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”
A smiled played at the corners of her mouth. “Something like that.”
They made the ten-minute trip in silence. Russ considered himself lucky to find a parking space in front of Roeberry’s Furniture and Appliances. The downtown store was always busy. When Beth eased out of the car, and reached for the box, he gently moved her aside.
“Does old man Roeberry still terrorize his customers?”
“I’m afraid he still tries.”
“Why do people continue to trade with him?”
“I don’t know—habit, I guess. He beats the mall prices.”
Russ effortlessly lifted the box out of the back seat. Swinging the table onto his shoulder, he motioned her to walk ahead. Roeberry’s hadn’t changed an iota. The long aisles were still packed with sofas, recliners and end tables. Toward the back, bedroom suites and kitchen tables and chairs lined the walls.
The brick building had been a department store when he was in high school; the ornate front built in the 1930s. The exterior was painted a dull armygreen now. Intricate carvings were etched in the window frames and doors that ran the length of the drafty two-story monstrosity. Near the back, on the right, a lift elevator stood waiting to grind customers to the second floor.
As Beth hobbled into the store, a man, nearly as wide as he was tall, got up from behind a scarred desk. Bald, wearing an ill-fitting tobacco-brown suit, the florid-faced proprietor planted himself directly in front of the doorway.
“Don’t you try bringin’ that table back in here, Beth Davis. You bought it, it’s yours.”
Beth didn’t appear to cave in at the threat. “Walter, the leg doesn’t fit. I want a new one.”
Walter’s face flamed. “Sorry, the table is a one of a kind, special purchase. It cannot be returned.”
Beth nudged the box with her foot. “The leg doesn’t fit. I want another one.”
“The leg won’t fit? Nonsense.” Walter spared Russ a brief eye acknowledgement. “Perhaps whoever tried to assemble it—”
“I assembled it, Walter. It’s faulty.”
“You assembled it?” The storeowner shot Russ a patronizing look, which, Russ suspected, was a mistake judging by Beth’s raised eyebrows.
A few people stopped to listen to the disagreement. Russ was uncomfortable with the public confrontation. The old Beth would never back down. He had a hunch the new Beth wouldn’t, either, and there was going to be a scene. He cringed when he saw her plant her feet and assume a battle stance.
Crossing her arms, she fired the first volley. “Mr. Roeberry, do you know the differences between tongue-and-groove pliers, electrician’s pliers, and locking pliers?”
“Do I what—?”
“A combination wrench and a monkey wrench?”
“Well—”
“A ball-peen hammer and a regular hammer?”
“Now see here—”
“A regular screwdriver and a spiral ratchet screwdriver?”
Walter glanced at Russ. He shrugged. He was sure about the pliers and hammers, but he’d have to think about the screwdriver and spiral ratchet.
Beth uncrossed her arms. “Well, Mr. Roeberry, I do. So I suggest you forget the bunk and get me a new table.”
Her tirade was met by scattered applause. Russ glanced over his shoulder to see more than a half dozen people stopped to observe the spirited exchange. Meeting Beth’s gaze, he lifted his hands and silently applauded her. She blushed, continuing.
“The screw holes for one table leg are drilled wrong. I don’t know what that means in your book, Mr. Roeberry, but in mine that means poor craftsmanship. And that means, Mr. Roeberry, that the attention to detail in your “handcrafted” furniture line is lacking.”
Walter’s eyes shifted to the left, then to the right as others gathered to listen.
“Now, Walter. We can settle this amicably, or I can leave here and tell everyone I meet that Walter Roeberry doesn’t value his customers and refuses to stand behind his furniture.”
“Oh, now, Bethany. That would be a little extreme,” Walter chided.
Beth’s eyebrows lifted curiously. “Do you think?”
“Well, now—”
“What’ll it be, Walter?” Beth met the owner’s eyes. “All I want is a table with four matching legs that will properly attach to the top.”
Roeberry appeared to weigh her argument against the swelling crowd.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get you another table. Good grief.”
Beth straightened, dropping her arms to her sides. “Thank you, Mr. Roeberry.”
Russ stepped closer to her as Walter waddled back to the storeroom for another table mumbling all the way.
“You’re one tough cookie.”
Beth met his gaze stoically then turned to inspect the table Walter set before her.
* * *
Russ BRAKED the Grand Am in front of Aunt Harry’s, slipping the transmission into Park. He sat for a moment, studying Beth.
“What?” she asked, blushing under his close perusal. He hadn’t met a woman who blushed in fifteen years.
“How come you stayed in Morning Sun?”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re here now.”
“I didn’t stay. I went to college, worked a couple of years, Mom got sick and I came back to take care of Harry and her. End of story.” She shrugged. “Simple as that.”
There was no need to explain why someone had to be with Aunt Harry.
“Isn’t there anyone, but you, to assume her care?”
“No. Greg lives in Los Angeles. You probably haven’t met my brother. He’s older than I—graduated the year before you and David moved to town. Greg is an investment counselor. He’s about to be married for the fourth time. He isn’t the most stable Davis,” she admitted. “It’s up to me to look after Aunt Harry.”
Greg was unstable, too? Russ shuddered.
He studied Beth’s profile. The upturned nose, stubbornly rounded chin, soft lips, wisps of curling hair that had come loose from the ponytail. Desire flooded him. He was stunned by the intensity. How long had it been since a woman affected him this way? Long enough to make him realize he stayed to himself too much.
“Have you thought of putting your aunt in a residential care facility?”
Beth frowned. “Of course I’ve considered iL But I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Harriet lives in a world of her own. She entertains herself. You could find a place where she’d be happy.”
“I can’t ask her to leave the only home she’s ever known. We have talked about it…sometimes she likes the idea, then at other times… Well, you never know what Harry’s thinking.” She pushed open the car door, and it was obvious she wasn’t comfortable discussing the situation. He had no right to pry.
“Look, I appreciate your help—”
“And you really hate to admit that.” He smiled. “Forget it. Call it repayment for the enchilada breakfast.”
“Deal.” She extended her hand, and they shook on it. He held her hand until she gently pulled away.
He got out of the car, unloaded the awkward box, and carried it up the steps.
“Just leave it on the porch.”
Russ leaned the box against the house, and rubbed his knee. The joint was beginning to ache. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his running suit and glanced around the porch. A glider and several metal lawn chairs occupied the cramped space. Assorted sizes of bird feeders and wind chimes lined the peeling eaves. Every tiny breeze brought on a cacophony of sound.
He glanced at Beth, something he’d been trying to avoid. She looked at him curiously, as if wondering why he was still there. He wondered that himself. Maybe he was the crazy, but he wanted to ask her out. Dinner, a movie. Something. The door opened, and he turned to see Harry, dressed in a frothy pink ballerina tutu.
“Why are you standing out here in the cold?” Aunt Harry demanded.
Russ realized he was staring. Aunt Harry’s pinkish gray hair was wound up in assorted colors of curlers clipped haphazardly all over her head. She held a dripping mop in her right hand.
“I’m cleaning house,” she explained as Beth slipped around her to go inside the house. “Come in, Junior, and have a cup of coffee to warm up.”
Before Russ could protest, Aunt Harry grasped his arm and quickly drew him inside. She slammed the door, and locked it.
“You sit right there. We’ll have coffee in the parlor today.”
“Aunt Harry, Russ is busy. He doesn’t have time for coffee.”
“Russ who?”
Russ caught Beth’s eyes. “I can stay a few minutes.”
His eyes rested on a Christmas tree that wasn’t there earlier. The fully decorated tree was at least eight feet tall and sitting in a child’s red toy wagon in the center of the living room.
“Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“Aunt Harry keeps the tree in the wagon so it can easily be moved into place,” Beth explained. “She stores it in the spare bedroom after the holidays.”
He wanted to erase the stricken look from her face. She was obviously embarrassed. “Sounds smart to me.”
“Here you go.” Aunt Harry returned, handing him a cup of steaming coffee. “And I brought some of my persimmon bread. You’ll love it.”
“Aunt Harriet, I’ll help you roll that tree back to the bedroom. Let’s wait until after Halloween to put it up, okay?”
“Of course! Why would you even think of putting up the tree today? We haven’t had Thanksgiving, either. Children!” She bustled back into the kitchen singing “Jingle Bells.”
* * *
IT WAS CLOSE to one when Russ walked home, his knee complaining with every step. Balancing the thermos of soup Harriet insisted he take, he shoved open the front door of his brother’s house and immediately found himself flat on his back.
“Aghhh,” he growled as a coarse, wet tongue swiped his face. “Get off me you mangy mutt!”
Sniffing the container of soup, Jasper backed off, allowing Russ to get up.
“Give me that.”
Russ jerked the thermos out from under the dog’s nose and retreated to the kitchen before Jasper could attack him again. Why indeed did David have such a big mutt? Dave, a professor, had received a grant from a large university to study Mayan architecture in Mexico. When Russ had first arrived at the house, all he’d found was that note on the dining table: “Caught an earlier flight. Astor’s—” or as it turned out Jasper’s “—in the backyard. See you in a few weeks.”
Expecting a normal pet, Russ had opened the back door only to be knocked flat by a monstrous dog. Jasper had planted his saucer-size feet in the middle of Russ’s chest and “grinned” at him with canine teeth the size of a saber-toothed tiger’s. Black eyes had stared him down for a full two minutes before Russ had convinced himself that this was, after all, just a dog.
In the days following, the phrase just a dog had become a litany as Jasper had galloped his way through the house tipping over lamps and tables at will, chewing holes in Russ’s clothes before he had unpacked them, and attacking him any time he’d caught him unaware. In short, Jasper had made Russ’s life miserable. How David and Carol could put up with the menace he didn’t know.
Jasper stood in the middle of the floor looking with baleful eyes at the soup container.
“Get over it, mutt,” Russ muttered.
He had no idea how he was going to warm the soup since the house didn’t have a microwave. Most nights he just ate out. He’d also learned, the hard way, to keep his right side to the dog in order to protect the injured knee.
Popping open a soft drink can, he leaned against the cabinet. By the first of the year, he should be at his new job, a position he’d pursued for a long time. He’d enjoyed working in the field, and, if his record was any indication, he’d been good at it. But being in Washington, a city electric with politics and power—that was what he wanted. Still, recuperating in Morning Sun had taught him one thing, though: small-town life wasn’t half bad. He could get used to the slower pace.
As a kid, he’d thought working as a government agent would be one hell of an adventure. His background in athletics and his high scores on college entrance exams had opened doors for him. That combination of physical and mental skill had served him well, advancing him faster than he’d ever hoped. Now, he was ready to be an administrator, and was ready for the responsibility of supervising others. All these years, strict self-discipline had been his mantra; it would be tough to accept anything less from his men.
A low growl drew his attention back to Jasper who stood with his chin resting on the cabinet top.
“Is that your way of saying you want something to eat?”
Now he was talking to the dog. He really had to get something to do besides jog around the block twice a day. Maybe he would buy a television, and a stereo. A microwave, too. He could donate them to the Salvation Army when he left.
An hour later with a heating pad wrapped around his throbbing knee, he managed to get down half a Big Mac he’d dashed out to get before Jasper connived the rest of it away from him.
“This is not a life,” he said, leaning his head against the back of the chair.
He’d never had so much free time on his hands, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. He’d already checked out the local theater. Two movies. He saw one, and couldn’t stomach the other. Earlier in the week, he’d run across a couple of mystery paperbacks at the Super Mart that sounded intriguing, but he found so many holes in the plots he’d given up reading both after the first few chapters. Maybe when he retired, he’d write a book of his own.
Jasper restlessly roamed the room, his toenails clicking against the hardwood floor. When he settled at the front door, he pierced Russ with a stare. “You ate, and you have water. Stop looking at me like I ate your dinner.” Still the dog watched him.
“I suppose you’re waiting for your nightly walk.”
With that, the dog bounded to his feet and ran from Russ to the front door, prancing excitedly.
With grim resignation, Russ laid the heating pad aside and shrugged into a parka.
“Come on, mutt.”
He snapped the lead on Jasper’s collar. He might have the leash in hand, but Jasper was definitely the one who decided where they went.
After propelling Russ through the door, Jasper headed for a favorite tree, nearly jerking Russ’s shoulder out of the socket. A burst of pain exploded in his knee, and he stumbled as the dog took a detour through the bushes lining the next-door neighbor’s yard.
Gritting his teeth, Russ beat his way through the thicket, sending the spiny limbs whipping back. He threw up his arm in time to keep from being slapped silly.
“Mutt,” he muttered, his breath white in the cold night air.
Jasper loped along at a good pace for a couple of blocks before taking another detour to explore garbage cans. By the time he got the dog headed back to the house, Russ was in agony and ready to call it quits.
“We’re going home, mutt.”
The house seemed even emptier than when he’d left. If he could think of anyone to call he would have, and he hated talking on the phone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out with friends, a woman. Beth popped into his mind. His schedule had been too hectic for too long. The last woman he’d dated had finally told him she’d had enough dates canceled at the last minute and official phone calls in the middle of dinner.
Tossing his parka on the sofa, he collapsed onto the recliner, groaning with relief as he elevated his feet and wrapped the heating pad around his knee again.
Security. It wasn’t a place. For him it was a healthy money market account, a good investment portfolio—a little aggressive, but principally conservative—a savings account, some CDs and IRAs, and a government pension.
He could imagine what security meant for Beth. For her, it would be the familiarity of the home she’d grown up in, her family, the streets she’d walked since she was a kid, her children going to the same school as she had.
At the furniture store, at least a dozen people had waved at her, calling greetings when she got out of the car. Probably, by now, everyone in town knew she’d returned the table and why. Even more than that, they knew she got what she wanted.
Scooting lower in the chair, he readjusted the heating pad around his knee. Jasper raised his head off his paws, watching with accusing eyes.
Scratching behind the dog’s ears, Russ muttered, “Ah, you know, mutt. It’s a strange world.”