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“That’s not much of an engagement,” Cara Jane commented wryly, pushing back the desk chair and leaning forward to reach for Ace.
“Two whole weeks,” Holt supplied, carrying her license and Social Security cards to the scanner.
She straightened, pulling Ace up onto her lap. “Goodness. I was engaged for two years.”
Holt punched a button and looked at her as she stood, swinging the boy onto her hip. “Didn’t you say you married at eighteen?”
“That’s right.”
He gaped. “Your parents let you get engaged at sixteen?”
Her gaze met his briefly. “Let me? I doubt they even noticed.” She poked the boy in the chest with one fingertip, saying, “Don’t you go getting any ideas, dude. You’re going to college before you get married, just like your daddy.”
Holt latched onto that tidbit of information. “So your husband had a degree?”
She glanced at him, wary now, and Holt could see her trying to decide what to tell him. Finally, she said, “He was a lawyer.”
A lawyer? Holt thought of those two lightweight suitcases he’d carried into her room and the eight-year-old car from which he’d taken them. He put that together with her reaction and came up with…more questions.
“I thought lawyers usually made a pretty good living.”
“So did I,” she said.
Rubbing his prickly chin, Holt pondered this bit of information, remembering that she’d said her husband hadn’t wanted her to work, even though they’d been married at least six years, by Holt’s reckoning, before Ace’s birth. Holt filed that away, allowing her to change the subject as he retrieved her identity documents.
“So,” she said, a bit too brightly, as he handed them over, “you’re not employed here, but I take it you live here.”
“Here at the motel?” He shook his head. “Naw, I have a little place of my own, a ranch east of town.”
“I see.” Her expression changed not a whit, but relief literally radiated off her. “I guess that means you’re, like, married.”
Folding his arms, Holt asked, “Why would you think that?”
She lifted a shoulder, using both hands to anchor Ace on the opposite hip. “I don’t know. Seemed like a reasonable conclusion for a man your age.”
“What’s my age got to do with anything? If you’re thirty-six you must be married?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I’m not married,” he told her, feeling rather indignant about her assumption, “which means I happen to be around here a lot. Every day, in fact.”
She nodded at that, inching away. “Oh. I guess I’ll be seeing you around then.”
“Count on it,” he told her, watching her snag the diaper bag then leave the room.
Even with the boy perched on her hip, she walked with a decidedly feminine stride. Holt shook his head, disgusted with himself.
A dead lawyer for a husband, engaged at sixteen, hadn’t worked since high school, assumptions and secrets, and enticing, and he couldn’t keep his gaze off her. Without a doubt, that woman was trouble walking. He just hadn’t figured out exactly how yet. But he would. Oh, yes, he would.
Cara straightened, her arms full of rumpled linens, which she stuffed into the bag on the end of the cleaning cart. She took one more swipe at the newly made bed and hurried out to check on her napping son.
The backpack allowed her to tote him much of the time, but the thing became problematic when it came to certain chores, so she’d taken to hauling the crib from room to room with the cleaning cart. The portable baby bed resembled a playpen more closely than a conventional crib, anyway, and despite the cumbersome process, having her son within sight comforted Cara.
Unfortunately, she had no choice but to take the crib into the apartment at nap time and let Hap watch over Ace while he slept. Since Hap could routinely be found at the domino table in the other room, that usually necessitated little more than an open door between the apartment and the lobby, but Cara hated not being able to watch over Ace herself.
After locking the room, she pushed the cart across the pavement to the laundry, then moved on through the kitchen to the dining area. Her heart jumped up into her throat when she saw the empty crib. Then she heard a familiar squeal, followed by men’s laughter, coming from the front room. She raced out into the lobby to find Ace sitting in the middle of the domino table, surrounded by chuckling old men, while he clutched handfuls of dominos.
“Look there, Hap,” Justus teased. “He takes after you, hogging them bones.”
“That’s my boy.” Hap patted Ace’s foot.
“You wish,” Teddy crowed.
“He’s getting in practice for when Charlotte and Ty start their family,” Grover Waller, the pastor, maintained. Round and cheerful, Grover reminded Cara of an aging, balding cherub in wire-rimmed glasses and clip-on tie, but at the moment all Cara could think was that these men had her son.
As she rushed toward them, Hap turned his head to grin at her, holding out an empty bottle. “He’s had him a little snack, Mama, and a dry diaper.”
“Took all three of us to change that boy’s britches,” Justus told her, sounding pleased.
“Strong as an ox,” Teddy confirmed with a nod.
Cara began plucking dominoes from her son’s grasp, her anxious heartbeat still speeding. “I apologize. This won’t happen again. I—I’ll pick up a baby monitor as soon as I’m paid, one I can carry around with me so I’ll know the instant he awakes.”
“No need, Cara Jane,” Hap protested. “We don’t mind watching out for him, do we, boys?”
“Not at all,” Teddy said.
“Cheery little character,” Grover put in.
“That’s kind of you, but he’s my responsibility,” Cara said, gathering Ace into her arms. The relief she felt at simply holding him against her made the preceding panic seem all the more terrible. How could she have let him out of her sight for even a moment? Yet, she’d have to do the same thing repeatedly, for what other choice did she have?
Hap again patted Ace’s foot, knocking his shoes together. “So long, little buddy.”
Cara quickly carried her son from the room. She knew that she’d overreacted badly. Those old men meant no harm. They had no designs on her son. But Ace was her child, her responsibility, and she would give no one reason to question her ability to care for him.
Apparently her overreaction had been noted, for as she pushed the door closed, she heard Hap say, “She’s mighty protective.”
“Protective?” Justus scoffed. “You’d think we was trying to steal him.”
“There’s a story there,” Grover murmured.
Carefully pushing the door closed, she laid her forehead against it. Ace tried to copy the motion, bumping her head with his. It didn’t hurt, and he didn’t fuss, but she soothed him with petting strokes anyway, sick at heart. Had she given them away? She shook her head. Impossible. These people had no idea who she really was. So they deemed her an overprotective mother. Let them think what they wished. Nothing mattered except keeping Ace safe and with her.
Except that they were bound to tell Holt how she’d reacted today, and that would be one more black mark against her in his book.
But she didn’t have time to worry about Holt now. She had work to do. Sighing, she carried Ace out to the laundry room, got him into the backpack and returned to the apartment to fold up and move the portable crib.
One more room, and then dinner. And Holt.
He had not failed to show up for dinner the past two nights. On both occasions, he’d looked so weary that she’d have felt sorry for him if he hadn’t watched her as though he expected her to pull a weapon and demand his wallet at any moment.
She held out the faint hope that he would have other plans for tonight, this being Friday. Didn’t single men go out on the weekends in Eden, Oklahoma? Apparently not, because when she laid food on the table that evening, his big, booted feet were beneath it. As on the previous occasions, he barely spoke to her, just stared when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She suffered through the meal in silence and hoped he would stay away the next time.
Not so. Even Hap expressed surprise when Holt arrived the next night. “It’s not our usual Saturday night out,” he exclaimed.
Holt brushed aside the old man’s comments. “What of it? Still got to eat.”
His brother Ryan arrived thirty seconds later. A big, bluff man with a good thirty pounds on Holt and dark, chestnut-brown hair and hazel eyes, Ryan greeted Cara with open delight.
“You are the answer to our prayers,” he told her, holding her hand between both of his after their introduction.
Holt scowled and asked if Ryan would mind parking himself so they could eat. Ryan, who seemed to accept his role as younger brother with equanimity, sat. Hap prayed. Ryan then made friends with Ace, who occupied her lap as usual, while Holt scoffed down three pieces of grilled chicken and a truck-load of macaroni and cheese before taking his leave again. At no point did he so much as speak to Cara, letting his nod suffice for both greeting and farewell.
Ryan, a very pleasant man, came into the kitchen later to sheepishly apologize for his brother. Cara pretended complete ignorance.
“I can’t imagine why you’d think I’d be offended. I just work here.”
“Work,” Ryan said, “is a lot of the problem. You see, right now Holt’s working too much. Well, he’s always worked too much. It’s just that now he’s trying to catch up. My fault,” he added with gentle self-deprecation. He then went on to explain that he had a hard time getting away from his responsibilities at the school, which had left Holt to take on the motel pretty much by himself. “Which is why I’m so delighted that you’re here.”
Cara didn’t bother to point out that Holt obviously did not share that delight. Instead, she thanked Ryan, finished the dishes, picked up Ace and slipped out quietly. She couldn’t help thinking, though, that it wouldn’t hurt Holt to be nicer to everyone, including his brother.
With Ryan turning out to be such a friendly man, much like Hap in that regard, Holt’s surliness seemed all the more pronounced. It smarted that he didn’t seem to like her, so much so that she intended to keep her distance on Sunday, her one full day off. On Sundays the Jeffords “closed the office.” Sunday, Hap had told her, belonged to God, though they’d rent to anyone in need of a room who wandered by.
Ace actually let her sleep in a bit that morning. After feeding him breakfast and watching a church service on TV, she thumbed through a magazine and finally stepped outside. The weather had turned surprisingly warm. On impulse, she packed a lunch of sorts from her meager provisions, loaded Ace into the backpack and headed for the park.
Separated from the motel grounds by a stream that wound through the gently rolling landscape, the park had to be entered via a bridge adjacent to the downtown area some three blocks to the east. Along the way, Cara explored the town.
There wasn’t much to Eden, as far as she could tell on foot: some houses built before the Second World War, some houses built after, and just a couple blocks of old brick storefronts on the main street, which happened to be named Garden Avenue. Absolutely everything stood closed, everything except, of course, for the inviting little white clapboard church on the corner of Mesquite Street, which ended right at the back of the motel. The church appeared to be doing box office business, judging by the number of cars that lined the street and surrounded the building.
The sign next to the sidewalk identified it as the First Church of Eden and named Grover Waller as the pastor. The place had such a warm, inviting air, much like Grover himself, that Cara took note of the service times. Perhaps she and Ace would visit there next Sunday. Since she assumed that the Jeffords attended there, given their close association with the pastor, it might even win her some points. But not with Holt.
She’d learned the hard way how impossible it could be to win the regard of someone who had made up his or her mind not to like her. Her in-laws had hated her on sight, but Cara had tried to win their regard, nonetheless, without success.
Putting the little church behind her, she took Ace to the park, where they ate their lunch in solitary peace and sharp winter sunshine.
Holt paced the floor in front of the reception desk that next Saturday night. Cara had never seen him dressed to go out. He “cleaned up good,” as Hap put it. Wearing shiny brown boots, dark jeans with stiff creases, a wide leather belt, open-collared white Western shirt and a similarly styled brown leather jacket with a tall-crowned brown felt hat, he looked like the epitome of the Western gentleman. All cowboy. All man. He’d gotten himself a haircut, too, which gave him a decidedly tailored air but did nothing whatsoever to blunt his impatience.
“You really don’t have to wait,” she said again, bouncing Ace on her knee. “It’s been almost two weeks. I can manage the desk until Ryan gets here.”
In truth, she didn’t expect to have to manage anything. The motel stayed full, or nearly so, during the week, but few guests strayed in during the weekends.
The last weekend had yielded only two rental opportunities, an older couple on their way up to visit relatives in Nebraska and a very young couple obviously looking for privacy. Hap had kindly but firmly turned away the last pair, saying only that he couldn’t help them. Cara had learned a valuable lesson on how to handle an awkward situation that day.
“He should have been here already,” Holt groused.
Cara opened her mouth to say that she was sure Ryan would be along soon, but just then, through the plate glass window, Cara spotted a now familiar late-model domestic sedan slow and turn off the highway into the lot. “There he is.”
Holt spun to the window, bringing his hands to his waist. “It’s about time.” Striding to the end of the counter, he called through the open apartment door, “Granddad! He’s here!”
“Comin’!” Hap called back, muttering, “Hold your horses. Always chomping at the bit.”
Cara ducked her head, biting back a grin. Hap Jefford had quickly endeared himself to her and her son. Witty, caring and cheerful, he seemed genuinely fond of Ace and had even taken over much of the laundry chores once he decided that Cara had “got the hang of things,” as he’d put it. If not for Holt coming around to glower at her, she thought she’d be fairly content. She’d tried to be nice to Holt, but that only made him more dour.
“Now, listen,” Holt lectured, splaying a hand against the countertop.
“Isssssn!” Ace mimicked, leaning forward to smack his hand onto the lower counter.
Holt looked at him, one corner of his mouth kicking up. He glanced at Cara, sobered and cleared his throat, drawing back his hand. “Just let Ryan handle things. If anyone comes in, he’ll take care of them. You’re still observing for now.”
“Hap’s already explained,” she began, only to have him cut her off.
“If you need anything, you have our numbers.” He made a face. “Well, mine, anyway. Granddad never carries his phone with him.”
“Why should I?” Hap asked, limping through the apartment door. “I never go anywhere on my own.”
“On your own what?” Ryan asked, stepping inside the lobby.
“On my own by myself,” Hap said. “How you doing, Ryan?”
“Excellent, as usual.”
Holt rounded on his brother. “You took your time getting here.”
Ryan paused in the act of shrugging off his corduroy coat and glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s ten minutes till six. What’s the rush?”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Hap counseled, limping over to ruffle Ace’s hair. “He’s got a burr in his bonnet. I say, a burr in his bonnet.” Ace giggled and fell back against Cara’s chest. She smiled up at Hap, who patted her shoulder affectionately. “There’s pizzas in the freezer, and if you eat them I won’t be tempted.”
“Done,” Ryan proclaimed, rubbing his hands together.
“Can we go?” Holt demanded. “I’m hungry.”
“When was the last time you weren’t hungry?” Hap asked, limping around the counter.
“I’m usually pretty good when I get up from the table,” Holt grumbled as the two of them left the building through the front door.
Ryan shook his head. “That’s our Holt, two hollow legs.”
“Not to mention a hollow head,” Cara muttered.
Ryan burst out laughing. “I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not his problem, though I’ve never thought so before.” He stood staring as if that ought to make some special sense to her, then he clapped his hands together. “I’m thinking we should dress up those pizzas. What have you got in the pantry?”
“Pineapple?” she suggested hopefully.
“Pineapple?” he parroted. “They eat pineapple on their pizza up in Oregon? Sounds like a California thing. You ever get down to California?”
Cara just smiled, but inwardly she cringed. When would she learn to watch her mouth? The jangle of the telephone saved her from any more uncomfortable questions and the lies she’d rather not have to tell in answer. Ryan reached across the counter and picked up the receiver.
“Heavenly Arms Motel.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Charlotte! How you doing, sugar? How’s Ty and the Aldriches?”
