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“I’ll take a look if you like,” he offered.
“Would you mind? I’d really appreciate it,” Shelby said.
“After dinner, then. I hope you like chicken,” he added.
“I do,” she returned, closing the door behind her. “But you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“I didn’t. It’s carryout. Except for the tomatoes.”
“I noticed the garden from the window,” Shelby told him.
“Green-thumb therapy,” Jake said. He held up his thumb and motioned for her to precede him down the stairs. “What about you? Do you garden?”
“I live in a third-floor apartment. But I planted blue lobelia and vincas in a window box this year.”
“Flowers, right?” he asked, and followed her down, momentarily distracted by the muted flame of red-gold curls against her slim white neck. He caught himself wondering if her skin was as soft to touch as it was to the eyes, and admitted, “Mostly what I know about flowers is that mowing them down gets you in trouble.”
Flowers. They had been Patrick’s passion. Shelby caught herself one foot down memory lane. She took her mind by the edges, gave it a shake and followed Jake into the kitchen where he introduced her to his grandmother, Kate Grisham.
Kate had hair like spun wool and a round face, powdered and wrinkled. Her lips were painted outside the lines. They tilted as she greeted Shelby, saying, “How lovely to meet you.”
“Shelby works with books,” Jake told her.
“You’re Jake’s bookkeeper!” Gram Kate set a pitcher of tea on the table and came to Shelby with hands outstretched.
“She doesn’t work for me, Gram. We met at the bank.” Jake went on to explain about the accident.
“Thank goodness you weren’t hurt,” Gram said, slow to release Shelby’s hands. “Jake, dear you must be more careful! Why, I hate to think what might have happened if that… Joy needs… Next time you mustn’t…”
The flow of Gram’s words stopped. She peered more closely at Shelby, dismissed her lost train of thought and patted her hair.
“Ready to eat, Gram?” Jake asked gently, and seated her. Declining Shelby’s help in transferring food from the oven to the table, he seated her, too, and when the food was in place, took his own chair.
Shelby spread her napkin over her lap. Gram Kate reached for her hand. “Would you ask the blessing for us, dear?” she asked, and patted Shelby’s fingers.
Shelby tucked her chin. “Heavenly Father…”
“Dear God,” rumbled Jake.
They both stopped and looked up.
“Don’t tease your sister. Take her hand, now Jake, and say grace before the ice me—me-malts,” said Gram Kate, her tone sweetly chiding.
It was no hardship for Jake. He took Shelby’s hand, and thought it a nice perk to accompany the dinner blessing.
Jake’s callused palm imprinted itself upon Shelby’s skin and her thoughts, too. This was to be her wedding dinner. Her wedding night. And here she sat with a sweet dotty old saint who thought she was family and a stranger with a foreign touch.
Jake began passing dishes her way, giving her hands something useful to do and her thoughts a safe place to light. The chicken was moist and tender, the potatoes delicious and the sliced tomatoes, wonderful.
“Did you remember crochet thread, Wendy?” asked Gram Kate, looking at Shelby.
Shelby paused, fork in hand and lifted her eyes to Jake.
He smiled reassuringly and said, “I’ll put it on the list, Gram.”
“Thank you, dear. Have another biscuit. It’s my special reci— Tea. More tea? You must have another piece of chicken, you’re a growing boy.”
Gram Kate passed everything Jake’s way. He set the tea pitcher and the serving dishes to the center of the table, but she kept returning them to him. At length, he transferred the dishes to the counter.
“I’ll wash,” offered Shelby, coming to her feet.
“No need. I’ll put them in the dishwasher later after we’ve had coffee,” Jake replied and waved her down again.
Shelby was nursing a second cup when Paula and Joy let themselves in the back door. Paula was carrying a chocolate cake. Joy bumped Jake’s chair and held out her hand.
“You owe me for fifty-seven weeds, Uncle Jake.”
“She has been paid. Don’t even think about it,” Paula warned, as Jake reached for his wallet.
“Fifty-seven cents. You call that pay?” complained Joy.
Jake fished a five from his wallet.
“I mean it, Jake,” Paula asserted.
“It isn’t for weeding, it’s a consulting fee. This is Shelby Taylor. Shelby, my niece, Joy and my sister, Paula.”
Paula exchanged smiles with Shelby. “We met earlier.”
“I heard Uncle Jake wrecked your car,” Joy said, a lively interest in eyes a shade darker than Jake’s.
“Her laptop was in the front seat. Seems to have suffered some injuries. It’s upstairs in the guest room,” Jake said. “Take a look, would you?”
“I’ll go with you.” Shelby thanked Jake for the meal, excused herself, and followed Joy up the stairs.
Jake loaded the dishwasher, left Gram in Paula’s capable hands, and joined them there.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Joy replied. She poked keys in a freewheeling frenzy.
Shelby stood by looking on, lip caught, expression apprehensive.
“Relax,” soothed Jake. “Blondie’s a regular computer chip.”
“Not tonight, Uncle Jake. I can’t get this thing to chirp.” Joy glanced at Shelby, “Sorry, Miss Taylor.”
“Please call me Shelby,” said Shelby. “I appreciate your efforts.”
“Me, too,” chimed Jake. “Thanks, sport.”
“It sure pays better than weeding your garden.” Joy tugged the wrinkled five-dollar bill from her pocket and gave it a snap.
“Any word from Mr. Wiseman?” Jake asked.
“Not yet. We drove by his house on the way over. His van is there, but no one answers the door.”
“Joy got a job cutting weeds out of soybean fields. But her boss seems to be lost,” Jake explained.
“He owes us for sixty hours,” Joy said. “Dirk’s steamed.”
“Who’s Dirk?” asked Shelby.
“One of the guys on the crew. He’s betting we’ve seen the last of Mr. Wiseman. Gave me a funny feeling right here,” admitted Joy, hand on her midriff.
“You sure it isn’t chocolate cake weighing you down?” teased Jake.
Joy twisted in her chair and tilted her chin toward Jake. “Did you try it?”
“Not yet.”
“Chocolate’s your favorite, right?” she asked.
“Second only to lemon chiffon,” he claimed.
“Last time I baked cherry chip, and you said it was your favorite second only to chocolate,” Joy reminded him.
“That so?” Jake grinned and said, “How about you, Shelby? You ready for dessert?”
“Maybe later. I’d like to work a while.”
“I have a computer downstairs. You’re welcome to use it,” Jake offered, seeing Shelby reach for her tablet.
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” Jake answered. “I’m not up to speed on it, yet. But if you have any questions, Joy can help you out.”
“Sure. Come on. I’ll get you started,” agreed Joy.
The word processing program was strikingly similar to Shelby’s. With Joy’s help, she soon had the basics down well enough to work.
“Keep it, Uncle Jake already paid me,” Joy reminded, when Shelby tried to pay her for showing her the ropes.
“I want you to have it,” Shelby insisted. “Please? It’ll free me to ask again, should I need more help.”
“All right then.” She thanked Shelby, tucked the money into her pocket, and ventured in the same breath, “Winny Penn’s mom says you were supposed to get married this weekend. So did you change your mind or what?”
Chapter Four
Jake walked through the garden, then moved the lawn sprinkler close enough to give the tomato plants a good drink. He glanced toward his lighted office window and returned to the porch to take off his damp boots. Paula joined him on the steps.
“Gram’s tucked in,” she offered. “Her eyes were closed almost before her head hit the pillow. What’s this about your houseguest getting left at the altar?”
“Who told you that?” Jake asked, sitting straighter.
“Antoinette. I saw her at the store, and mentioned that you and Gram had a guest. It put her mind at ease to hear it. She felt terrible over having to turn Shelby away.” Paula slid him a glance and ventured, “How’s she holding up, anyway?”
“Couldn’t say,” he replied evenly.
Paula’s gaze lingered, but she let the subject drop.
Dusk fell over the yard in deepening shades of purple. The shadows brought to Jake’s mind the bruise of broken promises that lingered in Shelby’s eyes. She was having a hard time of it, yet she didn’t complain. There was nothing of the pathetic about her. He liked that. Liked her manner, too, how she had taken Gram’s mental lapses into stride without comment.
Paula spoke up, asking about Joy’s employer, Mr. Wiseman. “What do you suppose happened to him, anyway?”
“He’ll turn up,” Jake said.
“It is peculiar, though. And speaking of peculiar, what’s this about you driving Joy to the edge of town to check out Colton’s face-lift?”
“You mean the sign? That wasn’t my idea,” Jake answered.
“I guessed as much.” Paula sighed. “She asks about him all the time lately. She can’t understand why I never told him about her. She badgered me until I finally told her that as far as I’m concerned, Colt wouldn’t be in the dark about her if he had stayed home where he belonged. It’s the truth,” she added.
Part of it, anyway. Calling the rest to mind served no purpose. Jake asked, “What’d she say?”
“‘Get over it, Mom.”’
“She’s just testing the stretch in your apron strings,” Jake said. “You’re doing just fine. Blondie’s a good kid.”
“By the grace of God and a lot of help from you.” Paula patted his knee and came to her feet.
“Where you going?” asked Jake.
“Home. Joy’s a bear to get up if she isn’t in bed by ten.”
“I’ll get her for you,” Jake offered.
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll see you at church tomorrow.” Paula crossed the yard to her car.
Jake dropped his boots inside the door and trekked through the house in his sock feet. The door to his office was open, the desk in full view. Joy and Shelby were side by side at his desk, facing the door. The computer monitor partially hid their faces.
“So how come he walked out on you?” he overheard Joy ask Shelby.
“He had his reasons,” replied Shelby.
“Good ones?” pressed Joy.
“I suppose they were to him.” Shelby glanced away from the computer screen and saw Jake. Dusky eyelids fell behind the lenses of her reading glasses. Color swept up her pale cheeks.
