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Mom In The Middle
Mae Nunn
Juggling the care of her toddler son and elderly parents kept young widow Abby Cramer busy from sunup to sundown.Just when she thought she had it all under control, her mother broke her hip at a home-improvement store. Good thing store employee Guy Hardy rushed in to save the day with his quick thinking, big smile and his tender kindness extended toward her whole family - especially Abby.Though she suspected Guy had a secret to hide, Abby wanted to believe he was a man of honor and faith. A man she could trust with her heart.
“You’re incredible.”
Certain he was teasing, Abby searched Guy’s face for humor but saw only appreciation in his azure eyes.
“And I have to agree with what my daddy said. You’re a very kind man, Guy Hardy.”
“Your daddy actually said that?” Praise from her parents was more precious than diamonds and harder to come by.
“Yes.”
“About me?”
“Yes, about you.” She couldn’t help smiling at his disbelief.
“I admit hearing your daddy feels that way means a lot, but I didn’t compliment you out of kindness. Abby—”
Her face warmed with embarrassment. She waved away his words but he caught her hand, determined to finish what he’d started.
“Abby, while there’s no doubt you’re a beautiful woman, it’s your gift of spirit that makes you so attractive. You may be the most selfless and giving young lady I know.”
MAE NUNN
grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, she hung up her Texas spurs to become a Georgia Southern belle. Mae has been with a major air express company for over 28 years, currently serving as a director of key accounts. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill Books family, Mae summed up her response with one word, “Yeeeeeha!”
Mom in the Middle
Mae Nunn
I found the one my heart loves.
—Song of Solomon 3:4
This book is for Ron, my big brother, who chased me through the house, caught me and dragged me into the bathroom, put my foot in the toilet and flushed it. Many times! But he also took me to the drive-in with him and his girlfriends, made six-foot papier-mâché creatures for our homecoming parades, let me use his Corvette my senior year in high school and never ratted me out to our parents, even when he probably should have. I love you, Ron. Will you read my books now?
Mom in the Middle is also for Gail and Pam, my older sisters, who shared a bedroom and all of their dreams with me. For the times I was a brat, I apologize. For the times I wasn’t there for you, forgive me. For the times I borrowed your things and brought them back ruined, that was all your fault. You knew better than to loan me anything of value! I love you both more than you can possibly know.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to Brittany, a stunning Georgia cowgirl who answered all my questions about rodeo and barrel racing.
Let your beautiful light shine, honey!
Thanks also to Patrick, my friend and tour guide who reconnected me with the fabulous city of Austin and with Lake Travis. Hook ’em Horns!
Thanks to Kristy, Jennifer, Kristin and Candi, my priceless circle of friends who prayed me through a cloud of confusion and held my hand till I emerged on the other side. You ladies are my gift straight from God.
Thanks to my fabulous critique partner Dianna, who told me what was wrong and how to fix it.
Thanks always to my precious Maegan, who is my constant source of joy, encouragement and motivation.
Most importantly, thank you, Michael, for your boundless love and bottomless forgiveness. Without you to take care of me I’d never make it through the days. You are my rock, my anchor and you make it all worth while. I adore you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“Mama!” Abby Cramer screamed.
Her mother had suddenly collapsed, one leg folded awkwardly beneath her thin body. Abby kept a hand on the shopping cart that held her toddler and dropped to her knees on the concrete floor of the new home-improvement center.
“What happened?” The young cashier bolted around her checkout counter and knelt beside Abby.
Her mother clenched her teeth against the obvious pain. “My foot slipped out from under me.” She twisted at the waist in an effort to get up, then fell back with a gasp. The character lines in her pale face deepened with the grimace.
Abby knew her very private parent would die of pain before she’d suffer the embarrassment of tears in public.
“Don’t worry about your little boy. I’m right here beside him.” A woman’s voice penetrated Abby’s concern. She nodded thanks, let go of the cart and turned full attention to her mother, who once again strained to sit up.
“Please lay still. You might have broken something.” Abby began the assessment she’d learned during first-aid training. The skills had served her well in her three years as an elementary school-teacher. Her mother’s hands fluttered like the wings of an angry bird, shooing away Abby’s efforts to feel for injuries.
“Oh, I’ve just aggravated my old sciatic back. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” She held her breath through a determined effort to ease her twisted leg from its abnormal position. Finally giving up, she rested her head on the floor.
The store employee untied her apron, rolled the cloth into a pillow and maneuvered it beneath short-clipped, salt-and-pepper hair.
“Don’t move. I’ll get Guy,” the cashier insisted as her sneakers squeaked a fast departure toward the back of the new store.
Concerned onlookers stopped to offer assistance. Abby reached for her mother’s hand, only to be brushed away.
Being the late-in-life only child of Sarah Reagan was both a blessing and a curse. Responsibility and kindness were civic requirements of the woman who was more like a finishing school headmistress than a doting parent. While Abby’s mother expected her daughter to help others, Sarah generally refused aid at all cost.
Abby’s gaze darted from the scene on the slick concrete floor to her precious toddler son who perched in the shopping cart above her. Dillon’s chubby legs dangled as he leaned forward and frowned over the excitement below. She smiled to reassure him, mouthed a silent Thank you to the thoughtful female who hovered nearby.
“Where’s my purse, Abigail?”
“It’s still on the counter.”
“Well, hand it to me before somebody steals my wallet.”
Abby reached for the pastel spring bag and offered the other shoppers an apologetic shrug before placing the straw purse within her mother’s reach.
“I don’t want to worry your father about this so let’s not mention it when we get to the house.”
“Mama, we’re going to have to go to the hospital to make sure you don’t have a serious injury.”
“Nonsense,” Sarah insisted. But the word was hardly out when she yelped involuntarily, arching her back from the stab of pain.
“I have to agree with your daughter.” A man squatted beside Abby, his orange apron announcing the grand opening of yet another new Hearth and Home Super Center. “We’ve put in a call to a private ambulance service. They’ll be here any minute to take you to Brackenridge.”
“No, thank you,” Sarah insisted. “A senior citizen on a fixed income can’t afford a luxury like that. Besides, a hospital will just run expensive tests, take my money, and tell me I’m fine.” Sarah’s hands felt for the buttons of her seersucker jacket, making sure she was properly covered. “As soon as I catch my breath, Abigail can take me home.”
Handsome blue eyes, glinting with unspoken conspiracy sought Abby’s permission to take charge of the situation. She nodded slightly, glad to have somebody else deal with her hardheaded parent if only for a few moments.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am. It’s Hearth and Home’s standard operating procedure for any injury, no matter how minor, to be treated as an emergency. You wouldn’t want me to lose my job for not following store policy, would you?” He turned his palms upward in a plea for cooperation.
Abby watched with fascination as her perpetually demanding mother became agreeable and compliant beneath the mesmerizing appeal of those blue eyes. The hard lines of her face softened as she sighed her acquiescence.
“And don’t worry about the cost. Hearth and Home will cover everything.”
“I don’t expect any charity,” she insisted.
“Well, maybe this time you’ll make an exception and let the store’s insurance take care of things.”
He patted her thin hand, and she didn’t jerk away.
Torn between relief and envy, Abby filed that moment away for consideration on another day.
A gust of warm wind whipped her curls as the glass doors slid apart. In the distance she heard the sounds of a gurney’s legs snapping into place and then the rush of rubber wheels and crepe soles that brought the paramedics to their side.
“Pardon us, folks. Please step aside, miss,” the efficient attendant instructed as he took charge. “We’ll take it from here.” He knelt to assess the situation.
“At least you had the good sense not to scare me half to death with your siren,” her mother half complimented, half grumbled to the EMT.
“You can thank Mr. Hardy for that.”
“Guy Hardy at your service, ma’am.” The man with eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets nodded. “I figured you were in enough discomfort without that racket ringing in your ears.”
Her mother seemed focused on Guy’s smiling face and charming words. She hardly noticed the work of the crew who deftly lifted her from the hard floor to the padded gurney for the short trip to the boxy red ambulance.
Abby noted the sudden flash of uncertainty in her mother’s eyes at the same moment Dillon began to whimper. Accustomed to adjusting on the fly to meet the needs of her classroom full of first graders, Abby considered her dilemma; her mother on the way to the hospital and her son on the way to panic. To make matters worse, her dad was home alone, sitting in front of the television in his wheelchair, waiting for his “womenfolk” to return with his list of plumbing supplies.
Though it was a mild spring day, Abby’s cheeks filled with unaccustomed heat. She hadn’t let the death of her husband send her into a downward spiral and she wouldn’t let this crisis put her into a tailspin either.
“We’ll take my vehicle.” Guy Hardy had whipped the orange apron from around his waist and handed it to the cashier. “I’ll drive you and…” He was glancing toward Abby’s blubbering son.
“Dillon. My son’s name is Dillon.”
“I’ll drive you and Dillon to Brackenridge and stay with you until they release your mother.”
“But what about our van?” she asked, though she’d already scooped up the baby and her shoulder bag and followed quickly behind this take-charge man.
“You’re too distracted to be driving right now anyway.”
Guy guided the lovely young woman and her son to a white H&H courtesy SUV parked outside.
“I need to get Dillon’s car seat.”
“No problem. Climb in and tell me where you’re parked.”
Focused as he was on the task at hand, he couldn’t help admiring the shiny cap of blond curls that bobbed across his field of vision as she stepped up into his vehicle, clutching the baby boy who bawled over his unfamiliar surroundings. Her confident handling of the toddler reminded Guy of his sisters and the same second-nature manner they showed with their kids.
He followed her directions and pulled alongside a minivan coated with a layer of yellow pollen, a common sign of springtime in Austin, Texas. She dropped the keys into his outstretched hand, allowed him to retrieve the car seat and help her carefully secure it and the boy together with her in the backseat.
“I’ll have you there in no time.”
“Thanks,” was all she said. She dug into the oversize bag probably filled with all the traditional goodies mommies kept handy to appease grumpy babies. She hardly spoke a word during the fifteen-minute trip, but cooed softly to her son while he gnawed what looked like a hunk of graham cracker.
Guy allowed her the privacy she needed to comfort her child and steel herself for whatever waited at the hospital. He drove carefully, checking his passengers often in his rearview mirror. During one glance he noticed her eyes were closed, her lips moving, possibly in silent prayer.
