скачать книгу бесплатно
“Are you like him?” Jacqueline’s voice was breathy, soft.
“I think I’m the most like him of all of my brothers, except maybe Cullen.”
“The professor?”
“Yes. We’re both more studious, and that’s like my dad. But Cullen’s into history. My dad was very scientific, meticulous, also loved numbers.”
“That’s like you.” She grinned.
“Yes. We both need—or he needed—certainty. That’s how he died, you know. Trying to find Pap’s grave. I still want to find it, but I don’t know if I ever will.”
“I remember the plane crash. That must have been so impossibly difficult, losing both of your parents.”
Mac nodded. There were no words.
“I envy you, you know.”
Jacqueline’s comment seemed so strange, he searched her face for meaning. Surely he misunderstood what she’d said.
“Roots.” She put down her mug and reached for the bowl of pecans. Bypassing the nutcracker, she took two pecans in her palm and squeezed them together, cracking them both.
“Man, you must have a grip of steel,” Mac said with admiration.
She picked the pecans out of their shells, depositing the remains in her empty tea mug, and offered one to Mac. When their hands touched, Mac felt an electric shock. He took the pecan. “Thanks.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mac. I know you’ve suffered horrible losses that no one would envy. And I’m truly sorry.” Her eyes burned with intensity. “But what I envy is how grounded you are—your roots. You know where you belong.”
“It’s funny, but I’ve never considered that as a big deal. It’s just who I am.”
“It is a big deal. It’s something a lot of people don’t have.”
“But do you want to be grounded, Jacqueline? Really? To put down roots somewhere? I don’t want to talk myself out of a good assistant, but it seems like that kind of life might be too boring for you. Too—limiting.”
Jacqueline sighed. “My parents definitely raised me to think so. But I don’t know. My maternal grandmother—her name is Violet—believes the opposite. I never saw her much growing up because my mother broke with her when she met my father. But the few times I’ve seen her are the closest things I have to memories of a home.”
“Where does she live?”
“Iowa. In the middle of a cornfield.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I need to go see her sometime while I’m in the country. It’s been years.”
“Why so long?”
“It was up to my parents to take me when I was a kid, and that didn’t happen much. Then in college I didn’t really have the means. But we wrote letters.”
“I see.” Mac couldn’t fathom it. He’d always had the means, just no living grandparent to go visit.
As if reading his thoughts, Jacqueline asked, “Are any of your other grandparents still living?”
“No. They’re all gone—all passed before my parents.”
Jacqueline nodded sympathetically, her hair falling forward over her shoulder like a dark silk curtain. Mac suddenly had the urge to reach out and touch the strands. But instead, he rose. “I guess I better get going.” He wanted to stay with every fiber of his being. But the reasons he should go were more certain than his feelings: Jacqueline was in his life for only the short-term. She was like some exotic bird of paradise, and nothing he was or could do would ever be enough to keep her in Kilgore. So he’d best not get too close before she flew away.
“Oh.” Jacqueline seemed a little surprised. “Okay. You have something going on tomorrow?”
“We have a workday down at the church. I’m cooking breakfast.”
“Really?” She smiled, eyes gleaming.
“And why does that amuse you, Ms. Aimes?”
“I, well.” She raised a finger and touched her pillowy lips. “You’re just full of surprises, boss.”
“Next time I’ll cook you dinner.” The words were out of his mouth before he could retrieve them. Embarrassed, he started toward the back door, but she stopped him.
Jacqueline’s eyes flickered with delight. “The front door will be closer to your truck. I’ll just get your coat.”
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4d414ea8-7c11-5730-8648-eba2b29d8718)
MAC PULLED UP at Star Stables, where Joiner was supposed to meet him, at six o’clock sharp. He waved to Buster, Stella’s father, who was already feeding his goats. At six ten, Mac squinted his eyes and spotted a dot that had to be Joiner sitting on a bigger black dot that had to be Pistol. They were kicking up dust across the frosty acreage that separated the stables, which were located near Buster Scout’s ranch house, and the north forty, the parcel of land he had given Stella and Joiner for building their house.
When Joiner jumped into the truck at six fifteen, after handing Pistol off to Buster, he apologized. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Rough night?”
“Stella’s having those pains again. We don’t know if they are Braxton Hicks contractions or what.”
“Braxton what?”
“Braxton Hicks. They’re contractions that get you ready for the real contractions when the baby comes.”
“I see.” Mac suppressed a smile. Joiner was a long way from the playboy polo player he’d been in college. A long way for the better.
“Only thing is, the pain’s not really in the right place for Braxton Hicks. It’s more right here.” Joiner pointed to the area right under his sternum.
“Did you call the doctor?”
“Yes. We called and got the doctor on call, of course, since it’s not during office hours, and she told Stella to take two Tylenol and two Benadryl and lie down.”
“What time was that?”
“Five fifteen.”
“So Stella did? Did it help?”
“At six o’clock, she was finally getting some relief. I couldn’t leave till then. Guess I should have called you.”
“Of course, I understand.” Mac nodded. “You don’t even have to go. Hunt, Cullen and I could handle it.”
“I know, but Stella wanted me to. Said she was fine and just going to sleep.” Joiner looked at his phone. “She’ll call if it starts hurting again. The doctor said if it did, to head into Labor and Delivery.”
“Good grief!” Mac said. “She’s not thinking Stella might deliver, I hope. Surely, not this early.”
“No. I don’t think so. It’s so they could monitor her where they have all of the right equipment.”
The parking lot of Grace Baptist Church was empty except for Cullen’s Subaru station wagon and Hunt’s Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Douglas, a guy who always volunteered to help the brothers with breakfast, pulled up about the same time as Mac and Joiner. Mac inwardly cringed. As if reading his mind, Joiner chuckled and punched Mac’s arm. The well-meaning Douglas, with his perpetual sneezing, was the ultimate challenge to Mac’s germophobic tendencies.
“Brotha chothas!” Hunt called from the kitchen as Mac stepped through the fellowship hall door. Hunt, ever the Cowboy Chef, waved a spatula high in the air to greet them.
“The king with his scepter is already ruling the kitchen.” Cullen grasped Mac’s arm and then Joiner’s. Patting Douglas on the back, he offered them all rubber gloves.
Douglas took his, wiping his nose with his hand before putting them on. A cold sweat broke out across Mac’s forehead. He wiped it with a handkerchief and then headed to the sink to wash his hands.
“What’s that mean? Chothas?” Douglas asked.
“It’s a corruption of the language,” Joiner explained, washing his hands, as well. “A twin thing.”
Cullen interjected, “When Hunt and I were two, or so the story goes, Alma tried to get us to sleep in separate beds, but we both cried. Hunt told Alma, ‘But we can’t sleep apart. We need we’s chother.’”
“Oh!” Douglas exclaimed. “Like each other. I get it.” He laughed from deep in his belly. “That’s cute.”
“I’ve always been cute.” Hunt winked. The rest of the brothers groaned, rolling their eyes.
Each one took up his usual station in the church breakfast assembly line: Cullen cooked the bacon and sausage, Joiner made pancakes, and Mac rolled out homemade biscuits. While Hunt used his considerable skills on maple-cinnamon rolls, they all worked to keep Douglas contained to the fruit cutting. By seven thirty, when church members began to filter in, the coffee was on and the table spread. It was a delicious-smelling feast.
The brothers ate last, at a table with Sarah and her girls, as well as Gillian, Hunt’s wife. Both women were dressed in work clothes. As there was no call from Stella, they took that as a sign she was resting peacefully and decided not to bother her. Pastor Craig assigned the Temples to painting the youth wing, since Sarah’s girls were both in Youth, and the family worked through the morning making white Sunday school classes a more hip red, yellow and green.
When it was time to leave, about noon, Mac offered to treat everyone to pizza. The girls clapped their hands. Joiner said, “Could we pick it up and take it out to the house?”
“Great idea,” said Gillian. “I wanted to check on Stella myself.”
Sarah nodded. “Why don’t you guys pick up the pizza and we’ll go get fruit drinks for everyone?”
“Good deal.” Mac motioned for Cullen to jump in with him and Joiner while the women all piled into the station wagon with Sarah. “See you at Joiner’s in a few minutes.” He had a flickering thought of what it would be like to have Jacqueline there with him—like the others had their wives. But that was jumping the gun.
When everyone arrived, they found Stella on the couch in flannel pajamas and wrapped in a white terry-cloth robe. Propped on a pile of pillows, she looked tired, her swollen feet spilling out of her slippers. “I feel much better,” she declared. “That doctor’s instructions were the ticket. I’ve had a good rest.”
“Want some pizza?” Joiner smoothed her hair back from her head. “We got the kind you like just in case.”
Mac shared a look with Cullen and Hunt—a look that was somewhere between admiration for Joiner and a desire to make fun of him. For now, admiration won out.
Sarah and Gillian distributed pieces of pizza on paper plates while the girls passed out napkins along with everyone’s respective drink. They scattered around Joiner and Stella’s giant great room, sitting as near Stella as they could, some on the floor, some on the hearth of the fireplace, and some in chairs and the love seat nearby.
“Call Buster,” Mac said. “We’ve got plenty.”
“I already did,” Joiner said between bites. “He’s on his way.”
“So, exactly how many weeks along are you, Aunt Stella?” Meg asked, pulling out her phone.
“Thirty-two.” Stella patted her bulging belly.
“Baby weighs around four pounds,” Meg read off her screen. “Lungs and digestive system will develop to full maturity in the next few weeks.”
“We definitely need this little girl to stay in there awhile longer.” Stella rubbed her tummy. “I’ll admit I was getting worried in the wee hours of this morning.”
“I’m so glad what the doctor suggested worked and the pains have stopped,” Sarah said.
“What doctor? What pains?” Buster Scout burst through the door and wobbled on bowed legs to the couch where Stella lounged.
Stella smiled at him with tired eyes. “Hey, Pops.” She patted one of his gnarled hands. “Nothing to worry about. I was having some pains earlier, but they’re gone now.”
Buster scowled at Joiner with bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you.”
“‘We didn’t want to worry you!’’’ Buster mimicked Joiner in a high-pitched voice.
“Really, Pops.” Joiner put his hand on Buster’s shoulder and walked with him into the kitchen, showing the older man the pizza. Mac followed them and poured Buster a drink of soda.
“Thanks for taking care of Pistol for me this morning,” Joiner said.
“You’re welcome. That why you were ridin’ hell for leather?”
“Well, yes. I waited till she wasn’t having pains—or I wouldn’t have gone to the breakfast.”
“And here I figured you two was just honeymoonin’ and lost track of time.” Buster winked at Mac. Mac cleared his throat while Joiner reddened. Buster, a retired bronc rider, could not be further from their real father in appearance and manner. And yet with his heart of gold, he’d become like another father to Joiner. Mac was grateful.
As he stood in the doorway between kitchen and great room, observing the gathering of his people—his brothers’ easy banter, their wives’ concern and care for one another, how this closeness was already manifesting in the next generation—Jacqueline’s words from the night before came back to him. It was a big deal. This family network, the life he had with his brothers and the security it meant for all of them. Not everybody had that. Regardless of whom and what he had lost in his life, Jacqueline was right. Mac knew where he belonged. He resolved to play it safer—focus his efforts more on his family—rather than chasing whatever passing feelings he had for her. The Temple family was here to stay. And as bad as he might like it to be different, Jacqueline had made it clear she was just passing through.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_6f632609-dd6a-5953-930d-5d52a01f0f55)
JACQUELINE WOKE UP to the sound of meowing. After finding her glasses on the bedside table, she checked the clock. Six thirty-five. Almost time to get up, anyway. The sun was just rising, and an orangey-pink light streamed through her window. Where was that meowing coming from?
She followed the sound to the front room. Opening the door and stepping onto the front porch, she spotted a tiny calico kitten peering at her and howling as loud as its little lungs could muster. “Oh, you poor baby! Where did you come from?”
Jacqueline picked up the kitten and stroked its soft fur. She looked around and saw no one else, and no other signs of another cat. An icy wind blew open her robe and she wrapped it more tightly around herself, cuddling the kitten. We can’t stay out here, she thought. She took the kitten inside and warmed up some milk.
By the time Jacqueline was dressed for work, the saucer of milk was empty and the kitten curled, purring loudly, on the blanket she put down in the corner of the laundry room. “You be good today,” she told the kitten. “I’ll try to check on you at lunch.”
* * *
SHE BEAT MAC to the office and used her key to let herself in. She went through the “sacraments of puttering,” as Ella called it, turning up the heat, making coffee, flicking on all of the lights and computers. Soon Mac’s truck rumbled into the parking lot. At the sound, her heart rate quickened just a bit and she checked her appearance in the foyer mirror before settling behind her desk to seem more nonchalant than she felt. Why did her boss have to be so handsome? But you are not complaining, her inner voice reminded her. She smiled to herself.
“Good morning, Jacqueline,” Mac said as he stepped through the door. His glasses were fogged. He cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief and then replaced them on his nose. “Nice to see a smile this early.”
“Good morning.” She grinned, unable to help herself.
