скачать книгу бесплатно
Goodness. Hannah had thought so much about her own situation with the kids and the house that she hadn’t considered Sydney hearing about Mark being in town. “Yeah, me, too. She’s still got a few more weeks in rehab.”
Regret crawled across Redd’s ragged features, drawing his mouth into a frown. He shook his head and plodded toward the garage, hands in his pockets, head down. As if carrying a huge weight. He stopped partway across the yard.
“I know the kids in the youth group miss you, but you made a good choice to spend Sundays with your little ones. They grow up too fast.” Regret tinged his voice, and his pain jabbed her heart.
“You’re right,” she said, wishing she could say something more, something to comfort him.
He’d lost one son. And, really, the other, as well.
Now Mark was here trying to butt into his dad’s life. The man might end up hurt all over again.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Tony called. “Is it time to eat yet?”
“Not yet, sweetie. But why don’t you come inside and help me decide what to cook?”
Maybe if she finished unpacking, she wouldn’t feel so unsettled, so worried about losing the house. She would finish the last boxes that night, even if she had to stay up to the wee hours.
Mark had the money in hand by noon on Monday. When he arrived at the church, he climbed out of the air-conditioned car. The muggy afternoon air nearly sucked the breath out of him. He’d forgotten how miserable it could get in early June in Georgia.
Carrying an envelope of cash left him unsettled. After years of living on the streets, he’d become hyperalert. Cautious. Now he caught himself glancing around, waiting for someone to jump him.
He laughed it off and flagged down Phil as he spotted him walking through the parking lot.
“Oh, hi, Mark. Is that the money for your dad?”
“It is.”
Phil nodded toward the bank, which sat across from the old brick courthouse with its newly refurbished white cupola. “Come on, walk part of the way with me.”
As they crossed the street, Mark said, “Did a little research at the courthouse this morning. Dad owes back taxes. This will cover that debt, plus the larger home repairs.” He handed over the envelope.
A flash of concern drew Phil’s brows together. “You know, Mark, I’m all for doing good. But I hope Redd won’t be angry when he discovers the deposit.”
“Surely an anonymous donation will save his pride.”
“We’ll see soon enough.” He gave Mark’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll have the receipt anytime you want to come pick it up.” He nodded toward Faith’s Coffee Time Café. “Miss Ann Sealy often spends her mornings over there with her Bible, visiting with friends…if you think you could use a friendly face.”
As the pastor walked inside the bank, Mark decided Phil was very insightful. He did need a cup of coffee and a friendly face even more.
Movement flickered in his peripheral vision as he turned toward the coffee shop.
A little dark-haired girl stood on the sidewalk, craning her neck back, looking up at him. “Hello.”
“You’re Hannah’s daughter.”
She pushed her pink glasses higher up her nose, and stared at him with earnest brown eyes. “Yes. And you’re the man who was lost.”
He bit back a grin. No point in trying to convince her otherwise. “I guess I am.” He forced a serious look on his face. “So what are you doing today?”
“I’m bored, so I’m walking to the library.” Her pigtails swung in her face as she took off a backpack, unzipped it and pulled out a card. With a wide grin, she proudly held it up for him to see. “I have my own library card.”
“Impressive.”
She stuffed it back inside. “Where are you going?”
“To get coffee. Are you with your mom?” He glanced around, hoping Hannah was with the girl so she wouldn’t find out about the deposit.
“No, I’m staying at my nana’s, and she let me play outside.” She crossed her arms and squinched up her nose. “I should probably ask her if I can go to the library.”
“Yes, I imagine she’d be worried if she can’t find you.”
She sighed as if very disappointed to have to delay her visit to check out books. “I guess you’re right. Bye, Mister, uh…”
“Mark. Just call me Mark.”
A shy smile lit her studious face and made her bright eyes sparkle. “I’m Becca.” She ran toward the church, crossed the street at the corner and then ran toward a group of older redbrick duplexes. She disappeared between two buildings. He assumed her grandmother—Donna—lived nearby.
Becca didn’t seem to have noticed Mark walking with Phil. But he still didn’t like the idea of Hannah’s daughter seeing him near the bank. The last thing he needed was for Hannah to find out where the money had come from and tell Redd.
“Becca, please put down your book while we’re eating.” Hannah had managed to prepare a dinner of spaghetti and salad, though she never had located the box of kitchen supplies that held her colander. Dinner had also been delayed by her mother’s half-hour rant about her fury over Mark’s return.
As if Donna storming out of the church hadn’t been indication enough.
“This spaghetti is watery,” Becca said as she stuck a bookmark in the novel. “I wonder why.”
“No mystery there. I can’t locate the box with my pasta strainer.”
Becca made a check mark in the air with her finger. “Aha! Problem solved.”
Hannah smiled at her daughter. “So what are you reading?”
“Do we have to hear about one of her stories agaaain?” Eric whined through a mouth covered in tomato sauce.
“That’s okay, Becca. I want to hear,” Emily said, but then followed the sweet remark with a punch to her brother’s arm.
Ignoring the whole exchange, Tony-the-bottomless-pit, with his tousled brown hair and squeaky-clean face, bent over his plate, totally focused on shoveling in the pile of plain noodles he’d insisted on that night.
Though parenting by herself left her drained sometimes, Hannah wouldn’t trade a moment spent with her children. “Let’s all be nice. Becca, you can tell us about your new book. Then it’s Tony’s turn to talk. Then Eric’s, then Emily’s.”
Becca’s face lit with a smile as she pushed up her glasses and jumped right in with a complete plot summary. Then after she finished, with a dribble of spaghetti sauce on her chin, she added, “Oh, and I met Mark today. You know, the man who was lost? He and Pastor Phil were walking downtown while I was going to the library.” She looked up to see if her story had attracted their attention.
Normally, Becca’s asides wouldn’t faze Hannah, but this one grabbed her by the throat. Phil had deposited a large anonymous donation into Redd Ryker’s account that day. So Becca’s information could mean Mark was the donor. It would make perfect sense.
“So did Mark say what he was doing with Pastor Phil?”
“Nope. He just asked if I was with you. And told me his name.”
Goodness. She certainly hoped Donna hadn’t made a scene. “So did Nana talk to him, too?”
“Um…well…” Her face turned red as she stared into her plate. “Nana didn’t know where I was.”
“Rebecca Lyn Hughes, what were you doing running around the square by yourself? And why didn’t your grandmother tell me?”
She blinked her big brown eyes. “Well, I didn’t think about asking. I was bored and started to go to the library. And then when Pastor Phil went into the bank, I stopped to talk to Mark.” She broke from her hurried explanation long enough to gasp for a breath. “And I didn’t think about asking Nana until Mark said I should. So I went back to the house to ask her if I could go to the library, and she took me. And I got my new book.”
“Well, young lady, I’m afraid you’re going to lose some of your freedom the rest of this week for breaking the rules. You can’t play outside alone until Saturday.”
Becca stared at her novel, as if wondering whether the unauthorized first trip to the library had been worth it. “Maybe I can do some reading at Nana’s house.”
“Certainly. No more wandering off.”
They finished their meal, and after putting Becca in charge of the younger kids with instructions to unpack the last of their toys, she ran next door to Redd’s apartment.
When he answered the door, he smiled. “What a nice surprise. Come in.” A table behind him had a plate and glass on it.
“I’m sorry to disturb your dinner. But I was wondering if you could possibly watch the kids for about thirty minutes while I…uh, run to town?” To see what his son had been up to. “After you eat, of course.”
“Well, I reckon that’d be okay.”
“You’ll be fine. They’re occupied with unpacking the last box of toys.” She’d never been so pushy in her life, and her face burned hot now. But she had to find out what Mark was up to. If Redd had enough money, he might boot her family out of his house—if not now, then possibly at the end of the one-year contract, before she could afford to buy or build. She knew good and well she’d never find another rental house big enough that would fit her budget.
“I’m nearly finished. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
The poor man. She hated to hit him up for child care just because he was close by, but desperation necessitated it. Now she needed to hurry home to change clothes.
Change clothes?
Disgusted with herself for even worrying about it, she marched across the yard and told the kids the plan. Once Redd arrived, she sent them back to organizing their rooms, gave him her cell-phone number and then left.
Remaining stealthy was difficult in a small town. But she did her best to cruise by the B and B and check license plates without alarming the owners or guests.
Luckily, she found Mark’s rental car parked out front. Of course, now she had to go inside and ask for him. Mr. and Mrs. Gunter knew everyone in town—including Hannah’s mother. If Donna found out her daughter had come around to visit Mark Ryker, she would throw a fit. Or worse, do something irrational to punish Hannah.
She plowed ahead, intent on telling the man to quit meddling in his father’s affairs and to go away. Helping Redd was one thing. But sneaking around, using money to manipulate him to do something he claimed he didn’t want to do—like moving back into the house—was a different matter.
A sign on the front door of the old Victorian home said to enter and ring the bell on the desk. She followed the directions, then waited. Every creak made her jump. Still, no one came.
She knew there were four guest rooms. She could start knocking.
No. Too awkward. So she tapped the little silver bell again, louder this time. Still no response.
Instead of heading toward the guest rooms, she first searched the living areas. When she reached the dining room, she heard voices outside. She peeked through the screen door at the back porch and found Mark sitting on an oversize rocking chair, holding a coffee mug. He and two other guests chatted with the Gunters.
Evening social hour.
Fighting the temptation to flee, she squared her shoulders. She would not waste putting herself through that awkward request for babysitting by chickening out.
She pushed the door open. “Hello?”
Though she tried her best to smile and look at the owners, her gaze automatically darted to Mark, whose rocking motion stilled the moment he spotted her.
“Oh, Hannah, dear,” Mrs. Gunter said from the chair beside Mark, in her thick German accent. An energetic seventy-year-old, she always wore cotton dresses covered with an apron…and knee-high stockings, the tops of which showed just below the hemline. “Come join us for cookies and coffee.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. I stopped by to talk with Mr. Ryker for a moment.”
“Oooh?” Mrs. Gunter said, with a hopeful lilt on the end of the word.
Mark hopped up, leaving his chair to rock back and forth without him in it. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Hughes?” Though concern drew his brows downward, his voice sounded perfectly calm and…well, perfect.
How could he infuriate her so, even in that smooth tone of voice? And where had his Georgia accent gone anyway? Had he purposefully hidden it? Was he ashamed of his past?
He should be ashamed of his past, accent or not. “I need to speak to you about something—privately.”
“You talk in the garden.” Mrs. Gunter stood and shooed them down the back steps. She pointed toward a path that led into a garden surrounded by holly hedges.
The sun was heading below the horizon as Mark followed her farther along the path dotted with pink-and- yellow lantana, pots of geraniums, beds of petunias. At the last event she’d attended at the Gunters’, a bridal shower, she’d thought the garden lovely, peaceful. But now, with the crescendo of frog calls, the oppressive, flower-scented air and closeness of Mark as he trailed behind her, right on her heels, the shrubbery closed in, smothering her.
At the first bench, she stopped and turned to him. “I know you donated the money for your dad.”
“And how could you have come to that conclusion?”
He was calm and cool and totally irritating. And those eyes…a woman could lose herself in those eyes.
She sat on the rough stone bench, mainly to get away from him. “Becca saw you outside the bank today.”
He sighed as he sat next to her. “I was afraid of that. I really want to keep this anonymous. So please don’t tell my father.”
“You’re afraid he’ll reject the donation if he finds out it’s from you?” As soon as the words left her mouth and she saw the hurt on his face, she regretted her question.
“I’m sure he’ll reject it. He wants nothing to do with me—which I understand. But I don’t want him to struggle when I’m able to help.”
Pity tried to worm its way into her heart, but she stood firm. One time, many years ago, she would have fallen for his spiel, for his generosity. At one time, she would have thought him attractive.
But this man had ruined Sydney’s reputation, started her on the road to alcoholism and then, when he realized what he’d done, vanished. She would not feel sorry for him.
“I don’t plan to tell your father. The deposit is simply bank business as far as I’m concerned. But if you try to make my family move before we’re ready, then I may have to reconsider.”
He raised his brows with what appeared to be humor. “Does your husband know you’re here threatening me?”
A flash of pain shot through her. Though it had been two years since his death, hearing someone say your husband still hurt. “My husband passed away. I’m simply taking care of my family the best I can.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.” Genuine regret drew his brows back down from their teasing height and made him frown. Then he looked away.
If he’d had half a care for the people of his hometown, he would have known about Anthony’s death. The tree frogs seemed to lapse as awkward silence settled around them.
“So how long do you plan to live in Dad’s house?” he asked.
“Two to three years. I hope to buy or build as soon as possible.”
