скачать книгу бесплатно
Solitaire’s Market had been Mandy’s idea. They’d started the roadside store about the time Matt was born. To everyone’s surprise, it made money. Beth knew because she’d worked in it many a Saturday, helping out.
The market was just one more thing on Jared’s plate. When Mandy was alive, Jared had cared about making sure his family was provided for, but not so that he’d missed being a part of their everyday lives. Now that Mandy was gone, Jared obsessed about work to such an extent that Billy had become his sons’ primary caregiver. Beth edged toward the kitchen and a clean getaway. Mona tended to ask a lot of questions.
Before Beth could make it to the backyard, she heard Billy say, “Is there a hole in it?”
“I don’t know yet.” Joel, standing in the middle of what looked like a deflated hot-air balloon, nodded at Beth as she came out the back door. Then, as if suddenly realizing who she was, sent her a full-blown smile. He was wearing loose jeans and a tight blue T-shirt that had seen better days. He actually looked like he was having fun amid all the chaos.
He was looking at her as if she just added to the fun.
“It came with a repair kit,” Billy said, totally missing out on his helper’s inattention.
Joel looked at home in the backyard. That shouldn’t surprise her; after all, he’d grown up on Solitaire Farm. He stood all handsome and strong looking. She wouldn’t have recuperated so quickly if she’d driven her car into a fence and suffered a concussion.
He made no move to patch the inflatable jump house. Instead, he asked, “Did you bring a book to read?”
She was surprised he remembered. “No, I didn’t bring a book to read.”
He shook his head. “You even read during football games.”
“Quit jabbering,” Billy ordered, as a little girl ran and hid behind him to avoid being caught by Mona Gabor’s three-year-old. “Fix the hole so we can get these kids occupied.” A moment later, the Gabor toddler plowed into Billy, almost knocking him to the ground and inspiring Joel to get busy.
Beth watched him, noting the way his hair rippled in the wind, how his body moved—just a bit on the hesitant side—and how easily he fixed the leak.
That was his gift, always, even more than sports. He tinkered, on the farm, at school and at Tiny’s garage. All those years ago, when she’d been watching him from afar and thinking he didn’t notice her, maybe he had.
A tiny piece of her—one she didn’t dare let grow because of all the what ifs—felt exhilarated.
In their small Iowa town, high school football rated as one of the top three things to do—right after go to church and take care of the family. She’d started going to games when she was eleven. About the time she hit thirteen, she’d had enough. She wasn’t going to follow her sisters’ Adidas athletic shoes onto the field and wave pom-poms. Being in the limelight never appealed to Beth. Until Joel had made quarterback, she’d sat on the bleachers—there to support both her sisters, who were cheerleaders—with her nose in a book while those around her cheered. Of course, the stadium lights didn’t make for easy reading, and it had seemed like every time Beth got comfortable, the bleachers moved. Everyone wanted to stomp their feet in tune with the cheerleaders. If they weren’t doing that, they’d stand to either cheer a good call or debate a bad one.
When Joel had made quarterback, she’d read her book but she’d made sure to watch when he played. She’d always considered him worth watching. Only once before had she noticed him watching back. It was the game-winning play, his senior year. She’d seen his teammates lifting him in the air. He’d whipped off his helmet and looked into the crowd.
Right at Beth.
Or so it had seemed.
Then he’d been swallowed up not only by his teammates, but by the cheerleaders, coaches and fans.
And Beth had returned to her book.
Looking at Joel McCreedy now, with the sunlight dancing in his hair and laughter dancing in his eyes, she almost felt weak-kneed. Obviously, schoolgirl crushes didn’t go away, even when the object of the crush moved far, far away.
No doubt about it, books were a safer investment than Joel McCreedy. The last time he’d left, he’d not known he was taking her heart. All it would take was one touch, the right word and that full-blown come-hither grin, and everyone would know he could win her heart.
Including her mother.
And since Joel had no staying power, she’d be here in Roanoke picking up the pieces all by herself again.
No, thank you.
Joel straightened, watching as Beth made her way to a group of adults busy setting out the makings for a hot dog and potato chip meal. Her red-and-white-striped shirt topped tight jeans that fell midknee. White socks and white tennis shoes finished off the look.
Definitely a target to follow.
He was careful not to move too quickly. He’d already made a mistake or two today. First, he’d picked up Caleb so he could watch as people parked in the driveway. Apparently, to a three-year-old, watching friends arrive with presents was almost as good as getting to open the presents.
Picking Caleb up hadn’t hurt, but putting him down had.
His next mistake was helping Billy put up the jump house. The whole experience had to do with bending over and straightening up—two things he should really only do in moderation or at the physical therapist’s office.
Or so said the doctor Joel had visited after getting the diagnosis about the acute lumbar strain. The doctor, a sports medicine specialist, highly recommended, had said over and over, “An injury like this never goes away. One wrong move, awkward turn, and suddenly walking from the couch to the bathroom will take an hour. You’ll always have pain, but if you’re careful, you can lead a normal life.”
Careful meant avoiding the bull; normal didn’t include the rodeo.
“We have exercises that will help you get stronger,” the physical therapist had agreed.
Riding a bull was exercise and Joel had always been strong.
“You can still ride,” the doctor had emphasized, “but I strongly recommend horses, not bulls, and not in competition, but for pleasure.
“If you do your exercises, especially the stretches,” the physical therapist encouraged.
Until just this moment, Joel had been focusing on the things he didn’t want to do: Ride a horse instead of a bull. Exercise because he had to. Return, tail tucked under, to Solitaire Farm.
Finding out most of the town thought he was a thief was just one more nail in the coffin holding his dreams.
Right now, though, the only dream he needed to be thinking of was Caleb’s. As if in response to that thought, Billy shouted, “I need help!”
Billy’s words were more an order; Joel had been doing grunt work from the moment he’d finished breakfast. Getting ready for a three-year-old’s birthday party was harder than preparing for an eight-second ride. And, surprise, surprise, Joel had enjoyed every minute—except for the occasional unwelcome stiffness from the ever-present back pain.
Joel also was enjoying watching Beth traipse across the lawn. Joel followed her movements all the way to a group of people and a guy Joel didn’t know. She put her hand on his arm and starting talking. The guy nodded and soon what looked to be a serious conversation started. Joel took one step toward her, then another. He stopped when her sister Linda wandered outside and in just a matter of moments landed in the midst of a bunch of her girlfriends—laughing and trying to outtalk each other with animated arm gestures. Joel wondered where Susan, the other sister, was. They usually weren’t far apart.
He looked back at Beth. She didn’t need to laugh out loud. Ever the little lady, her eyes did the laughing for her. Joel took another step. She might be talking to a strange man, but she was aware of Joel. He knew how to recognize hooded looks and practiced nonchalance.
Every few seconds a kid would come over and wrap his or her arms around Beth’s leg.
The woman was now a kid magnet.
As he took another step, he figured that maybe she was a man magnet, too.
He almost felt propelled to join them. No doubt about it. Beth was definitely a Joel magnet.
Without a second thought, Joel joined the crowd of two.
The man eyed Joel warily, not in a tired manner, more with a guarded hesitation. He looked young, too young. Still, when he spoke, he didn’t beat around the bush. “So, you’re the infamous Joel McCreedy.”
“That would be me.”
“I hear you went eight seconds against a fence and the fence won.”
“Can’t help what you draw.” Joel stuck out his hand. “And you are?”
Judging by the look in the other man’s eyes, Joel recognized competition, a worthy opponent.
“Nathan Fisher. I’m the new youth minister at the Main Street Church. I’ve been in Roanoke about a year.”
Maybe, just maybe, Joel surmised, Nathan might be one of a handful of people who didn’t already judge Joel a thief.
Mona Gabor chose that moment to join them. She held her three-year-old balanced on one hip and didn’t seem to notice that said child had a messy hunk of birthday cake in his hands and was waving electric-blue-frosting-covered fingers dangerously close to her hair.
Beth gently took the piece, not even noticing when blue frosting dripped on her pants, and fed it to the kid.
“Thanks,” Mona said without taking her eyes off Joel. “Did you get any buckles?”
Beth looked curious, too. Funny, all the time he’d been on the road, he’d imagined his family and friends back home keeping track.
Instead, they’d been going about the business of living their lives. “Yes, I won a few buckles.”
Her eyes widened. “How many?”
“Fifteen. I’ve got fifteen buckles.” What he didn’t add was that you couldn’t pay bills with buckles and how quickly his half of the farm money had disappeared. He didn’t add that even with fifteen wins, he’d not pulled in any sponsors. Oh, he’d earned more than his fair share of decent-sized purses, too. They’d financed the next rodeo and the next and the next. He’d come close to being part of the crowd aiming to become national champions. Close, however, wasn’t a word that meant much when your belly was empty and you were sharing a room with three other cowboys all comparing the war wounds of their chosen career.
Because serious bull riding was a career. One that Joel had studied for, longed for, lived and ached to return to.
“Have you ever been on television?” Mona today was much the same as Mona eight years ago. She had plenty of questions. He could only hope she didn’t bring up the missing money. Or, maybe he should hope she would, so he could proclaim his innocence.
Then he remembered Caleb shouting “I’m three. I’m three!” No, this was Caleb’s day.
“Did you ever meet the guy they made that movie about?” Mona asked. “You know, the one …”
There were quite a few rodeo movies, but answering Mona’s question would only spur more questions of the same ilk. He decided to head her off at the pass. “Besides the buckles,” he continued, “I also met some incredible people, not movies stars, but real people. People who’ve made a difference, like …”
But she’d already stopped listening. She was just one more person who only cared about the buckles and the headlines, proof that the hometown boy made good. She didn’t know or care about the amazing people he’d met. Before Joel could think of something else to say, she turned away and started talking to someone else.
Immediately, his eyes sought out Beth, but she’d disappeared while he’d been musing about the past.
Which left Joel alone with Nathan Fisher, who had the same half smile on his face that little Matt wore most of the time.
“So,” Joel, who couldn’t stand the silence, said, “how did you get lucky enough to be invited to Caleb’s birthday party?”
“My sister baked the cake. She started a catering business. I volunteered to deliver.”
Joel figured there was more, so he waited. Sure enough, Nathan continued. Leaning in, he said in a hushed tone, “I was also hoping to get the chance to speak with your brother. Make an effort to personally invite him to church.”
“Jared’s stopped going to church?” Joel had halfway expected Nathan to say something about Beth, something like “keep away,” or, “You look pretty good for a man who wrestled a fence and lost,” or at the least issue a few questions like “How long are you staying?”
Before Joel could ask questions, someone shouted Joel’s name, and the opportunity was lost.
“Man, it’s good to see you. You look tired.” Trust his one-time best friend, Derek Livingston, to state the obvious. Clasping Derek’s hand in a sturdy shake for the briefest of moments, Joel experienced what he’d expected to experience every time he saw an old friend.
Homecoming.
With Derek, there was a repeat of that welcome. Still, the most Joel could muster was, “I am tired. Good to see you.”
“I’m sorry you’re back this way. I expected you to ride into town in a parade.”
“Yeah, well, my parade’s over and I should have aimed my float home a long time ago. What about you?”
“I’m doing great.” Derek laughed. “And speaking of floats, I help with the annual Roanoke Rodeo Club Parade now. My work sponsors it.”
“Work?” Joel shook his head. “You’re not working with your dad?”
“You do what you got to do, as you well know. I’m vice president of the Roanoke Bank.” Together, the two men scanned the backyard, before Derek finally admitted, “I’d forgotten how it feels to be on the outskirts of town, with plenty of land and animals. Dad sold his place four years ago when he retired. He offered it to me, but I said no. Looking at my kids,” Derek continued, “makes me regret that decision.”
“Which kids are yours?” Joel asked, not that he needed to. Earlier inside the house, Joel had watched as two black-headed boys, stocky, had already followed Ryan up the stairs to his room and then down the stairs for food and then up the stairs for more playing and then down the stairs for more food.
“Twins?” Joel asked.
“Yep, I have the two boys, and my wife’s home with our littlest.” Derek’s eyes lit up, much the way they had back when they’d been winning football games. “Our little girl’s two weeks old today.”
So far, everyone—well, everyone he’d run into during the last forty-eight hours—from Joel’s past, save Beth and her sister Linda, came with a kid or two in tow. Some were already taller than the fence post.
“Unca, I want up.” Caleb crashed into Joel’s legs and practically started climbing. Right behind him was a little girl. Caleb didn’t really want up; he wanted to get away from the little girl.
“Not right now,” Joel said. “Maybe later when everyone’s gone and we go inside.”
“He’ll be asleep the moment the last partygoer heads out,” Derek predicted, as his cell phone went off and he headed for a quiet area. Joel could hear the beginnings of, “Hey, babe, is everything all right?”
Derek, unlike Joel’s brother, was willing to start up right where they’d left off: best friends.
Closer than brothers.
He didn’t even mention the eight years that had passed without a phone call or visit. He didn’t mention the missing money.
Joel headed inside to look for Beth. She was wiping frosting from her pants but before Joel could reach her, he spotted Matt standing against the wall. The five-year-old looked miserable and every few seconds he’d raise up on his toes and jiggle a bit.
The bathroom had a line, and Matt wasn’t in it. Plus, for some reason, the more-than-a-century-old farmhouse still boasted only one full bathroom on the first floor.
That would have been the first change, had Joel stayed on. He moved toward Matt but stopped when Cindy Turner stepped in front of him. Blond headed, tallest of all the girls he’d run with, she was also the loudest and, yes, the most fun.
“What I want to know,” she said, “is how you managed to stay single? What’s wrong with all those buckle bunnies?”
He glanced at her finger. She obviously wasn’t single, so her last name probably was no longer Turner unless she’d added one of those fancy hyphens to her name.
“I guess I was busy,” Joel quipped for lack of any other response.
“No.” The word was spoken in a deep, serious voice. The room’s noise faded as if someone had turned down the stereo.
Joel stood straighter, even though it hurt, and looked at his older brother.
