The Perfect Gift

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After getting Goldie into his car, Rory started out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. “So where did you live when you’re not in Viola?”

“Baton Rouge,” she answered, her gaze on the road. “Wow, I see patches of snow in the trees. And the ground is still covered. It’s so beautiful even if it does hurt my eyes.”

“It was pretty cold last night. Some of that could freeze up again later.” Trying to get to know her better, he continued, “And what did you do in Baton Rouge? I mean, how long have you been writing the column?”

“Since college,” she replied. Then she turned to look at him. “I went to school at LSU and got a degree in communication. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I had written a column for a school newspaper and that experience gave me a chance to write a column for a paper in Baton Rouge. Because my most popular columns were on organization and how to get your life on track, I got promoted to the lifestyles section and after three years, the column became regionally syndicated. But I do feature articles, advertorials and fillers, too. I don’t make a lot of money, but I enjoy my work. I’ve always been highly organized so it’s nice to use those skills in my job.”

“Kind of like that woman on television my mother likes so much. I can’t remember her name but she does a cooking show.”

Goldie knew of the woman in question. “No, more like a Southern version of the modern woman—you know, busy, stressed, working all the time both in the home and out of the home and needing to fold the laundry and cook a decent meal then finish studying a business report. I interview a lot of women to get the best tips.”

“My wife was like that,” he said, then wished he hadn’t mentioned Rachel. He didn’t like to talk about her.

Goldie gave him a nod. “Your home reflects that. I’m impressed that it was so neat.”

He shrugged. “My mom was over last night, cleaning for me. You should have seen it when I left yesterday morning.”

“Oh, your mother. Well, I’m sure she loves helping out.”

“She’s been a blessing…since…since Rachel died. She’s a big help with the house and the boys. I guess that works two ways since we lost my dad a year ago. She likes the company.”

“I’m sorry about your wife and your dad.” Goldie didn’t say anything else. She just stared out at the road ahead.

Thinking his past tragedies were sure a downer and not the best approach to impressing a woman, Rory was glad when they pulled up to her grandmother’s tiny brick house. He didn’t need to worry about impressing a woman, anyway. “I’ll help you get in and say hi to your grandmother.”

Goldie waited for him to come around the car then slowly lifted herself out to face him. “I might as well warn you, Rory. She’s gonna want you to stay and eat. But you don’t have to. That is, unless you want to, I mean.”

Rory smiled down at her, thinking soup and corn bread was mighty tempting right now. Especially if he’d get to sit across the table from Goldie.

Then he remembered his boys waiting at his mother’s house and he thought about Rachel, how much he still missed her, and he wondered why he was even thinking about another woman.

“I’d better get on home,” he told Goldie as he helped her up the two stone steps to the porch.

“Nonsense, Rory Branagan,” came the sweet but firm voice from inside the open door. Ruth stood there holding on to a walker. “After all you’ve done for Goldie, the least we can do is give you a good meal. Now come on in here and have some dinner. I insist.”

Rory looked from Goldie’s “I told you so” grin to Ruth Rios’s twinkling eyes and realized he was trapped between longing and duty. And that was not a good place for a man.

Or at least he didn’t think it was.

But he went into the house and shut the door anyway.

Chapter Four

“More coconut pie, Rory?”

“No, ma’am.” Rory glanced over at Goldie, shot her a smile then looked back at her grandmother. “I don’t think I can eat another bite. And I really need to head on home.”

The man was fidgety. Goldie had noticed that earlier today in the hospital, only then she’d chalked it up to his memories of his wife’s death. But now, he just seemed like a caged animal wanting out. Did she make him that nervous? Or was he just used to being outside, cornering some varmint instead of sitting with two women as if he were a member of the garden club?

“Grammy, you know Rory has two boys. And they’re probably wondering where their daddy is.”

“’Course I know all about his boys,” Ruth replied, pursing her lips in that Grammy way. “I’ve taught both of them in Sunday school. Adorable.”

Rory laughed at that. He had a deep laugh. A steady laugh. Goldie liked the sound of it.

“I wouldn’t exactly call them adorable now. They can be a handful, that’s for sure. Which is why I’d better relieve my mom. She’s had them for two days in a row.”

“Do you go out a lot?” Grammy asked, her tone as innocent as the fresh snow still outside.

Rory looked shocked then shook his head. “No, not on dates or stuff like that. I had a call last night from the Johnsons. They spotted an old gator snoozing under the icy water near their dock. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t happy.”

“I reckon not,” Grammy agreed, clearly fascinated. “How’d you catch him?”

Rory tapped his fingers on the table, no doubt ready to be on the road and away from two curious females. “Well, I didn’t want to have to kill him, so I just put on my waders and went in and roped him.”

“You hear that, Goldie? Roped an alligator, all by himself. You ever heard of such?”

Goldie gave Rory an apologetic smile. “Can’t say that I have, Grammy. I’d be afraid I’d lose an arm or leg, going into water with an alligator.”

Rory shook his head. “He was hibernating. An easy catch. I loaded him up and tagged him—we like to keep records on how many we catch and release.”

“So you did release him?” Goldie repeated, suddenly as fascinated as her grandmother.

“We try to release as many as we can. But sometimes, we have to shoot ’em.”

“That’s too bad,” Goldie said, imagining this soft-spoken man shooting to kill. He might be soft-spoken right now but she could picture him as an expert hunter. Why did that make a little shiver slink down her backbone?

“She never did like to see any of God’s creatures hurt or dying,” Ruth murmured, her hand over her mouth in a mock whisper. “She’d bring home every stray out there if I let her.”

Goldie couldn’t argue with that. “She’s right. I love animals. But I’ve never been in one spot long enough to even have a gerbil, let alone a dog or cat.”

“She’s kind of a nomad,” Grammy offered up. “A wandering soul.”

“What she means,” Goldie interpreted, wishing her grandmother wouldn’t talk about her personal inadequacies so much, “is that I can’t seem to settle down.”

“Well, you’ve been all over,” Grammy argued, pouring Rory a second cup of coffee with automatic sweetness. “Traveled all over Europe and the whole United States, this one.”

Goldie nodded. “That’s why I like working at the paper. I can go anywhere I want and still get my column submitted on time. Plus, I pick up ideas and suggestions for my readers when I travel and with technology, it’s fairly easy to do feature stories on the road, too.”

Rory was now the one who seemed fascinated. “I’ve rarely left Louisiana. Is it fun, traveling around all the time?”

Goldie felt the scrutiny of his gaze. The man’s job sure suited him. He looked like he could track down the wildest of animals.

“It…uh…can be fun, yes. But Grammy’s exaggerating. My parents moved me around a lot when I was growing up, so that’s what I’m used to. Then I did some traveling on my own after high school and college. Just summer tours.” Sending her grandmother a warning glance, she added, “But I’m here in good ol’ Viola for a while.”

“And I’m grateful to have her,” Grammy acknowledged. “She’s taken good care of her old grandma, let me tell you. And even though I’m up and around, using my walker, she insists on staying through Christmas. So we have a few more weeks with her.”

“That should be a blessing for you, Miss Ruth.” Rory got up. “I hate to leave such good company, ladies, but I have to get home.” He looked down at Goldie. “I’m glad you’re okay and I’ll search for your locket the minute I get home.”

Grammy’s gaze centered on Goldie’s neck. “You lost your locket, honey?”

“I’ve misplaced it, yes,” Goldie echoed, her smile waning. “I hope I dropped it at Rory’s house last night. I’ve explained to him how much it means to me.”

Grammy didn’t seem too concerned. She patted Goldie’s hand. “Well, lockets can be replaced. You can’t.”

Goldie pushed the cobwebs of regret out of her mind, deciding to think positively. With a wry grin, she said, “I am one of a kind.”

Grammy laughed at that. “You sure are.”

Rory just stood there, smiling his soft smile, his eyes so tigerlike, Goldie could almost feel sorry for alligators and armadillos.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said, getting up. Glad the dizziness wasn’t back, she slowly made her way around the antique mahogany dining table.

“Don’t overdo it now,” Grammy warned, but Goldie caught the gleam in her grandmother’s eyes.

Rory took her arm. “You don’t have to see me to the door. It’s cold out there.”

“I just wanted to thank you again, for all you’ve done,” Goldie said, a rare shyness taking over her tongue.

“Not a problem. Just be careful next time an ice storm hits, okay?”

“That might not happen again in a long time,” she replied, being reasonable. “But that’s the way things go for me—the first ice storm in Louisiana in years and I wind up on the worst road in the state.”

“Well, if it does happen again and you find yourself out near Branagan Road, you know where I live.”

A rush of something warm and satisfying moved down Goldie’s spine. “Yes, I sure do.”

“I’ll call you if I find the necklace,” he said, throwing up a hand in goodbye.

“Okay.”

She shut the door against the cold wind, bright red felt Christmas bows lifting out from the wreath she’d made to hang there, and she wondered if she’d ever see her necklace again.

And if she’d ever see this man again.

He planned on seeing her again.

Rory wasn’t sure if it was the chicken soup or the coconut pie or the blondish curls, but somewhere during the hour or so he’d spent with Goldie and her grandmother, he’d decided he’d like to get to know Goldie Rios a little better. Only he wasn’t so sure how to go about that.

I’m rusty on this stuff, Lord, he thought, his prayers as scattered as the frigid wind. He hadn’t considered dating anyone since Rachel’s death. In fact, he’d believed that to be an insult to his wife’s memory. And to her love for him and their boys.

But maybe he’d been wrong about that. Maybe the boys needed a mother’s touch. His own mother was a pretty terrific substitute and the boys loved her dearly, but well, a man needed a wife. Especially a man trying to raise two active sons. Telling himself to slow down, Rory pushed contemplations of finding a wife out of his mind. That would be wrong—to automatically think of Goldie in those terms when he’d only just met the woman.

Right now, he wouldn’t think beyond getting to know her. One day at a time, he reminded himself. After all, she was the first woman who’d even made him stop to consider dating again. And maybe he was just caught up in the whole thing—finding her on his couch, hurt and frightened, seeing that lost expression in her eyes when she told him about her locket and watching her wince as her grandmother bragged on her, going into detail about her life.

Goldie was obviously a smart, capable woman.

But from the look of things, she wasn’t anywhere near settling down to one man. One man with two rambunctious children.

“I’d better find that locket and get it back to her before I do something really dumb,” Rory said to himself.

Like ask her out on a date or something.

But that urge might be tougher to control than wrestling a gator had ever been.

“Grammy, I know that look,” Goldie said after Rory had left. “You’re up to matchmaking, aren’t you?”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Ruth teased, her smile causing her dimples to deepen. “But you have to admit, Rory is a fine-looking man. And a good, solid Christian, too.”