His Small-Town Girl

“Yes,” Charlotte muttered, “but you’ll have to eat it in here. Grover’s playing dominoes tonight.”

Nodding, Holt took a fork from the drawer and strolled into the other room and toward the lobby, his big boots clumping on the bare floor. “I’ll be back, then. Thanks, sis.”

“Welcome,” she answered automatically, her mind on other matters.

Should Aldrich Grocery put in a store here, the Bookers would undoubtedly suffer. It was, she decided, a matter for prayer. And perhaps a bit of subtle investigation.

Chapter Three

Charlotte glanced at her watch, more than a little miffed.

On weekdays, she started cleaning the rooms as soon as the oil-field workers left in the mornings and by this time usually could be sitting down to lunch with her grandfather. On Saturdays, she got a later start because the workmen liked to sleep in a bit before heading home to their families. Lunch, therefore, came later on Saturdays, but not normally this late.

It was already past twelve, and she still had one room left to do before she could begin preparing the midday meal, thanks to Tyler Aldrich. On a few occasions she’d had to put off the cleaning until the afternoon, but that pushed her workday well into the night as she had a weekly chore scheduled for each afternoon.

Saturday afternoons were reserved for washing and re-hanging drapes. If she didn’t do at least three sets of drapes each week, she’d either be a week behind or have to do it on Monday, the day she shampooed carpets. Tuesday afternoons were dedicated to outside windows, Wednesdays to replacing shower curtains, Thursdays to cleaning oil stains off the pavement and policing the grounds. Fridays she cleaned the lobby top to bottom and did the shopping.

In this fashion, she not only cleaned every occupied room each day, she completely freshened every room once a month, while maintaining the lobby and grounds on a weekly basis and keeping their storeroom stocked. Hap did his part by handling the registration desk and banking, balancing the books, ordering supplies and helping out with the daily laundry.

She did not appreciate having her carefully balanced schedule upset. Obviously, the man had no idea what it took to keep an operation like this running smoothly. Then again, few folks did. Deciding that she was being unfair, she left the service cart on the walkway in front of number eight and rapped her knuckles on the door. She began slowly counting to ten, intending to walk away if he hadn’t answered by then. She’d reached seven before the door wrenched open.

Tyler Aldrich stood there in his bare feet, rumpled slacks and a half-buttoned shirt, looking harried and irritated, his dark hair ruffled. A day’s growth of chocolate beard shadowed his face. If she’d had to guess, she’d have said he hadn’t slept very well.

He wrinkled his face at the glare of the sun and demanded, “What is that noise?”

“Noise?” She glanced around in puzzlement.

He put a hand to his head. “Ka-shunk, ka-shunk. All night long.”

“Oh, that noise. There’s a pump jack out back.”

He sighed. “Of course. Oil pumps. Should’ve figured that one.”

“I’m so used to the sound, I don’t even notice it anymore,” she admitted, “but we don’t get many complaints about it.” They hadn’t actually had any complaints about it until now.

“I don’t suppose it would bother me if it wasn’t so quiet around here,” he grumbled.

Well, which is it, she wondered, saying nothing, too quiet or too noisy?

He put a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to sleep, especially after those two fellows showed up about midnight.”

“What two fellows?”

He waved a hand at that. “Roadside service sent them. I called before I stopped in here. Then after I decided to stay, I forgot to call back and tell them not to bother bringing me gas.”

“They came at that time of night just to bring you gas?” she asked in disbelief.

“A few gallons,” he muttered. “I still have to fill up.”

She shook her head. The rich really did live differently than everyone else. “I hate to be an inconvenience, but I need to clean this room before I feed Granddad.”

Nodding, he hid a yawn behind one hand. “Yeah, okay, just give me a few minutes to get out of your way.”

“I’ll be right here when you’re ready,” she told him politely, linking her hands behind her back. No way was she going away again. Experience had taught her that a guest would just head straight back to bed and she’d have this exercise to repeat.

Tyler gave her a lopsided grin. “Swell. Uh, listen, can I get breakfast at that café downtown?”

“Sure,” she answered, and then for some reason she couldn’t begin to fathom she went on. “But if you’re willing to settle for lunch, you can eat with us again.”

He stopped rubbing his eyes long enough to stare at her, his brow beetled. “Lunch?”

Wondering why she’d issued the invitation, she hastily backtracked as far as good manners would allow. “Just sandwiches, I’m afraid. I don’t have time for anything else.”

“What time is it, anyway?”

She didn’t even have to look. “About ten minutes past noon.”

Tyler goggled his eyes. “Noon? You’re sure?” She held up her wrist, just in case he wanted to check for himself. His sky-blue eyes closed as he turned away. “I must’ve slept a lot better than I thought.”

“You mean you’re not used to sleeping till noon?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at herself. She never made unwarranted assumptions about people. Well, hardly ever. Fortunately he had not noticed.

“Not anymore,” he muttered enigmatically, looking for something. Finding it, he hurried over to snatch his foot-wear from the floor beside the low dresser that held the television set. Plopping down in the chair that pulled out from the small desk in front of the window, he began yanking on his socks. “Sorry about this. I’ll get out now and let you clean.”

“No problem.”

“Say, is there someplace I can buy a toothbrush and shaving gear?” he asked, rising to stomp into his shoes.

She hesitated a moment before telling him, but really, what harm could it do? “Booker’s will have everything you need. Just go out here and turn right.” She pointed behind her. “They’re a block east of downtown.”

Nodding, he stuffed in his shirttail and reached for his suit jacket. “Thanks.”

He started toward her, then stopped and went back to snatch his wallet and keys from the bedside table attached to the wall. With a glance in her direction, he picked up the room key and pocketed that, too.

Did he intend to stay another night? That didn’t seem like the behavior of a man who just happened to have gotten stranded by an empty gas tank. On the other hand, he’d obviously been unprepared to stay. Maybe he just needed someplace to clean up before he headed out of town. Knowing that she should give him the benefit of the doubt, she backed up as he came through the door.

He went to his car while she maneuvered the service cart into the room. A moment after that, the low-slung car rumbled to life.

She whispered a prayer as she stripped the sheets from the bed. “He’s not a bad sort, Lord, but the Bookers have been here a long time, generations, and I know You look after Your own.”

For the first time, she wondered if Tyler Aldrich, too, could be a believer. A shiver of…something…went through her, something too foolish to even ponder.

“Well, hello, there! Abe Houton.”

For at least the fourth time in the space of the past ten minutes, Tyler put down what could well be the best, not to mention the cheapest, cup of coffee he’d ever tasted in order to shake the hand of a stranger. Dallas owned a reputation as a friendly city, Tyler mused, but tiny Eden, Oklahoma, put it to ridiculous shame.

He cleared his throat, managed a brief smile and returned the greeting. “Tyler Aldrich.”

Built like a fireplug, short and squat, Abe Houton sported a fine handlebar mustache that would have made Wyatt Earp as proud as the tall brown beaver cowboy hat poised on Houton’s bald head.

“Good to meet you, Tyler. Welcome to Eden. Haven’t seen you around here before. What brings you to town?”

Tyler would have wondered if the shield pinned to Abe Houton’s white, Western-style shirt had more to do with the question than simple friendliness but for the fact that he’d been asked the same thing repeatedly since he’d come into the Garden of Eden café. And he hadn’t even had his buckwheat flapjacks yet.

When he’d sat down at this small, square table in the window, he’d intended to fill his time with people-watching while he dined on an egg-white omelet or a nice bagel with fat-free cream cheese and fruit. Unfortunately he’d become the center of attention for everyone who passed by and the healthiest breakfast he could come up with from the menu was whole-grain flapjacks. The forty-something waitress with the hairnet had openly gaped when he’d asked her to hold the butter and inquired about organic maple syrup.

Tyler looked the local policeman in the eye and repeated words he’d already said so many times that they were ringing in his ears. “Just passing through.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” the diminutive lawman remarked, sounding as if he meant it. “This here is a right fine town.”

Tyler sat back against the speckled, off-white vinyl that padded the black, steel-framed chairs clustered around the red-topped tables. A floor of black-painted concrete and, oddly enough, knotty pine walls provided the backdrop. What really caught the eye, though, was the old-fashioned soda fountain behind the counter.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask what’s so special about this town,” Tyler said, truly curious.

Houton rocked back on the substantial heels of his sharp-toed brown cowboy boots, one stubby hand adjusting the small holster on his belt. The pistol snapped inside looked like a toy. Then again, Houton himself resembled a stuffed doll. Tyler had to wonder just how lethal either might be.

“Why, this is Eden, son,” the little man declared, as if that answered everything. Then, with unabashed enthusiasm he added, “You should see our park.”

“You mean the park at the end of the street?”

“So you have seen it! Bet you didn’t notice the footbridge. My daddy helped build that footbridge out of old train rails. Prettiest little footbridge you’ll ever see. Really, you should stop by and take a look.”

Tyler didn’t know whether to laugh or run out and take a look at this local wonder. Fortunately, the waitress arrived just then with his flapjacks, along with a dish of mixed berries, a jug of something that passed for syrup and a refill of aromatic coffee. Houton excused himself with a doff of his hat to straddle a stool at the counter, his feet barely reaching the floor.

Lifting the top edge of a suspiciously tall stack, Tyler saw that succulent slices of ham had been sandwiched between the airy brown flapjacks. A sane, sensible, health-conscious man would remove the meat. A hungry man would just dive in. A self-indulgent one would pour on the so-called syrup and enjoy. Tyler reached for the jug, thinking that he had nothing better to do all day than work off a few extra calories.

An unexpected sense of freedom filled him as he watched the thick, golden-brown liquid flow down. Maybe, he thought, surprising himself, he’d even check out the park.

Nearly half an hour later, Tyler made his way out of the small café, nodding over his shoulder at those who called farewells in his wake. Stuffed to the gills and ridiculously happy about it, he decided that he might as well walk off some of what he’d just consumed and left the car sitting in the slanted space across the street where he’d parked it in front of a resale shop. Hands in his pockets, he strolled along the broad, street-level sidewalk, nodding at those who nodded at him in greeting, which was everyone he encountered. Even old ladies driving—or, more accurately, creeping—down the street in their pristine ten-or twenty-year-old cars waved at him. Tyler nodded back and kept an eye peeled for someplace to work up a good sweat.

He came rather quickly to the park and spied at a distance the aforementioned footbridge spanning the creek that bisected the gently rolling lawn studded with brightly leaved trees. Erosion from the banks of the creek colored the shallow water red-orange, which seemed oddly apt in this autumn setting.

Concrete benches scattered beneath the trees invited him to sit for a spell, but he resisted the urge. Picnic tables clustered in one section of the broad space.

A few children and a pair of adult women peopled a playground near the small parking area, where carelessly dropped bicycles awaited their young riders. Tyler turned away, wondering what he was doing in Eden, Oklahoma. He pondered that as he strolled back toward his car.

A plump woman in baggy jeans and an oversize sweater swept leaves off the sidewalk in front of a small white clapboard church on the corner nearest the park. Tyler thought he recognized the sedan parked in front of the modest brick house beside it as one he’d seen at the motel last night, but he couldn’t be sure. Walking on he realized that the boxy two-story building behind the church actually belonged to it, easily tripling the building’s size.

He got in the car and set off to purchase toiletries, taking in the town along the way. All of Eden had been laid out in neat, square blocks that made navigation laughably simple. Turning off Garden Avenue, he meandered along Elm and Ash streets. Elm offered primarily commercial buildings, but Ash hosted the most substantial homes he’d yet seen. Constructed of brick and mottled stone, most with square or round pillars supporting deep, broad porches, none could be described as stately and all dated from the 1920s and ’30s.

Noting that he’d driven into town on Pecan, he wondered if all the streets were named for trees. Turning on the GPS, he sat with the engine idling at a stop sign long enough to study a city map. It turned out that only the streets running east and west were named for trees. The streets running north and south were named for flowers. He smiled at such fanciful monikers as Lilac, Sunflower, Iris and Snapdragon.

Marveling at the neatness and simplicity of the city scheme, he looked up. A check of his rearview mirror revealed an SUV queued up behind him. He had no idea how long it had been there, but instead of blaring the horn, as any driver in Dallas would have done instantly, the frothy-haired woman behind the wheel gave him a cheery wave. Saluting in apology, Tyler pulled out and made his way to Booker’s.

The store fascinated him. Occupying a former ice house, it served as a historical microcosm of progress over the past half century, with goods ranging from a fair but mundane selection of groceries to cosmetics and cheap bedroom slippers.

He bought the necessary items, paying cash, before taking himself back to the motel, where he shaved and brushed his teeth. He put off showering in hopes of finding an adequate health club somewhere close by. Relishing the thought of working himself into a state of sweaty exhaustion, he walked over to the motel lobby in search of information.

Charlotte adjusted the heat on the heavy-duty clothes drier, set the timer on her watch, checked the load in the washer and walked back into the apartment through the door that opened from the laundry room to the kitchen. Moving swiftly, she passed through the dining room and on into the reception area. With Hap and his buddies at the domino table, she need not worry about having the front desk staffed and so turned at once toward the office. A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“I wonder if you gentlemen might tell me where I can find some workout clothes and a gym?”

Laughter erupted.

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte moved at once to the counter. Justus had all but fallen off his chair, while Teddy and Hap tried to maintain some semblance of good manners, without much success. Tyler stood before the game table, his hands in the pockets of his pants as he waited stoically for their amusement to die away. At length, Hap cleared his throat.

“Only gym hereabouts is down to the high school, son.”

“If you’re wanting a good workout, though, you can get that out at my place,” Justus teased. “I got about a hunerd head of cattle what need feeding and a barnyard full of hay ready for storage. Keys are in the tractor.”

Justus chortled at his own joke, while Teddy snickered and Hap kept clearing his throat in a belated effort to remain impassive. Torn between amusement and pity, Charlotte leaned both elbows on the counter and interjected herself into the conversation.

“He looks like he’s in pretty good shape to me, Justus. You never can tell, Tyler might be able to shift those big old round hay bales without a tractor.”

Tyler shot her a wry, grateful look over one shoulder.

“He could get one on each end of a metal bar and lift ’em like weights,” Teddy suggested with a big grin.

“Speaking of weights,” Charlotte went on, addressing Tyler directly as he turned to face her. “If that’s what you’re interested in, I could always call my brother. He could get you into the field house.”

“That would be, um, Holt?”

“Ryan. Holt’s the older one.”

Tyler nodded. “The driller. Among other things.”

Uncomfortably aware that the other three men were suddenly listening avidly, Charlotte kept her tone light. “Exactly. Ryan’s the coach—”

“History teacher, assistant principal,” Tyler finished for her. “I wouldn’t want to put him out.”

“Well, he’s your best bet,” she said a bit more smartly than she’d intended. “Nearest health club is around fifty miles from here.”

Tyler looked lost for a moment. Then Hap laid down his dominoes. “Here now. We could use a fourth for forty-two. Straight dominoes has me bored to tears. You wouldn’t consider sitting in, would you? Least ways until Grover finishes his sermon for tomorrow.”

Tyler shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t know how to play forty-two.”

“Oh, we’ll teach you,” volunteered Justus, as if making amends for his teasing earlier. “Won’t we, Teddy?”

“Sure thing. He can play opposite Hap.”

To Charlotte’s surprise, Tyler pulled out the empty chair at the table. “Does that mean we’re partners?”

“That’s what it means,” Hap answered, obviously pleased that he’d picked up on that. Hap began turning the dominoes facedown and mixing them up. “Since I’m paired with the new kid, I get first shake.” He looked to Tyler, instructing, “Now draw seven.”

Hanging over the counter, her chin balanced on the heel of her hand, Charlotte got caught up in the game. She jerked when her timer beeped. By then, Tyler had learned enough to engage in a bidding war with Justus. Ill-advised, perhaps, but gutsy.

“Two marks.”

“Three.”

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” Justus warned.

“Then your partner can take me off.”

“I’m not bidding four marks. You two are nuts.”

Charlotte laughed as she slipped through the door into the apartment, hearing Hap declare, “Lead ’em, partner. I got your off covered.”

It wouldn’t surprise her one bit if the newbie made his bid and taught a couple of old dogs a new trick or two, but why that should please her so, she couldn’t say.

Chapter Four

The sun hung low over the horizon when Charlotte heard footsteps scraping on the pavement. She pulled her bulky, navy-blue cardigan a little tighter and crossed her legs before reaching over to close the Bible on the low, wrought-iron table at her elbow to keep the breeze from ruffling the pages. Picking up her coffee cup, she sipped and smiled with contentment.

This was her favorite time of day. With the work done and Granddad’s dinner in the oven, she could steal a few minutes to just sit out on the patio and ponder. What would normally be a moment of supreme relaxation, however, suddenly became tinged with something else as Tyler Aldrich strolled around the corner of the building.

“Hello, there.”

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the way he made her feel and a little ashamed for it. Pushing the unwelcome feelings aside, she smiled in greeting. “Hello, yourself. Game’s over, I take it.”

He grinned. “Grover just showed up.”

“Ah. Lost your seat, then.”

“I don’t mind. Looks like I found another one.” He pointed to the chaise next to her. Like her own chair, it lacked padding and the dark green paint had flecked off in places, but he didn’t seem to care. Good manners demanded that she nod, and he sat down sideways, using the elongated seat like a bench. “At least your grandfather didn’t seem particularly eager to lose me as a partner.”

Charlotte laughed. “He likes to win, and Grover’s too polite to trounce the competition. You must’ve caught on well.”

Tyler shrugged. “I have a good head for numbers, and it’s a pretty entertaining game. Kind of like bridge. Do you play?”

“Bridge? No. Forty-two, absolutely, but usually just with the family, my brothers, Granddad and me.”

“So tell me something. What is nello?” Tyler asked.

Charlotte chuckled. “Am I to understand that they wouldn’t let you bid nello?”

“Never came to that. It’s just something Grover said as we were playing out my last hand.”

She explained that a nello bid meant the exact opposite of a trump bid. Instead of trying to catch enough tricks and count to make the bid, the nello bidder tried not to catch a single trick or point, despite having to lead the first trick.

Tyler nodded with satisfaction. “Makes sense now. I didn’t have a domino larger than a trey that last hand.”

“And Grover would have seen that. He does love to play nello,” Charlotte put in.

Glancing around in the softening light Tyler commented, “I can’t remember the last time I spent half the day playing games.”

“Sounds like a case of all work and no play to me.” She sipped from her mug, realizing belatedly that her hospitality lacked something. She held up the cup. “Care for coffee?”

“Decaf?”

“Sorry, no, but I’ve got some if you want to wait for it to make.”

“Don’t bother. I’m pretty content as I am.” He leaned back slightly, bracing his palms on the edge of the chaise. “You’re one to talk about all work and no play. I never realized how much work even a small motel can be.” He waved a hand. “Hap filled me in on some of what you were doing all day.”

Had Tyler asked where she was? She tried not to let the possibility feel too good or even think about why it did. This man would be gone tomorrow. Her interest in him was a matter of hospitality, nothing more. Or it should be. She couldn’t imagine why it was necessary even to tell herself such things. Hadn’t she learned, long ago, that she should live her life without romantic entanglements? In her experience, someone usually got hurt. Once was quite enough for her.

She managed to shrug and say off-handedly, “Well, there’s always Sunday. We don’t even staff the front desk then. No reason to, really. Our regular trade runs Monday through Friday.”

“I’d think traffic would pick up on the weekend,” he mused.

“Not really. Most of it’s local. A few trucks come through. Not much else.”

“Must make for a slow, easy life,” he observed.

“Slow, maybe. Easy? Well, that depends.”

He nodded. “Right. I wouldn’t say that what you do is easy.”

“Oh, it’s not that hard, especially if you establish a routine. Mostly it’s just time-consuming.”

“Did you never want to do anything else?” he asked.

She answered without thought. “Not really. I didn’t feel called to teach school or what have you. Don’t see any point in waiting tables or clerking when I can do this, and trust me, I’d make a lousy secretary.” She shook her head. “This always felt right for me.”

“I guess your grandfather is happy about that.”