Sugarplum Homecoming

Nothing she hadn’t expected but still the reaction stung. She’d changed, thank God, the day she’d stumbled into a Nashville street mission drunk as a skunk after getting turned down for an important gig at the Opry. She hadn’t known it then, but both had been her last chance. She’d never sung in public again, but she’d found the Lord and started on a new path.

Lana looked at Sydney, her throat aching with love and guilt. “Maybe you can be friends with Paige and Nathan.”

Dear Lord, don’t make Sydney pay any more for Tess’s or my mistakes. Let this work. Make it work for her sake.

“Will Paige be in my class at school?”

“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll have to ask. Come on, let’s get the car unloaded.” She thumped the flat of her palm against the center pillar in a show of energy she didn’t feel. They still hadn’t worked up the nerve to go inside the forlorn two-story, but they were here and they would stay. Regardless. Somehow she and Sydney would turn this dreary old relic into a real home, clearing out one room and one old ghost at a time.

“Nathan was nice, too,” Sydney said. She reached her skinny arms into the backseat of the old Ford and dragged out a cardboard box. “He said I could swing on his swing set sometime.”

“He did?” Lana had not even noticed the children talking, probably because she’d been too focused on their handsome father. Boy, did she ever remember him!

“Uh-huh. He did. So, can I?”

“We’ll see.”

“Paige said they have a dog. Can we get a dog?”

“I don’t think so.” When she saw Sydney’s expression, Lana hurried to say, “Maybe later after we’re well settled.”

Sydney shoved the box onto the grass with a grunt. “Am I staying at this school forever?”

“Poor baby.” Lana squatted for a hug. Sydney had changed schools frequently enough to develop reading difficulties. Lana was determined to remedy that problem this year. Stability was the answer, even if it meant living in this awful house. “We’re going to try.”

Sydney rested her hands on Lana’s shoulders, face close. She had the most beautiful olive skin and turquoise eyes.

“You’re not going to sing no more? Never?”

The loss was still as sharp as a hot stick in the eye. Music was the only thing Lana had ever been good at, though like everything else, not good enough. “No, baby. I have a real job now.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Sydney screwed up her face, feathery dark eyebrows drawing together over her nose. “What was it?”

“I’ll be working for the Whisper Falls newspaper.” She popped the lid on the trunk. Their pitiful possessions were stuffed into two cardboard boxes and a couple of battered suitcases. “I’ll have press passes which means we’ll get to go to lots of fun events for free. Football games, carnivals, plays, all kinds of things.”

“Cool.”

Actually, she was a stringer covering local events for the small paper. The pay was minimal but it was money. Along with the amount her mother left behind—unintentionally, Lana was certain—they should be all right for a while. That is if she could figure out how to write an acceptable article. School hadn’t exactly been her thing, but like singing she could always write. She’d written lots of songs, none of which had been picked up, of course.

Joshua Kendle, the newspaperman on the other end of the telephone, had promised on-the-job training and hired her sight unseen, so how hard could the reporter job be?

Desperate times meant desperate measures. She would personally hand deliver every paper in town—or live in this house—to give Sydney a normal, stable life.

Sydney, slender back bent in half, began pushing a cardboard box across the grass.

“Hold on and I’ll help you.” Lana slammed the trunk of the dependable old Focus with one hand while balancing yet another box on her hip. Though she mourned the loss of her pickup truck, the Focus had been more economical and more sensible.

“I can do it by myself.”

Box on one hip, Lana grabbed the smaller of the suitcases and rolled it, bumping along behind Sydney as she crossed the dry brown grassy distance from the cracked driveway to the porch. Times like these she could use a man around to help out.

Her thoughts shifted again to Davis Turner. She’d had a mild crush on him in high school though he’d never known it. He was an upperclassman, the boy everyone liked because, unlike his sister Jenny, he didn’t have a snarky bone in his body. She wondered if he was still that way.

Time hadn’t damaged his appeal. That was for certain. If anything, maturity had made him more attractive. Very Matt Damon-ish, and hadn’t she always had a crush on the fresh-faced actor?

Lana shook her head in disgust. Men had been her downfall one too many times. Now that she had Sydney to consider and she no longer drank, she wasn’t going down that road again.

Arms full and Sydney nowhere in sight, she kicked the storm door with her boot toe and caught it on the first bounce, thrusting it open with the rolling luggage. The door swung out and back quicker than she’d expected, catching her in the backside and knocking her off balance. The cardboard box tumbled from her arms, spilling its contents. In a juggle to stop her fall, Lana caught her boot on a loose piece of threshold and hit her knee against the suitcase. The rollers spun the bag in front of her, entangled her feet, and down she went.

Dusty carpet came up to kiss her. The musty odor of disuse and grime tickled her nostrils. Inside her childhood home for the first time in thirteen years and here she was sprawled flat on her face. With her underwear spread all over the floor.

Lips twisting wryly, Lana lifted her head and looked around. Crude red graffiti scrawled across the wall directly in front of her. She glanced to the right and then to the left. More graffiti. She shuddered and buried her face in the crook of her arm, breathing deep the lonely, musty smells. The buoyant hope that had propelled her four hundred miles scuttled away with the sound of whatever vermin roamed her childhood home. For the first time since the idea struck, Lana questioned her decision to bring Sydney to this house.

Maybe she should have let Davis have a look around after all.

* * *

Davis slid a pan of lasagna from the oven with a fat maroon oven mitt. The warm oregano scent filled his modern kitchen. He set the casserole dish on an iron trivet, careful to protect the gleaming black granite countertops he’d installed himself. If there was anything Davis enjoyed, it was transforming the looks of a room with tile and granite.

“Come and eat!” he called and was gratified to hear the scramble for the remote as one of the kids shut off the Wii game. “Red velvet cake for dessert.”

Thank the good Lord for a sister who occasionally took pity on him and sent over dessert. He’d learned the basics of cooking but baking was out of his league. Jenny said a trained monkey could learn to follow instructions on the back of a cake box. Which Davis figured disproved the theory of evolution once and for all since he, a human, couldn’t successfully manage the task.

“Did you wash your hands?” he asked when Nathan, forehead sweaty from the active boxing game, plopped into his chair at one side of the polished ash table.

Fingers stretched wide, Nathan held his palms up for inspection. “See? All clean. They smell good, too. Want to sniff?”

Davis scuffed his son’s hair, affection welling in his chest.“ Good enough for me, bud. Who wants to pray?”

“I will,” Paige said, her face suddenly radiant as if transfigured by the idea of talking to God.

That was his daughter. She had an ethereal faith, disconcerting at times when she offered to pray for total strangers. “All right. Go for it.”

They bowed their heads. Davis kept one eye open, trained on Nathan who had a habit of sneaking food into his mouth during prayer. Today, he was as pious as his sister.

“And Jesus, thank you for sending us new neighbors,” Paige was saying. “Bless them and I hope they have plenty to eat, too, just like we do. Do you think they like red velvet cake? Amen.”

Frowning, Davis turned his gaze on his daughter. Her sweet prayers never failed to move and impress him, but today he suspected an ulterior motive. “What was that about?”

“Well.” With studied innocence that he didn’t buy for one second, she took a slice of buttery garlic bread from the offered plate. “The Bible says to love our neighbor. Right?”

Davis looked down at the lasagna dish, suddenly uncomfortable. He suspected where this was headed. “Right.”

“Lana and Sydney are moving in that old haunted house. They might not have any groceries in the fridge yet. They might not even have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!”

“Or Popsicles,” Nathan said. To Nathan, a Popsicle was one of life’s necessities.

“A house without a Popsicle is a sad house indeed,” Davis said, amused. He dolloped ranch dressing onto his salad and forked a bite.

“Anyway, Daddy,” Paige said. “I was thinking. We want to love our neighbors and invite them to church and everything, right?” She jammed a glob of lasagna into her mouth while awaiting his reply.

Davis skirted the issue momentarily. “Nathan, put some salad on your plate.”

Nathan’s square shoulders slumped, a picture of dejection. “Aw, Daddy.”

“Nonnegotiable. No salad, no cake.”

Nathan reached for the salad.

Paige put down her fork. “Daddy, are you listening to me?”

“Sure, princess. What is it?”

“Are we going to take some lasagna and cake over to Lana and Sydney?”

Davis eyed the long casserole. They’d barely made a dent in the cheesy dish.

“I don’t know, Paige. They might be busy getting settled.” Lana had said those very words. They needed time.

“Everybody has to eat.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she, Daddy?” This from Nathan who was clearly avoiding the three tomatoes lined up like British redcoats on the edge of his plate.

“Who?”

“Lana. I think she’s real pretty. Her hair is pretty, too. I like brown hair.”

Davis swallowed. The forkful of noodles stuck in his throat. He grabbed for his water and swigged.

Yes, Lana was pretty. She and her sassy boots had been prancing around in his head the entire time he was cooking supper. He was curious about her, wondered why she’d left her life in Nashville and what secrets lurked behind her cool blue eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted answers, but he wondered.

He’d taught his kids to do the right thing, to treat people the way they would want to be treated, and that included greeting new neighbors. He was head of the neighborhood welcome community and co-chair of block parties and summer cookouts. Might as well find out early if Lana Ross and her child were people he wanted his children associating with.

“After dinner, if you kids will help clean the kitchen without grumbling, we’ll take a couple of plates down the block. How does that sound?”

“You are the best daddy ever,” Paige said.

“Yeah,” Nathan added, nodding sagely. “Everything is going exactly like we planned.”

“Nathan!” Paige shot him a paralyzing look and shook her head. Nathan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Davis looked from one child to the other, puzzled.

What was that all about?

Chapter Three

Beware of really handsome men bearing gifts.

These random thoughts ran through Lana’s head as she tried to find a clean place in her filthy, run-down, pathetic kitchen to put two foil-covered plates.

Davis Turner was every bit as nice as she remembered. He’d brought food. Something she had not yet bothered to think about. Her stomach rumbled at the spicy, warm smells coming from the dishes. When was the last time she’d eaten anything healthy, much less homemade lasagna? She’d fed Sydney burgers and breakfast burritos on the road but had been too uptight to eat since yesterday.

“Sorry everything is a mess. The house is worse than I’d expected.” A lot, lot worse. Apparently, Mother had let the place go and the years of sitting empty had taken a worse toll.

“You’ve got your work cut out.”

“Don’t I know it? I didn’t expect it to be this bad.” She grimaced. “Or to have graffiti on the living room walls.”

“Is the living room the only place that bad?”

“Seems to be. I guess vandals haven’t gotten much farther than the front of the house. Hopefully, a good cleaning will make a big difference.”

“What about the holes?”

“Not sure yet. Put something over them, I guess. Sydney and I decided sleeping quarters were number one, so we started on her bedroom first. We can camp there for a while.” She didn’t add that she’d camped in worse.

The three kids bumped around inside the small kitchen. Pixielike Paige, the oldest and clearly the leader, said, “Sydney wants to show us the upstairs. Can we go?”

“Lana may not want a bunch of kids traipsing through her house.”

Lana gave a wry laugh. “Nothing they can hurt. Let them go.”

At a wave of Davis’s hand, the three kids took off in a rush, pounding up the wooden steps. Sydney was eager to share her room, such as it was, and Lana suspected the other two wanted to explore the “haunted house.” She didn’t hold it against them. She’d have done the same thing as a kid.

“Are the stairs secure?” Davis glanced toward the front of the house, though the entry stairwell was invisible from here. The kitchen was an add-on to the 1910 dwelling and as such, ran lengthwise across the back of the house where it met with the back porch. Long, narrow and inconveniently arranged, the kitchen could use some serious modernizing. Someday.

“We’ve been up and down quite a few times and I’ve not noticed any loose boards or weak areas.”

“Good. Stairs can be an issue in older homes.”

“These are sturdy oak, I think. Anyway, that’s what I remember.” Not that she’d paid much attention to the house other than her attempts to get out of it as often as possible.

“The place appears to have good bones. Old houses usually have better construction materials than newer ones unless there’s dry rot.”

“I hope that’s true in this case.” She shoved a bundle of old newspapers, yellowed with age, off a bar stool and onto the floor. “Have a seat?” she asked, not altogether sure he’d want to.

“Sure.” To her relief he didn’t seem all that bothered by the dirt and grime. Truth was she’d lived in worse. So had Sydney, bless her sweet, accepting soul. At least here in Whisper Falls they had a roof over their heads that no one could take away. Eventually, things under that roof would be clean and tidy and hopefully, free of the past.

“I’m glad you came over. Really glad,” she started, twisting her hands on the back rung of a wooden chair. She was still amazed he’d returned after learning her identity. “I’ve been thinking about you.” Her face heated. “I meant I was reconsidering your offer.”

During the past few hours of bagging trash and scrubbing, she’d thought about Davis Turner. Beyond the fact that her skin sizzled when he’d smiled and her blood had hummed when she’d opened the door and found him standing there again. She wasn’t too happy about noticing him so much, but she did need his help.

“I could use your expertise. I have a little money put aside. Not a lot but enough to address the most important needs of the house.” She bunched her shoulders, aware of the knot forming at the base of her neck. She’d have a doozy of a muscle spasm if she wasn’t careful. “Other than covering the holes in some of the walls, I don’t know what those are.”

“I can look around, make a list, give you some advice if you think that would help.”

“Would you?”

“Sure. No problem. Got a pencil and paper handy?”

“Now?”

“No time like the present. That is, if now works for you.”

“Of course. Thank you. Now is perfect.” If she could find a piece of paper.

Feet pounded on the floor above their heads. Both adults raised their eyes toward the ceiling.

Lana was poignantly aware of the oddity of having Davis Turner in her house. He wouldn’t have been caught dead here as a teenager. He’d been a Christian, raised in church, the boy teachers and parents put on a pedestal as the way all teens should behave.

Lana Ross had been his antithesis.

“What are they doing?” Lana asked.

“Don’t know but that floor is solid or we’d be covered in ceiling plaster.” He flashed that smile, lighting up the dim room.

The man had a killer smile. And two kids. It suddenly occurred to her that he’d never mentioned a wife. But then, half the world was divorced. She supposed he was, too, or his wife would have accompanied him on this neighborly expedition.

Lana rummaged around in the kitchen drawers, not surprised to find a dusty pad and a scattering of stubby, round-point pencils. Mother had always kept them there.

Davis took the writing materials and rose. He was considerably taller than her, even in her high-heeled boots, and filled the narrow kitchen with his masculine presence. Her awareness factor elevated. Above the kitchen’s dust and must, he smelled of men’s spice—just the faintest whiff but enough for her foolish female nose to enjoy.

Focus on the mission. Think of Sydney.

Even if she hadn’t had a date in two years, Davis Turner was way out of her league.

They started through the house talking about the structure and basic needs, as well as noting cosmetic needs. After a bit, the kids came thundering down the stairs, a breathless chattering group that made Lana’s heart glad. Sydney’s happy face said it all. She’d made friends. Being back in this awful house just got easier.

“Can we go out in the backyard?” Paige asked. “Sydney said there was a cellar.”

The cellar. Like a giant vacuum, the word sucked the pleasure from the room. “Stay out of that cellar.”

Her sharp tone stopped the children in their happy tracks. “Why?” Nathan’s eyes widened. “Is it haunted?”

Lana rubbed her suddenly cold arms. She hated that cellar, hated the darkness, the damp musty odor and the creepy crawlies inside. “I haven’t cleaned it yet. Spiders, snakes, who knows what could be in there?”

“Eww. I don’t like spiders.” Paige shivered. “Can we go outside and play in the yard? Sydney said there’s an apple tree.”

Lana nodded. “Go on. Have fun but watch out for anything broken or dangerous. I haven’t explored out there yet.”

“Okay.”

With youthful energy, voices excited, the trio zipped out the back door, leaving it standing open, spilling the sunshine and cool, clean air of Indian summer inside. Lana didn’t bother to close it. She wanted to keep a watch on Sydney. Airing the house while the weather was favorable wasn’t a bad thing either.

“Your children are really sweet.”

“Thanks, so is yours. They’re great kids, though they can be a handful at times. Paige has, shall we say, ideas that sometimes lead her and her brother into trouble.”

Lana didn’t bother to correct his mistake. It was better for everyone if he and the town assumed Sydney was her child. “But Paige seems like such a nice little girl.”

“She is. I don’t mean that.” He hunkered down to look up into the fireplace. “Don’t light this until it’s been inspected and cleaned.”

“Okay. I heard noises up there. Probably birds.”

“Or bats,” he said with male matter-of-factness.

Lana crossed her arms as she gave the fireplace an uncertain look. “You would have to mention bats.”

“Bats won’t hurt you.”

“Remind me you said that when I’m in traction with a broken leg from running out of the room.”

He laughed at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling upward. “Tough Lana Ross afraid of a bat?”

He had no idea what he was talking about. She’d never been tough. She’d only pretended to be. “Don’t tell Sydney, okay? She thinks I’m fearless.”

He dusted his hands together. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming in from the window next to the big, old-fashioned brick fireplace. “My kids are the same. Nathan told one of his buddies I could pick up a house.”

“So what happened? Did the kid come over and ask for proof?”

“Naturally.”

“What did you do?”

“What else could I do?” His hands thrust out to each side. “I picked up the house.”

The silliness made her laugh. This was the Davis she remembered. Self-effacing, warm, kind to anyone. Even her. “Be glad he didn’t go for the ‘my dad can beat up your dad scenario.’”

“I remember saying that when I was in elementary school.”

“Like father like son?”

“Absolutely. But Paige is the same. Between the two of them, they slay me sometimes.” He leaned the notepad against the fireplace brick and scribbled something on the paper. “A few weeks ago, the kids and I went up to Whisper Falls on a picnic. I made the mistake of falling asleep.”

“What happened? Did they tie you to a tree? Douse you with water? Cover you with mayo?”

“Nothing that simple for those two. They climbed Whisper Falls.”

“No way!” Lana glanced out the grimy window at the two Turner children running across the thick brown grass. Whisper Falls was a long, slippery climb, especially for two small children. She should know. She’d climbed it plenty, usually on some stupid dare or when she’d had too much beer to be walking, much less climbing. “Why would they do that?”

“Paige says they went up there to pray. I suppose you’ve heard the rumor about praying behind the falls.”

“The moment I hit town, but it must be a new thing. No one said that when I lived here before. What started it?”

“I’m not sure. Some say Digger and Evelyn Parsons made up the story. Others say they’ve actually had prayers answered after going up there. Someone got the city council on board and they changed the name of the town to match the waterfall. Next thing we knew, tourists started making pilgrimages up the mountain.”

“Do you believe it’s true?” Because if it was, she was climbing those falls again. This time without a party—and stone cold sober.

“A rumor of that caliber is good PR, but I don’t think God needs a waterfall to answer prayers, do you?”

So, he was still a Christian.

“I agree, but maybe your daughter doesn’t.”

“Paige.” He huffed out a sound that was half frustration and half affection. “My daughter’s faith is kind of hard to explain. Sometimes she’s scary in the mature things she says about God. Other times she’s a goofy kid, like that day. My heart stopped when I looked up and saw Nathan clinging like a spider monkey to the side of the mountain.”

“What did you do?”

“What else could I do? I climbed up after them. Once we were on the ground, I hugged them, told them how scared I was and how much I loved them. Then I grounded them both from TV for a full week.”

Lana laughed. “You are a cruel father.”

“They thought so.” He stuck the stubby pencil in his shirt pocket and started across the room. His long legs ate up the floor, even though the parlor was large. “All the while, Nathan kept saying the oddest things.”

Lana followed his lead, taking a left down a dim hallway. “Such as?”

“Nothing specific. Random things about brown hair.” He tapped on the paneling, made a note of loose trim and a cracked light fixture.

“Sydney once asked me to dye her hair green, but that was for a costume party.” Lana opened the door to the downstairs bathroom, a small space with an old claw-foot tub.

“Nice.” Davis ran a hand along the rounded edge. He didn’t seem to mind that it was filthy. “Do you know what these sell for in today’s market?”

“If it’s more than a new one, this one is for sale.”

“Seriously?”

“I’ve had old stuff all my life, Davis. All these antique fixtures can go for all I care.”

“I’ll check around. You might be able to make some money. Lots of people like authentic vintage.”

The idea heartened her. She and Sydney would make it here. She would find a way to turn this house into a home.