An Old-Fashioned Love

The judge nodded. “So it does, or more precisely, confinement. In other words, Max, Rex, Miss Temple could have had you taken into custody, separated from your parents and guarded by specially trained officers until such a time as the court could decide your guilt and investigate the suitability of your home to be certain that you two are getting the proper guidance from your parents. Any number of things could have happened after that, depending upon whether or not the charges against you were proven correct—and by your own admission, they are. You could even have been removed from the care of your parents, should they have been found negligent in the responsibilities toward you. I am persuaded, however, by your father’s behavior here today—and yours—that such is not the case. Nevertheless, you are fortunate, for the processes involved in making those determinations under court order are sometimes grueling, and Miss Temple has spared you that. I hope you are appropriately grateful.”

“If they are not, Your Honor,” Wyatt Gilley said, his electric gaze sliding to Traci, “I certainly am.”

Traci had to look away, her upper teeth clamping down on her lower lip. She felt as though a butterfly was fluttering its wings madly in the center of her chest and wished fervently that Wyatt Gilley wasn’t so dashingly good-looking. No doubt he would make a stirring sight in uniform. Certainly the uniform was all that was lacking in the picture he presented, for his bearing, his manner, even his haircut, clearly proclaimed his association with the military.

Why she suddenly found that so attractive was beyond her. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was no longer denying his responsibilities both to her and to his sons. And perhaps…perhaps it had to do with that smile he had given her out there in the antechamber. On the other hand, maybe she’d gotten a knock on the head that she simply couldn’t remember right now or some strange virus had upset the chemical balance of her body. Or maybe her grandmother was going to wake her shortly from a very strange, very disturbing, but not altogether unpleasant dream. She shook her head, amazed at not only her reactions to this man but to her obvious flights of fancy concerning those reactions.

“I take it you disbelieve the sincerity of the lieutenant colonel’s expression of gratitude, Miss Temple?” the judge asked.

“Oh, no, Your Honor,” Traci quickly replied. “I-I’m quite satisfied that he is sincere. I’m simply surprised.”

“I gathered that much.” The judge sat forward again. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of the court’s time with this matter. My judgment is obvious. Therefore, I state for the record that I find for the plaintiff. She is awarded the maximum monetary damages allowed by law, which is fifteen hundred dollars, plus court costs.”

But Wyatt Gilley had one more surprise up his sleeve. “If Your Honor pleases,” he said, begging permission to speak once again.

The jurist nodded. “You have something else to say, sir?”

“I fear, Your Honor, that fifteen hundred dollars will not fully recompense Miss Temple for her losses, and I want it known now that I’m willing to make full restitution, as I should. But it also occurs to me that the chief culprits in this incident are getting off rather lightly, and I’m not at all certain that is in their best interests.” As he spoke, he looked down to his left and then to his right. Both boys had turned wide, fearful eyes up at him. He went on. “That being the case, Your Honor, I would like to propose that my sons be required to offer their services to Miss Temple after school and on weekends in any capacity she deems helpful until her ice-cream shop is ready to be reopened. If Rex and Max could help repair the damage they’ve caused, I think it might give them a better understanding of the seriousness of what they’ve done, and they just might think twice before taking someone else’s junk’ again.”

Traci was struck dumb. Not so the judge, who nodded sagely and commended the defendant for seeking to fulfill so well his parental duties. “I agree with you, sir,” she said. “Unfortunately it is not within the jurisdiction of this court to order such action. I do not see a problem, though, with you enforcing such an arrangement on your own authority, provided the children are not exploited in any way. There are such things as child labor laws, you know.” This last she addressed to Traci as well as to Wyatt Gilley. Then she picked up her gavel and brought it down. “My judgment stands as stated. This court will recess for ten minutes before calling the next case.”

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned, and the judge stood, stepped down from the platform upon which her chair rested and swept out of the room, leaving the majority of the spectators somewhere between their seats and standing positions.

It was over, Traci thought numbly. And then it hit her. It was over, she had won, and not only was she going to collect her damages, but that surprisingly admirable, good-looking man was shepherding his two recalcitrant sons toward her at that very moment! She fumbled with purse and file folder and managed to get her hand out by the time he drew near enough to take it, which he did without hesitation, his own much harder, much tougher hand effectively swallowing hers. Good grief, the man radiated heat like a stove, and it was spreading from her hand up her arm at an alarming speed. Unless she was mistaken, it was also glowing upon her cheeks in splotches of bright red.

“Well, what do you think?” he said with amazing cordiality. “Would these hoodlums of mine be a help to you? I wouldn’t want you to agree to taking them on unless you’re reasonably certain they can be of help. God knows we’ve caused you enough harm already.”

Traci licked her lips, wishing he’d let go of her hand, and forced her mind to consider his question. “I—I think they could be of help if they wanted to,” she finally told him.

Wyatt released her and dropped looks on each of his sons. “I’ll leave it to you, boys,” he said. “Do you want to help Miss Temple get her shop ready to open, or would you rather spend your afternoons and weekends alone in your rooms?” One of them shot his eyebrows upward as if to say the choice was no choice at all. Apparently he preferred even actual work to solitary confinement. The other twin scowled and dragged the toe of his shoe across the highly polished floor. “Rex?” Wyatt prodded. “What’s it going to be? Honest toil or deep, protracted boredom?”

Rex sent a look to his brother and got one in return. Clearly, whatever Rex decreed would decide it for both of them. He was a tough little character, and Traci wondered if he had any concern at all for his brother’s preference. Seemingly he did, for he finally dropped his head in a curt nod and mumbled, “We’ll help her.” Not content with acquiescence, however, he jerked his head back up, vowing, “We’re not crooks! That place looked abandoned to us. We didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Rex, that lumber you hauled off was new,” Wyatt said. “Maybe you didn’t know the difference when you took it, but you darned sure knew somebody cared when Miss Temple confronted you, so you lied to cover up and, heaven help me, I believed you. We danced the jig, my boy, now we pay the piper. It’s that simple.”

Rex sighed and shook himself in resignation. “Yes, sir.”

Wyatt Gilley fixed his fascinating eyes on Traci Temple once again. “When do you want them?”

She shrugged, feeling less awkward now that he was no longer touching her. “Um, tomorrow afternoon, four, four-fifteen?”

“They’ll be there. Now if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll write you a check.” He fished a leather checkbook from the hip pocket of his black slacks and reached into his shirt pocket for a pen.

“Oh, wait. That’s not necessary,” Traci heard herself saying. “I mean, the court will send you papers showing the exact amount and where to send it and everything.”

“I understand that,” he said, “but I was thinking that you could probably use some cash right now, and I meant what I said to the judge about making full restitution.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she said, and once again had to backtrack. “I mean, the fifteen hundred dollars should cover everything.”

“Listen,” he argued, “these guys have given me a good picture of things. I know the doorknob was ruined and windows were broken and that torn awning must have cost a pretty penny….”

“It’s all right,” she rebutted. “Honestly, I—I think I may be able to repair the awning instead of replacing it, and having the boys’ help will mean I can spend less for labor costs…and, well, a couple of the estimates I got were on the high side, you know. Anyway, I’d rather not.”

“Take my money, you mean,” he said, smiling when she blanched. “Okay, let’s do it this way, then. I’m a fair to middlin’ carpenter. Why don’t I make some of the repairs myself? That will save you considerably more on labor costs than anything this duo is likely to manage, and I’ll feel better about this mess.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted, with a wag of his finger. “I insist.”

Traci could not prevent the breakout of a smile. “That’s kind of you, but I’m still not sure—”

“I am,” he said, beaming back at her. “Please, that’s the way I want it.”

She made him no answer, merely subsided into an uncomfortable smile. So, she was going to get her ice-cream shop open after all. Thank God—and Wyatt Gilley. No doubt about it. She owed him a debt of thanks, but was she wrong to think that the man wanted more than to recompense her for the damage done by his sons? An exercise in faith, she reminded herself, and broadened her smile.

Chapter Two

“They’re really not such bad boys,” Wyatt said as they walked toward her car. “They probably didn’t realize they were doing anything wrong in the beginning, then later they were afraid to admit they’d done it. They thought the place was abandoned, you know.”

“And so it was,” Traci admitted. “My grandfather left the shop to me when he died three years ago, but I was living in Dallas then. My grandmother didn’t feel she could run the business alone, but I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, so we just closed it up and let it sit.”

“And?” he prompted.

They had reached her car, a sleek, black, luxury model she really ought to get rid of in order to spare herself the monthly payments, but she wouldn’t, except as a last resort. She opened the door and turned to face him.

“And I decided I’d be happier in Duncan running Grandpa’s ice-cream shop than running the rat race in Dallas,” she said.

He lifted a skeptical brow, blue eyes twinkling. “That’s it? You just got tired of the big city and the high-powered career, so you ditched it for an icecream shop in Duncan, Oklahoma?”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “The highpowered career’ was a rather demanding job as a legal secretary, and I never was really happy in the big city. My parents moved me there when I was in high school, but this has always been home to me. What about you, Lieutenant Colonel Gilley? What brought you here?”

He shrugged. “My boys were born here. I was stationed at Fort Sill then. We decided to live here because my wife—my ex-wife—was developing an aversion to anything military, including me.” He smiled when he said that, but Traci couldn’t help noticing the sadness that darkened his blue eyes. He seemed to sense her thoughts, for he suddenly switched his gaze to the boys, tussling together in the distance as they ran across the parking lot. “It seemed like a nice town, a good place to raise a couple of kids,” he said, “so when I retired last year, we moved back.”

She nodded, pretending to understand, when in truth, any number of questions were on the tip of her tongue. She settled on the one that seemed the most innocuous. “Aren’t you awfully young to be retired?”

He laughed then. “Not really. I went in right out of college. I retired last year with twenty years of service. That makes me forty-one, in case you’re wondering.”

“I was,” she admitted. “You seem younger.”

He grinned. “I always knew immaturity would prove worthwhile at some point in my life.”

She smiled. “I doubt that’s the reason. Perhaps your boys keep you young.”

“No way.” He shook his head emphatically. “Believe me, those two scamps have aged me dramatically in the last year or so. I guess we’re still adjusting. We didn’t spend much time together before they came to live with me. My career separated me from them for long periods, then when they were six, their mother and I divorced, so we didn’t even live together when I could be with them. Then a little over a year ago, she decided she’d done her share of the parenting, so she dropped them off with me and headed for Paris.”

“Paris, France?”

He nodded. “Marie is French. I met her when I was stationed in Europe.”

Traci didn’t know what to say. On one hand, she was appalled that a mother would seemingly abandon her young sons to a father they hardly knew. On the other hand, she didn’t want to judge the woman wrongly. She could have had very good reasons for turning her sons over to their father, and who was to say that it wasn’t for the best of everyone involved? Wyatt himself didn’t even sound particularly judgmental. True, his words had seemed condemnatory, but he had delivered them in a light, uninflected voice, almost as if she’d dropped them off on her way to the grocery store! Could he really be that casual about it? she wondered. Remembering how hotly he had defended his sons when she’d first approached him about what they’d done at the shop, she didn’t think his feelings toward his boys were at all casual. But then, she might be reading more into it than she ought to. Wyatt Gilley was nearly a total stranger to her, after all. That thought had her searching for a polite means by which to extricate herself from what had become an embarrassingly personal conversation. She took a deep breath.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll…settle into…the situation soon,” she managed before stepping behind her opened car door. “Thank you again for the way you resolved the suit. I—I’m sorry it came to that.”

He shook his head, shrugging. “My fault. I should have listened when you first tried to tell me what they’d done.”

She opened her mouth, thought better of what she was about to say, then closed it again only to smile weakly. “It’s all worked out now. That’s what counts.”

“You’re generous to say so.”

“Not really,” she refuted quickly. “I’m just happy I’ll be able to get my shop open after all. It was looking rather bleak for a while.”

“My fault again.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

He chuckled, a teasing gleam to his eye. “I know.”

For some reason she felt a thrill pulse through her at that. What was it about this man that did that to her? Suddenly she wasn’t certain she wanted to know. “I—I have to—to go,” she stammered, pushing out her hand. “My grandmother is expecting me.”

He clasped her hand in his own large, very hot one, and pumped her arm a few times. “I’ll see you soon, Miss Temple,” he said. “’Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

She got in the car and closed the door. It was broiling hot in there, but she was too aware of Wyatt Gilley, standing on the other side of the door, to open it again. The month of May was still new, and the weather was sparkling, perfect, but this black car seemed to absorb the bright sunshine and hold it. The price one paid for a bit of flash, she mused distractedly, digging in her purse for the keys. She found them, fitted them into the ignition and started the engine, immediately flipping on the air-conditioning before engaging the transmission and backing out of the parking space. Through it all, Wyatt Gilley just stood there smiling. He was there still when she glanced in her rearview mirror before turning out into the street. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit how much that pleased her, but it disturbed her even more.

Wyatt Gilley was not a friend. Perhaps he was not the adversary she had previously thought him to be, but that did not make him a friend. Neither, she told herself firmly, did that make him a prospective romantic interest, not that she knew, really, what would. She labored under the conviction that when she met the right man she would just somehow know. She imagined that this knowing would bring her a great sense of peace, a kind of settling of her soul, a quiet, steady joy. She based these assumptions on the very thing everyone else did: secondhand experience. That is, the behavior, manner and countenance, as observed by herself, of the happily coupled individuals of her acquaintance, most prominently, her parents and grandparents. Nothing about Wyatt Gilley could be equated to her father or grandfather. Nothing about Gilley inspired in her even a pretension of the serenity in which her mother and grandmother so obviously dwelled, let alone inspired joy. It was quite the opposite, in fact. He disturbed her, agitated her, set her nerves on edge and her senses reeling. He was, somehow, dangerous.

And so that was that. Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt Gilley, retired, undoubtedly had certain virtues, but all in all he was just one more thing to be endured, an added bit of discomfort, a puzzle without an answer. Eventually the relationship, such as it was, would run its course and be severed, forgotten. That being the case, she could simply put him out of her mind, at least in theory. In practice, it might not be so easy. After all, she would have to explain to her grandmother what had happened in court. Also, she ought to call the reverend and let him know how everything had turned out.

Now there was a fine man. No one would have to drag him into court in order to open his eyes to the truth. In fact, the Reverend Bolton Charles was everything a woman like her could want. Tall, dark and handsome, he was also sensitive and gentle and caring, and he possessed a deep spirituality with which she could well identify. It was obvious in the way he spoke of her that he had loved his late wife very much, and that made him all the more attractive. Yet, despite her grandmother’s obvious attempts at matchmaking, Traci could not quite see herself forming a romantic attachment to Bolton Charles. How was it that she could see such an attachment forming between Wyatt Gilley and herself?

But no, that was nonsense. Wyatt Gilley was not at all the sort of man who would suit her. Not at all. And she mustn’t allow herself to think otherwise. Once more she pushed him firmly out of mind, only to find herself having to do so time and time again.

The Reverend Bolton Charles smiled at her over the rim of his tea glass. “Sounds as if everything’s finally beginning to work out.”

She nodded. “I really didn’t even expect him to show up in court, so you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when he admitted full liability.”

Bolton shrugged, the knit fabric of his polo shirt pulling taut over his shoulders. “It’s easy to misjudge someone in an emotional situation.”

“He was just so certain that his kids were telling him the truth, and to be fair, they’re gifted little actors. They almost convinced me, and I caught them at it!”

Bolton chuckled. “Sounds like quite a pair.”

Traci sighed. “Too much for me, I’m afraid. Frankly, I’m not sure having them around is such a good idea. I mean, they’re supposed to be learning a lesson, but I’m just not certain that I’m the one to be teaching it to them. I’m best with little kids, you know, infants and creepers.”

Bolton reached across the table in her grandmother’s kitchen and covered her hand lightly with his. “You’ll do fine,” he said reassuringly. “Just be firm from the outset, and be honest about what you expect of them. Don’t pretend that they can do any and everything. Kids know they have limitations, and they can smell pretense a mile away. No one can trust deceit, even if its well-meaning. Remember that you’re the adult. You’re the one in charge.”

“I know that, but will they?” she worried aloud.

“Don’t give them an option. Believe me, in the long run everyone will be happier that way. Kids aren’t comfortable when adults abdicate their control. They may resent being told what to do—that’s normal and part of developing independence—but inside they know they aren’t capable of making all the decisions. They need the security of adult supervision, whether they realize it or not.”

Traci smiled at her handsome friend thoughtfully. “You really ought to have children of your own, you know.”

A shadow passed briefly over his face. “I hope to.”

Traci could have bitten her tongue off. How could she have been so thoughtless? She had been told that after years of hoping, Bolton’s late wife had finally believed herself pregnant, only to discover that her symptoms were those of cancer. With her had died their hope of having a child of their own. She turned her hand over beneath his and squeezed his palm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It was a compliment. I took it as such, anyway.”

“It was meant as one.”

“Well, then, for pity’s sake, don’t apologize,” he declared, laughing. “Even a minister’s ego occasionally needs nurturing, you know.”

Traci laughed at that. Bolton Charles was the least egocentric man she’d ever known. Wyatt Gilley, now there was a man with an ego. It was obvious in the pride with which he held himself, the way he dressed and moved. What had it cost him to admit his liability in open court? She couldn’t help admiring him for doing the right thing, even if he had come to it rather late. She wondered if his ego had taken a beating when his wife had divorced him. Did he still love her perhaps? Might he take her back if she wanted him to, put his family back together again?

“Traci?”

“Hm?” She looked up into Bolton’s smiling eyes.

“You got lost for a moment there.”

Lost? Thinking about Wyatt Gilley, of all things! She felt color heat her cheeks. What on earth was wrong with her? “Was I? I, ah, was just wondering if it wasn’t about time to start dinner. You’ll stay and join us, won’t you?”

He released his hold on her hand and’ leaned back in his chair, a knowing little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I never turn down a homecooked meal,” he said good-naturedly, “or the company of a beautiful woman.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, relieved to hear the teasing tone of his voice, and quipped, “I’ll tell Grandmother you said that. She’ll be so thrilled.”

They both laughed at that, having admitted some time ago that an obvious attempt at matchmaking had brought them together. Traci could only wonder why it wasn’t working.

Traci dropped her gloves, folded her arms and succumbed to an open stare. Why was she surprised? Wyatt Gilley was exactly the sort of man to drive a sky blue convertible sports car, when any other single parent of twins would have opted for a small, sensible station wagon. She wondered if all three could get in it with the top up and if the boys didn’t mind being squished and belted into a single seat. Well, it wasn’t any of her concern. She walked out onto the narrow front deck that essentially served as a doorstep and waited for them to unload and crunch across the gravel parking area to her. She could not resist taking a good look at Wyatt Gilley, though her throat constricted when she did.

He wore a royal blue T-shirt tucked into the waistband of soft, faded jeans, a narrow canvas belt trimmed with brown leather and expensive brown leather athletic shoes without socks. Each item seemed to have an intimate familiarity with his body, as if from long acquaintance, and yet at the same time every article looked spanking new. As he moved closer, he slid off his sunglasses, and even from a distance those blue eyes leaped out at her, shockingly vivid. Her pulse quickened. She immediately averted her gaze.

“Here we are,” Wyatt called, his smile audible. “Just as promised.”

Traci nodded and forced an impersonal smile onto her face. Her remarks she addressed to the boys, her voice studiously polite. “Hello, boys. Ready to work? A bunch of litter has accumulated around the perimeter of the building. You’ll find a couple of trash bags on the big deck. Pick up everything but the broken glass. I don’t want you cutting yourselves. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”