Baby in His Arms

“Can I invite Creed over again?”

Her belly quivered. “I’ll think about it. Now go on. School comes early.”

He emitted a resigned huff and slouched out of the living room.

Once she had him settled in his bed and had checked on Rose Petal, Haley made her way to the small room off the side of the kitchen. In the original farmhouse, this space had been a screened-in porch. Over the years, the room had been remodeled into a sunroom which served her needs as an artist. Plenty of good, natural light, enough space to spread out and the soaring vista of Blackberry Mountain in the distance. At this time of night the sun was gone and Blackberry Mountain was an invisible promise. Not that either mattered when the paints and ideas called to her.

Even though tired to the bone, working relaxed her enough to sleep. At least, she hoped she got to sleep tonight. That was up to Rose Petal.

She pulled out her paints and the birdhouse in progress. With meticulous care, she painted in a flower she’d outlined earlier in the day. One of her more ambitious projects to date, when she finished, the once-dull, brown gourd would be transformed into a glossy, whimsical birdhouse cottage befitting a fairy-tale character. Anyway, that was her plan. The work didn’t always turn out the way she imagined.

Tongue between her teeth, she stroked a cluster of tiny green leaves. Her fingers felt stiff tonight. So did her shoulders. Tension, she supposed. Brent had that effect on her. So did Creed, come to think of it, but in a different way.

She painted a vine, curling the greenery up and around the brown, oval door, trying hard to concentrate on the art, but her thoughts kept turning to the two men. Thomas’s questions had given her pause. Poor little kid. He wasn’t comfortable with Brent, and she understood that. She wasn’t, either. For the most part Brent ignored him. He’d rebuffed Thomas’s offer to play UNO and had barely glanced at the kite Thomas had eagerly brought from his bedroom. The latter annoyed her to no end.

The tip of her brush slipped. Paint streaked down the front of the gourd. With an exasperated sigh, she put the brush in solvent and carefully wiped down the mistake.

Maybe she was too tired to create tonight. She rolled her head around her shoulders, muscles tense and achy.

When she’d made that telltale motion earlier this evening, Brent had offered to massage her neck. She shuddered, pretty sure where that would have led. Her landlord was too pushy, too obvious, and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to abuse their landlord-tenant relationship or if he honestly liked her.

Either way, she wasn’t attracted enough to find out.

Creed Carter’s face flashed in her memory. Okay, so she’d liked him better than she’d expected to. But she’d probably seen the last of him. Like a good Christian he’d done his duty. He’d come to see the baby. He’d kept his promise to Thomas. Now the flyboy could forget them all. Upon Brent’s arrival, he’d slithered away like a threatened snake. Typical. So typical.

Men, like foster children, were only passing through, a nasty truth she’d learned from experience. Don’t get too involved. Prepare for the inevitable goodbye and guard her heart. Be careful. Be oh, so careful.

For some reason, maybe a combination of fatigue and worry over the rent, tonight that hard-learned truth settled in her chest like a boulder.

* * *

On a damp Saturday, a few days later, Creed parked along the curb outside Whisper Falls’ senior citizen housing complex. With a scenic tour booked in an hour, he hurried up the neatly trimmed walkway to Grandma Carter’s apartment, a bag of groceries in tow. As always when he paid his visits, Grandma was waiting at the front door. Leaning on her walker with one hand, she unlocked the glass enclosure with the other.

Love warmed Creed’s chest.

Once inside, he bent to kiss her soft paper-thin cheek. She smelled exactly as she had for as long as he could remember—of face powder and Chanel No. 5. He should know. He bought the perfume for her every Christmas. “How’s my best girl?”

“Fit as a fiddle. Did you get my medicine?”

“Yep. Stopped at the pharmacy on the way. Your pills are in here, along with the groceries on your list.”

She scooted the walker around, leaning more heavily than she had last week and slowly scraped along toward the plaid blanket-clad lift chair. With a twinge of guilt, Creed regretted not coming by all week. But with his business hopping and the two evenings at flakey Haley’s house, he hadn’t. Last evening, a couple had booked a romantic sunset flight, and by the time the heli was serviced and put away, he’d not gotten back to his apartment until late.

“Your daddy took to me to see Dr. Ron yesterday,” Grandma said, the words whooshing out with a grunt as she lowered herself into the recliner.

“What did he say?”

“My knee’s shot. Just as we figured. He wants to send me down to Little Rock for a knee replacement.”

Creed set the bag of groceries on the counter. Her tiny apartment had a combined living room and kitchen with a bedroom and bath off one side. That was it. A tiny place that was easy for her aging body to maneuver in.

“When?”

“I’m still deciding, honey. Your old granny is wearing out. Putting a fake knee inside of my leg won’t turn back the clock.”

“But a new knee will keep you mobile.”

“Oh, I reckon.” She nodded, the still-thick hair as iron-gray and fluffy as a storm cloud. “But all that recuperation time, I’ll be stuck in a strange city in some rehab center.”

He smiled, understanding. Granny had lived her whole life in the rural mountains, had drawn water from a well and lived without electricity or modern convenience. A depression-era hill woman, cities scared her. “I’ll come visit you and bring Mom and Dad in the chopper. Aunt Darlene lives close to Little Rock. She and her kids will come.”

“I know it, but I still don’t like to be gone from home that long.” She rocked a little. “You think I should do this?”

“Do you want to work in your roses again?”

Chuckling, she pointed a gnarled finger at him. “You know right where to get me, don’t you?”

Grandma Carter had grown roses of every kind until arthritis and age had forced her to give up her old farmhouse in the hills and move into town. Even though she didn’t complain, he knew she missed the country. And the roses.

“I talked to the unit manager a few days ago. She said you can plant flowers out in front as long as you take care of them. As soon as you’re ready, say the word and I’ll dig up a space to get you going.”

“Will you take me out to the farm for cuttings?”

“When you get that new knee, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

She shook her fist at him. “Oh, you are a sly one.”

From his spot in the kitchenette, he winked at her. “Love you, too, Grandma.”

The grocery bag crinkled as he emptied the contents, putting each item in its proper place in the cabinets or refrigerator. Granny kept her things orderly, the way he liked.

The talk of flowers and order sent his thoughts to Haley and her disorderly tangle of vines and plants and flowers. “Do you know Haley Blanchard?”

“Well, let’s see.” Grandma propped a palm against her cheek. “Seems like I’ve heard the name. Why?”

“No reason, really. She grows flowers like you do.”

“You sweet on her?”

In spite of himself, heat rushed up the back of his neck. “No way. She’s too hippielike for me. She takes in foster kids.”

And according to Thomas and the icy stares from Brent Henderson, Haley had a boyfriend.

“Ah.”

What did that mean? Ah?

“Don’t read anything into it, Grandma. Haley is fostering the little baby I found at church.”

Grandma’s crooked hand pressed to her heart. “How’s that precious child doing? Poor little lamb. Just breaks a body’s heart.”

“Doing good. Anyway, she was the last time I stopped in.”

“So you been visiting her? This Haley woman?”

“The abandoned baby.”

“The baby.” She rocked some more. “Ah.”

That one little, heavily loaded sound was starting to wear on him. Visiting an abandoned baby was not the result of some deep-seated, psychological need rising from his own personal situation. Nor was the visit a quest for romance.

“I brought you some peanut brittle from Evie’s Sweets and Eats.”

“Well, get it out of that sack, child. Let’s eat it. I know you want some.” She shot him an ornery grin. “I also know you don’t want to talk about this Haley or the baby.”

Creed shook his head. “How did Grandpa survive fifty years?”

Grandma snickered.

Grinning, Creed took the candy from the paper sack and handed her the smaller zippered bag of candy. While her arthritis-twisted fingers sought the opening, a white truck pulled up outside. “Dad’s here.”

“That son of mine can smell peanut candy a mile away. Better hide it quick.”

When he snorted at her, she laughed again. Grandma was a spitfire even now, and she loved nothing more than a good laugh. Strong and solid as the mountains and as full of God as the sky, she’d lost a daughter and three grandchildren, nursed a bedridden husband for ten years and still found the good and beautiful in everyday life. Even though her blood didn’t run in Creed’s veins, he hoped he’d gained some of her qualities.

His father walked through the door, also carrying a grocery sack though Creed suspected his held Mama’s home cooking. “Creed, son, I was planning to come by your office.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing in particular.” He set the paper bag on the counter next to the plastic sacks. “I thought we might have lunch if you aren’t too busy.”

Creed checked his watch. “I have a tour in about thirty minutes, but unless I get a walk-in, noon is clear. Want to meet up at the Iron Horse or Clemson’s Café?”

Whisper Falls boasted only a handful of eating places. Other than the Pizza Pan and a couple of burger hangouts, choices were thin. Some people wanted to keep it that way, to keep out the big-box stores and restaurants. Even though he appreciated the provincial atmosphere of their little mountain town, progress meant business. Business meant more people to charter his helicopter services.

“The Iron Horse sounds good. I’ve got a hankering for Miss Evelyn’s apple pie.” His father, as tall and angular as Abe Lincoln, wore black-framed glasses and still had no gray in his dark brown hair, a fact that drove his mother, jokingly, to despair. She’d been coloring hers as long as Creed could remember.

Dad pecked Grandma on the cheek. “Looking pretty today, Mama. Did Cassie come by and fix your hair?”

She swatted his arm. “Now, Larry, you quit buttering me up. I know you’re after my candy.”

“I thought I smelled peanuts when I turned the corner.”

“I knew it. Creed, your daddy is a pure-dee mooch. I swear I raised him better.” She fumbled with the bag another minute and finally managed to tug the sides apart to dole out jagged slabs of the peanut brittle. “Mmm-hmm. So good. Sticks to my dentures, but who cares.”

“Grandma wants to plant roses again.”

“Good idea.”

“Creed’s girlfriend likes to grow things, too. I think he’s trying to get my approval. Why don’t you bring her by sometime?”

Dad’s peanut brittle froze midway to his lips. “What’s this? A new girlfriend? Why didn’t I know?”

“Because there is nothing to know, Dad. Grandma’s being...grandma.” But again that flush of heat swamped Creed’s neck. “Haley Blanchard, the foster mother. I told you about her on the phone.”

“Yes, I know who she is. Your mom bought a birdhouse from her last fall at Pumpkin Fest. Isn’t she the one caring for the abandoned baby?”

Creed nodded. “I stopped by a couple of times.”

“To see Haley or the baby?”

Grandma laughed. Creed scowled.

He wasn’t a man who encroached on another man’s territory. The other night with Brent Henderson had been less-than-comfortable. Even though he’d not gone to Haley’s house with thoughts of romance, Brent clearly had. Besides, flakey Haley was not his type.

“The baby, Dad. What happened bothers me, you know. A little baby dumped like that.”

His grandma and his father exchanged looks. Dad cleared his throat and wiped his fingers together to divest them of crumbs. Creed knew what they were thinking and he didn’t like it. He also thought neither wanted to talk about his situation. His parents had always been straight with him. He’d always known, and he rarely thought about the fact that he had not been born a Carter. He was happy, well-adjusted and loved his family. End of story. Being adopted didn’t have a thing to do with his feelings for Rose Petal.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.