“no disrespect, but that’s just plain weird.”
“Adam’s right, Nadine. That is weird.”
Sighing, she looked at the cloudless blue sky. Could she make them understand? “Listen,” she began again, “if he can be kind to a bug of all things, surely he wouldn’t hurt me. Besides, he’s worked here for years. Why would he start doing crazy things all of a sudden?”
“Would he even know if he hurt you?” Adam asked.
“Good question,” Lamont added. “I mean, maybe he flattened the tire because he liked the hissing sound or something.”
“Honestly, listen to yourselves!” Nadine scolded. “Jim’s a little slow, but he isn’t an idiot.”
The men traded another “Uh-huh” look.
“And there isn’t a mean bone in his body!” she added.
Lamont unpocketed his hands, pointed at the tire, then the flowerbed. “Now look, it’s all well and good to believe in the innate decency of people, but you’re carrying it to an extreme. Jim might be abnormal by some standards, but he’s still a man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“How…Jim?” The very idea inspired a nervous laugh. “Now that is crazy.”
He looked to Adam for confirmation, and her son nodded in agreement. “If you insist on keeping him around, then you’d better keep an eye on him.”
“A sharp eye,” Lamont put in.
“Two against one ain’t fair,” she said. “I can take care of myself. It isn’t as if I haven’t had years of practice.”
“Nobody who’s known you longer than five minutes would disagree, but this is different.”
“The boy’s right,” Lamont said, “on both counts.”
Her two favorite men stood side by side. Why, Adam had even adopted Lamont’s stance, boots shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over his chest. She saw the resolute expressions on their faces. But they had nothing on her when it came to stubbornness. Or accurateness, either. Adam had only been home a few weeks. What did he know about Jim? And Lamont, well, he didn’t know the man at all! Greeneland Ranch was hers and hers alone—land, stock and the mountain of unpaid bills—and she’d run it any way she saw fit, right down to whom she’d employ. “I won’t fire him.” Fists on her hips, she dared them to defy her.
“Oh, all right,” Adam said, hands in the air. “I give up.” He headed for the barn, saying over his shoulder as he went, “Good to see you again so soon, Mr. London.”
“Same here, Adam.”
“Speaking of seeing you,” she said once her son was out of earshot, “what brings you to my place this early on a Sunday morning?” Hopefully, the subtle reference would remind him that this was her turf, and he wasn’t in charge here.
“Just thought maybe you’d like a ride to church. Seems I recall something about your practicing for a solo before the services began.”
Only Julie, Nadine’s accompanist, knew about her rehearsal plans. “So my daughter-in-law is acting as my press agent now, is she?” Nadine grinned. “That girl might just turn out okay after all.”
“After all?”
Julie was forgetful and clumsy, but she had a good heart, especially considering her troubled past. She waved his question away, unwilling to share that private bit of information, even with Lamont. “I’d love a ride into town,” she said, “especially since I don’t have a spare.”
“I’ll drive you to Lotsmart after church, and we can get one.”
Between now and then, she’d have to come up with a legitimate excuse to avoid the side trip, because even at a discount store like Lotsmart, she couldn’t afford a tire. “We have time for a cup of coffee, if you’d like.”
“I’d like.”
And maybe, between now and then, she’d figure out how to keep her heart from hammering every time he smiled at her, too.
Lily’s Valentine’s Day wedding seemed like only yesterday, but the wildflowers popping up everywhere—especially in Nadine’s yard—proved otherwise.
Several times a week, Lamont had used one flimsy pretext after another to drive over there, telling himself that if she didn’t intend to keep an eye on Jim, he would. Why, Lamont wondered, did Nadine’s ranch hand occupy so many of his thoughts here at home, and rarely come to mind as he sipped coffee while her adorable granddaughter chased Julie’s tabby cat around the kitchen?
Yesterday, he called to see if she wanted a ride to the church social. Normally, he didn’t have time for such functions, but if it provided another bona fide reason to see her—and check on Jim—well, then, why not? She’d cited laundry on the clotheslines and a sticky kitchen floor, critters that needed to be fed and weeds to pull in her flowerbed…and Lamont countered every excuse with one of his own. Thankfully, he wore her down.
He couldn’t believe how fast the time passed as they stuffed themselves on baked ham and potato salad, talking with their fellow parishioners. Since Rose’s death, his involvement at church had been limited to Sunday services, because everywhere he looked, his wife’s contributions were constant reminders of his widowhood. Oddly enough, despite all the hubbub, he’d had a right good time. The enjoyment continued as he drove her home, mostly because Nadine decided to rehash the squabble between Martha Turner and Barbara Gardner over whose vocal rendition of “The Old Rugged Cross” should be sung every Sunday. Dread and disappointment closed around him as his pickup ground its way up her gravel driveway. Had she invited him up to the house because she’d sensed it?
“It’s such a pretty night,” she said. “How about joining me for a cup of tea on the back porch?”
If she’d suggested guzzling it from a washtub on the roof, Lamont would have found a way to join her. Amazing, since the only time he’d allowed the stuff past his lips was the few occasions when he spiked a fever. Yet here he sat, toes tapping, fingertips drumming on the arms of his rocker as he waited for her to kick off her heels and brew the tea.
He looked around at her yard, colorful even in the semi-darkness. Bright spring blossoms shocked his senses. To him, planting involved seeds that became food for his livestock or turned out a couple of tomatoes and bell peppers for salad. Subconsciously, he compared it to his own lawn, devoid of blooms now that Lily was busy tending her own yard. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he missed the little things women did to turn a house into a home.
She handed him one of two steaming mugs. “You like yours black, right?”
“Smells like cinnamon,” he said. How’d she know that, he wondered, when he couldn’t for the life of him think of a time when they’d talked over herbal tea? Raising families and running ranches hadn’t left much time for such niceties. Lately, though, he’d managed to make time for such niceties…lots of it. “I hope you don’t mind my sudden intrusion into your life,” he said as she settled into the other rocker. “You’ve made my adjustment to living alone a whole lot smoother.”
“Oh, I’d hardly call you an intrusion.”
