table this morning.”
More and more of Lydia’s time was spent inside the garden room.
“Okay.” Delaney hopped down and bounced out of the kitchen, taking a ray of sunshine with her.
“Cute kid.” he said. “How old is she?”
“Nine.” Annie’s whole face softened with love. “Delaney is a blessing, has been from the moment she was born.”
Unlike the churlish boy? he wanted to ask, but didn’t. Justin was sitting right across the table, wolfing down half a box of Cheerios.
Almost immediately, Delaney skipped back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Miss Lydia liked my picture.”
“I knew she would. Is she up to sitting with us for breakfast?”
“Not this morning, she said. Maybe tomorrow.”
Annie and Sloan exchanged unhappy glances.
“That’s what I figured, but I wanted to ask.” She slid Lydia’s breakfast plate onto a tray, added a tiny cup of pills and started toward the doorway.
“I’ll take that,” Sloan said and swallowed the last of his coffee. The fresh-ground brew went down smooth and warm.
“Thanks.” She smiled. And that simple little action made his belly flip-flop. He wanted to blame the caffeine, but he was a realist. Annie was getting to him big time.
He reached for the tray. Their hands touched. He grunted and made his escape.
Frankly, after a week he needed something better to do than to stare at Annie and relive memories of a painful past. A man of action, he was accustomed to fourteen-hour days and frequent trips all over the globe. Here in Redemption his smart phone kept him busy but not busy enough to keep his eyes and mind off Annie. Not being a man who particularly enjoyed suffering, he didn’t want to notice her. She obviously didn’t want to be around him, either.
He spent as much time with Lydia as her health allowed, but his sick aunt slept more than she was awake. When she felt up to it, he carried her to the veranda for some fresh air. Yesterday, he’d found the weed-whacker and gone to work on the fast-growing weeds around the porches. Today he’d find a lawnmower if he had to buy a new one. Anything to stay clear of Annie and those troubling memories.
Annie watched Sloan all the way down the hallway, walking in a loose-limbed strut exactly like Justin’s. She’d been terrified when he’d roared in on his Harley and intruded on her safe world. People in town were already talking, speculating on where he’d been and what he’d been doing. Most remembered him with sympathy as that poor little Hawkins boy whose mother ran off and whose father died in prison. But not everyone had been as kind. Some said he was a drug dealer. She’d done her best to squelch that rumor. Not that she had a clue what his life was like, but the Sloan she remembered was scared of anything addictive. He’d said his life was out of control enough. He wasn’t about to let drugs take over.
“Mom, can I go to Brett’s and play video games?”
She turned to find her son at her elbow. “Maybe later. I’ll have to call his mother.”
Justin’s gaze followed Sloan down the hallway. “You like that guy?”
The question came out of nowhere. Annie turned to study her son’s expression. “I don’t even know him.”
“That’s not what Ronnie says.”
Ah. So that was it. She should have known someone like Roberta Prine would resurrect the past relationship between her and Sloan. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“Nothing. Just stuff. He’s a loser.”
“Was that why the two of you got in a fight?”
Avoiding her eyes, he hitched a shoulder. “Maybe.”
Lord, forgive me for not believing in him.
She hooked an elbow around his neck and bumped his head with hers. He was nearly as tall as her now. By summer’s end, he would likely surpass her. Someday he’d be as tall as his father.
“Rumors hurt people, Justin. You have to learn to ignore them. Okay?”
One bony shoulder hitched. “I guess.”
Being a single mother was the most difficult job she’d ever tried to do. Justin had never been an easy child, but pre-adolescence was doing a number on him—and her.
“Mom?” He stared at his sneakers. The strings were untied, but she knew better than to get into an argument over that. She was learning to choose her battles.
“What, son?”
He fidgeted another moment. “I love you.”
Annie’s throat thickened with emotion. “Oh, baby, I love you, too. You’re my heart, my life.”
She kissed his cheek, something he rarely allowed these days and was gratified when he grinned and didn’t yank away.
Delaney bounced into the room, her usual sunshiny self, with the handheld video game she’d gotten last Christmas. “Justin, will you play Pretty Miss Dress-Up with me?”
Annie could see how much her son did not want to play the girly game, but he stepped away from her and said, “Sure.”
From the time Delaney had been born, Justin had doted on his baby sister. Regardless of his attitude in other areas, he was a gentle, loving brother. The knowledge gave her hope that beneath the sometimes sullen boy was a good man waiting to bloom. At least, that was what she prayed for.
She left her children side by side on the couch, heads bent over the electronic game, and headed to Lydia’s room to begin their morning routine. When she reached the doorway, Sloan was standing next to the bed, his side angled away from Annie so he didn’t know she was watching him. Lydia was propped up on a mile-high stack of pillows with the hospital table alongside, her oxygen cannula making its monotone hiss. Sloan’s big, manly hands held a hairbrush which he was gently drawing through Lydia’s white hair, over and over again.
Annie’s chest constricted.
She didn’t want to think of Sloan as tender. She wanted to think of him as a user, a troublemaker, a jerk of the highest magnitude.
But he wasn’t always, a voice whispered.
She batted away the thought like a pesky fly and hurried back to the kitchen.
Company arrived at ten.
Sloan was behind the push-style lawnmower, sweating buckets, his T-shirt soaked when Annie stepped outside and asked him to help Lydia to the veranda.
“She prefers you to the wheelchair.” Annie seemed irked to involve him, as if she could have done the job just fine alone. She likely could have.
Wiping sweat, he went into the kitchen, stuck his over-heated head under the faucet for a long, refreshing minute. When he came up, water sluicing, Annie
