A Season for Family (5 page)

“For what?” She wasn't gonna let him off the hook. Her heels may have been propped up on the coffee table, but Heath could sense the mental tapping of her toe as she waited for his answer. She tipped her head to the right and glared his way.

A few hours ago, in the last light of day, he'd thought her eyes were dark. In this shadowy room they were chunks of coal framed by extraordinary fair skin that any man in his right mind would reach out and touch.

On second thought, a guy had to be crazy to mess with such an angry woman. And Heath was feeling a little left of sane at the moment.

“W
ell?” she demanded. “Exactly what is it that you're sorry for?” She reminded him of his weak apology.

“Evidently you have something in mind, so why don't you tell me?” he improvised.

“Let me see.” She tapped her index finger to her chin, pretending to consider her response. “You should be sorry for shooting your mouth off without having the facts. And you should be ashamed of yourself for focusing on what's lacking in your life when you have such abundance to be thankful for. And don't even get me started on the foolishness that landed you in here when there are so many important things you could be doing with your time.”

“You hit the mark on all counts.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I offered you a potshot and you fired with both barrels.”

Regret softened the squint of her eyes. “Okay, maybe that was too much.”

“Nope, not at all.” He shook his head. Her words were familiar. “It's not far from what my mom would have said, so I suppose I had it coming.”

“There's that parallel between me and your mother
again. You've made it clear y'all didn't see eye-to-eye on much, so I'm thinkin' that doesn't bode well for you and me.”

“My mom and I disagree a lot but I respect her, just as I respect you for what you're doing with this place.” He swept an open palm toward the room.

“And there's a lot more to do tomorrow.” Olivia stood, the mug cupped between her hands and held close as if she had a chill. “So, I'm going to get some sleep and I suggest you do the same. Remember, you've got predawn duties.”

“Yeah, Velma gave me the list. I think I can figure it all out on my own.”

“You won't be alone. I'll be down first thing to give you a hand.”

“You mean to keep an eye on me, don't you?”

A wry smile curved her pink lips. Her fingers fluttered a goodbye wave and she shuffled toward the door on fuzzy slippers.

 

“Don't look so surprised.” Olivia acknowledged Heath's wide eyes as he entered the kitchen not very many hours later. “I told you I'd be down early.”

“Yeah, but
early
is daylight. This is still the middle of the night.” He pointed to the big round wall clock. It was just after 4:00 a.m.

She continued to punch out biscuits and place the soft dough on huge baking sheets while the ovens heated up.

“I had a stuffy head and thought it might clear up faster if I got out of bed.”

Heath slid a fresh apron over his head and tied the strings behind his back. The man was attractive even at this gosh-awful hour, and suiting up for kitchen duty
made him doubly appealing. Olivia checked her image in the blurry reflection in the glass of the wall-mounted oven. The flour that coated her hands also smudged her face, and scarecrow hair poked out from beneath the elastic of her hairnet.

“You remind me of a high school cafeteria lady,” he teased.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” She returned his grin and wondered when she'd totally stopped making an effort about her appearance.

“Do I need one of those?” His eyes glinted as he smiled and pointed toward her white nylon cap.

She slanted a glance his way that acknowledged he'd had his fun. “It's not required, but I try to set a good example for the kitchen help who have any hair to speak of.”

“Where would you like me to get started?”

A puff of flour danced in the air as she waved toward the dining area. “Get coffee perking and make sure the sideboard is set with clean plates and utensils. Breakfast starts at five and you'll be amazed how many people will eat and get out the door as soon as the sun's up.”

“Really? They don't want to hang around inside where it's warm?”

“Not an option.” She shook her head. “Unless there's a weather crisis, everybody but the residents have to be out by eight o'clock so we can get started on our day.”

“Get started? What do you call this?”

“This is what I call quiet time. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Two hours later Olivia signaled across the room for Heath to join her. She placed a basket of hot biscuits, fresh from the oven, and a jar of jelly on the table before
settling into a chair. As Heath took the opposite seat, her stomach rumbled in a very unladylike way.

“Sounds like you took a breakfast break just in time.” He offered her the basket and then put two on his own plate.

She placed a hand over her tummy, willing it to quiet down. “I was hoping you hadn't noticed.”

“How could I miss something that loud?” He stabbed a pat of butter. “It was either your stomach or a diesel truck.”

“I guess we're not even going to pretend to be polite today.” She spooned grape jelly onto her plate.

“Why should we take a step backward? The ice is broken and it should stay that way,” Heath mumbled, with his mouth already full. He closed his eyes. “Delicious.”

“Thank you.” Olivia accepted the compliment.

“What a great start to a dreary morning.”

They both looked toward the windows where lumpy clouds hung low in a gray sky. The icy front moving across Texas seemed to be suspended over Waco.

“It's nice to offer something homemade or hot for breakfast on days like this. Tomorrow it'll be oatmeal or grits, and then scrambled eggs. We only do cold cereal and fruit on Sundays when we have fewer clients.”

“Because everybody's at church, right?” He cut mocking eyes toward Olivia.

“Actually, that's true, just not for the reason you mean.” She offered a smile instead of the censure he probably expected. “A few local churches serve a hot meal to the homeless on Sundays so it's likely they go as much for the pancakes as for the praise.”

“Bait, huh?”

“Whatever it takes,” Olivia admitted. “Somebody's
gotta get the catch near the boat and then it's up to the Lord to fill the nets.”

“Mornin', Miss Livvy.” Amos had materialized beside them. “I'll be ready to go as soon as these dishes are all washed and put away.”

“Thanks, but—”

He whipped a red bandanna from his hip pocket just in time to catch a rumbling cough.

Olivia stood and placed a hand on his bony back as the man she'd grown to love caught his breath.

“Thanks, but I've already drafted Heath to make the pickup rounds with me today,” Olivia explained to Amos. “And it sounds like you need to stay indoors anyway. I'd consider it a huge favor if you'd take charge of laundry. You're the one person I can trust not to overload the machines.”

“Is laundry my punishment for getting up late this morning?” Smudges of fatigue drooped beneath his eyes.

Olivia gave him a brief squeeze. “Don't be silly. Sleeping till six hardly makes you a layabout. I think being out of the cold and taking it easier today would do you good. Pull a chair beside the dryers where it's warm and read the novel that's been gathering dust on your nightstand for months.”

He cast a wary look toward Heath. “But it's
my
job to go along and handle the heavy stuff.”

“Let's take advantage of somebody else while we have the chance. In no time Heath will be back in Austin and you'll be my main man, like always.”

A small grin flipped Amos's pout upside down. He'd lived the last ten of his sixty-plus years feeling like an outcast, unworthy of love. Olivia's heart hurt for the doubt in his tired eyes. She prayed she'd never become
accustomed or hardened to the fearful gaze that was common among the homeless.

“Okay, if you're sure you can manage without me,” he said, seeming to accept her decision. “I admit there's an odd sorta pleasure to folding a crease into warm sheets.”

“That's my guy,” she encouraged Amos. She took her seat again but noted how slowly he shuffled out of the dining room. Velma needed to make sure he didn't skip lunch.

“So what's all this about heavy pickups?” Heath was on his feet, a damp cloth in his hand as he wiped crumbs from the table. Cleanliness was next to godliness. Olivia would take that as a positive sign.

“Once a week we make the rounds of local businesses to get their donations. Since I also spend time at each site networking for client jobs, it takes the better part of a day. It'll be eye-opening for you to ride along.”

A frown wrinkled Heath's forehead for a moment but quickly smoothed out of sight. Was he
annoyed?

“You got something better to do?” She quirked a brow, waited for his answer.

Will it be so bad spending the day riding around town with me? I'm no socialite, but I'm not exactly frumpy.
Olivia glanced down at the plaid flannel shirt and jeans that had come out of donation bags. Better revisit that
not exactly frumpy
business.

Heath watched Olivia's gaze drift downward to her clothing. The red and black of the faded shirt against her complexion was perfect. Actually, perfect was an understatement. She didn't need fancy clothes to hide flaws. He'd noted earlier how she filled out the jeans with a woman's body, tall and proud.

Even so, a sad shadow passed over her face. Was it self-doubt? No way! Man, she was impossible to read.

“No, I don't have anything else on my calendar,” he answered her question. With the staff on site there wouldn't be any chance to poke around anyway. Might as well see what more he could find out from Olivia, maybe even get some insight from the people who supported her place.

“And now that I've had a moment to think it over, there's nothing I'd rather do than learn about the mission business today.” He tried to sound agreeable.

She smiled, and then looked down to collect her plate and napkin. How easy it was to please her with a lie. His skin crawled at the observation.

“Okay, then. It'll take me about thirty minutes to get the residents lined out for the day and then I'll meet you out back by the truck.” Before he could reach for it, she'd grabbed her plate and headed for the kitchen.

There was an odd feeling in the pit of Heath's stomach and it wasn't just because he'd like to have another one of those buttered biscuits. He hadn't been outside in broad daylight without a cover while on a case in…actually, he'd
never
worked in the open without some form of disguise.

What if someone recognized him? Tripped him up?

And why did it matter, anyway?

I'm done being a cop. My decision hasn't changed in the past twenty-four hours.

A flash of plaid and short black hair moved past the doorway. The breath was tight in his chest as he admitted that something had changed after all.

And it had a name.

Olivia Wyatt.

H
eath scrunched deeper into the lumpy passenger seat and then pulled the hood of his jacket over his baseball cap. He tugged it close to the right side of his head.

“If you're still cold I can turn the heat higher for a while,” Olivia offered. “But if you're embarrassed to be riding in my old truck, you'll just have to get over it.”

So she'd noticed his effort to shield his face from vehicles at each intersection.

“Oh, it's just a nervous habit.” He dismissed her accusation, then fidgeted again with his collar.

“What's got you so anxious?” She angled her head, and sent a questioning look across the cab of the ancient pickup.

“Too much caffeine this morning.” He straightened in the seat, relaxed his shoulders so he looked less like a turtle with its head pulled in. He glanced at the mirror to his right and noted a black and white about to pull alongside. One of the officers seemed familiar. Heath propped his right elbow on the windowsill and blocked his face with his open palm.

She leaned forward, caught sight of the vehicle beside them. “Is that it? Are you worried about the police?”

The lady was observant, and he was doing a lousy job of acting casual. Time to get a grip.

“I guess I'm a little jumpy after my recent run-in with the law.”

“Oh, good grief,” Olivia huffed. “It's not like you're under house arrest, forbidden to leave the shelter. What we're doing today is part of your community service and you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I know most of the traffic officers.”

Just my luck, a well-connected citizen.

The light overhead flashed green. She pressed the accelerator and the truck rattled forward into the intersection. It backfired in resistance, sputtered, trembled and then died, right there in the center lane.

The cruiser moved directly behind Olivia's vehicle, flipped on blue strobes and gave a brief blast of the siren as if the cops enjoyed drawing further attention to the broken-down old Chevy.

“So much for having nothing to worry about.” Heath sank back into the folds of his jacket.

“Oh, cut it out. This happens all the time,” she chided.

“That would have been useful information before we left the shelter.”

Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror at the approaching officer, then began cranking down her window. “All right! It's Freddy Weatherford. We went to high school together.”

“Of course you did,” Heath mumbled.

“Hey, gorgeous!” The cop removed his cap and poked his head in Olivia's window. “Everything okay?” He looked Heath's way, the true meaning of the question clear.

“It's all good, Freddy. I just need a push.”

“Since I'm freezing and we're in the middle of an intersection you can introduce me to your friend another time.” He cast Heath a glare of both interest and warning before settling the uniform cap back on his head.

Officer Weatherford stepped away from the cab and signaled his partner behind the wheel of the patrol car. The driver matched his nudge bar to the Chevy's rear bumper and accelerated gently. Olivia popped the clutch and the truck sputtered back to life. She waved appreciation and then quickly closed the window against a burst of frigid air that nearly blew off her ratty old stocking cap.

“And that happens all the time?” Heath released the breath he'd been holding.

“Since the very first day Big Red was donated. But all it takes is a push to get her started again and that's turned out to be a nice way to meet people.”

“Maybe so, unless you're meeting those people late at night on the end of that dark street where you built your place.”

“If you're trying to scare me out of the warehouse district you need to take a number. I've been hearing that argument since the day the Realtor showed me the property. God led me to the area of town with the most need and found me the perfect building.”

He held his palms outward. “Hey, I'm just sayin'.”

“Yeah, well, say it to our clients who'll be desperate to find a warm place to sleep tonight.”

She swung the creaky red dinosaur into a parking space in front of a multistory brick building on Franklin Avenue.

“There are at least a dozen companies inside that I can count on for donations and job leads.” She slid to the pavement, locked and slammed the door and pulled her
ugly cap tight. Heath hurried to keep up. As she headed for the lobby entrance he admired the fearless tilt of her head and the confident strength of her carriage. Olivia wasn't a woman who cowered with something to hide or slept with one eye open. Her conscience seemed clear, her motives pure.

He lengthened his stride, reached for the door and swept it wide for her to enter first.

“Lead the way, boss lady.”

Her chin dipped, her eyes cast toward the floor, her cheeks colored with humility.

It was no wonder her supporters were loyal.

But if Olivia Wyatt was Mother Teresa's understudy, who was running drugs through her place?

 

Olivia hadn't been around many technogeeks in her life, so it was taking her a while to figure Heath out. He was a lot of help once he finally loosened up, but did he ever have a suspicious nature. No wonder his parents' efforts to give him a Christian upbringing had been such a struggle. The guy wouldn't accept anything on say-so, much less faith.

It was a fruitful day. The truck bed was full of boxes that included seasonal foods as well as badly needed staples. With their Thanksgiving feast only days away, it was a relief to store up cans of yams, cranberry jelly and pumpkin pie filling.

“So, what did you think?” she asked during their ride back to the shelter.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

She glanced his way to see if Heath was poking fun at her but no smile creased his face. In fact, his eyes were round, his stare intense.

“Apology for what?” she asked.

“For insinuating that you were wasting your future running a homeless shelter.” Heath sat tall with his arms crossed, no longer hiding in the corner of the cab as he had earlier. “If the effort I witnessed today is a glimpse of how you operate your business, you'd get my vote for city manager if you ever decided to enter politics.”

Olivia's cheeks warmed as she returned her attention to the afternoon traffic. “Apology accepted, but there's a strategic error in your thinking.”

“You'd never run?”

“You can't vote in this city.”

“Ah, good point.” He nodded. “But seriously, Olivia, you're a passionate spokesperson and a gifted networker. You could just as easily be a marketing director with a six-figure salary.”

She shook her head at the suggestion. “I wouldn't want a job like that, no matter what it paid. Working for somebody else has never appealed to me.”

“Sounds like you were born to be an entrepreneur.”

“I guess so. But I don't exactly think of myself that way, either.”

The old bench seat creaked as he shifted to stare at her. She kept her eyes on the road.

“Then how do you see your life's work? I mean, if your personal circumstances were different, do you think you'd still be on the same career path?”

“I hope my desire to serve would be just as strong as it is today. But if my path had been different I'd probably have followed my creative passion and developed my painting. I'd be a starving but fulfilled artist.”

“Really?”

The disbelief in his voice drew her glance to his face.

“Why do you find that so surprising?” Obviously,
she'd read too much into his compliments for her work the night before.

“It just amazes me that given unlimited choices, you'd still be happy in a career without any guarantees.”

“Nothing in life comes with guarantees, Heath. You should know that by now. Wealth doesn't buy you time or peace, and I have the family history to prove it. You can't put a price on health or integrity. I feel blessed to have those things and anything more would just be overflow.”

“Points well taken,” he conceded. “So, what are you doing to develop your talent?”

“I have a few canvases upstairs that I work on when there's time. Other than that, not much.”

“You could be the next Grandma Moses if you'd put half the energy into your art that you put into your pitch for donations.”

She snickered at his observation.

“I'm serious. You were so sharp those people never felt the blade.”

“Is that your way of saying I'm sticking it to my contacts?” she teased.

“Basically, but for a good cause so it's not a bad thing. And if you ever do decide to go in another direction, you have a toolbox full of sales skills.”

Glad for a reason not to look into Heath's eyes, Olivia watched her mirrors as she expertly backed Big Red up to the side entrance. She enjoyed a compliment as much as the next woman, she just wasn't sure her sales skills were what she most wanted to be admired for.

“Here we are.” She set the hand brake and wrapped her woolen scarf tight before reaching for the door handle.

“Olivia?”

She swung her gaze toward the sound of his soft voice as he continued.

“All joking aside, the effort you're making for others is extraordinary. My mama used to talk about the importance of being a quiet witness. Watching you today, I finally understand what that means.”

Her heart thumped as she realized he hadn't missed her occasional mention of a passage of Scripture or her offering of seasonal blessings. Maybe this man who appeared so dry was actually a dry sponge just waiting to soak up some Truth.

“Thank you, Heath. My testimony is the most important thing God packed in my toolbox.”

“Miss Livvy!” Velma called from the open door. Her eyes were so wide with worry that the whites shone all around her dark irises.

“What's wrong?” Olivia's sneakers hit the pavement, slamming her door as Heath did the same.

“It's Amos. He's sicker than a dog.”

“Could it be something he ate?” Olivia's insides quivered at the thought. Food-borne bacteria could spread through a shelter like wildfire, making it necessary to throw out the good along with the suspicious.

“Don't think so. He took to his bunk with a chill straight after lunch and right now he's burnin' up with fever and sounds like he might cough up a lung.”

Olivia looked at Heath who gave a grim nod.

“Flu,” they chorused.

“Go.” He shooed her. “I'll get this stuff unloaded.”

Olivia hurried to the men's dorm. Amos was curled on his side beneath several blankets. The warmth from a small space heater had the window sweating next to his bunk, yet Amos's teeth still chattered uncontrollably. Olivia remembered her own chill and raw throat from
the evening before, but that seemed to have passed. She bent closer, placed the back of her fingers against his unshaved cheek.

“His temp has to be well over a hundred.”

“The poor old fella's hotter than a $2 pistol,” Velma agreed.

“Is anybody else showing the same symptoms?”

“Not that I know of.” She shook her head.

Olivia fished in her pocket, and pulled out the key to her apartment. “Go set up the sofa bed in my living room. We'll move him upstairs just in case he's contagious.”

“It's closin' the gate after the cows are out, but worth a try.”

Olivia followed behind Velma. When she turned into the stairwell, Olivia continued out the exit.

Heath hefted a box filled with canned goods, handed it to Nick who headed inside and then reached for another carton. “How is he?” Heath asked.

“Velma didn't exaggerate. I'll get him moved up to my place so we can keep him quarantined.”

“You get a flu shot?” He barked as if he knew what her answer might be.

She shook her head, ashamed of being shortsighted, especially in the midst of so much hype about this year's flu season.

“I meant to have somebody over from the free clinic but that detail never made it to the top of my to-do list.”

“I can look after the old guy.”

“You?” She couldn't help smiling at the grudging offer. She'd lay odds Heath had never filled the role of caregiver. This would be a rough initiation.

“Hey, I know I wouldn't be anybody's first choice,
but I did have the good sense to take a flu shot so I'm less likely to get sick.”

She gave an emphatic shake of her head. “No, my staff is my responsibility.”

“Maybe so, but if you come down with the crud, who's gonna run this place?”

“Good point,” Olivia agreed, knowing she was in no position to decline his offer.

When Nick returned, she asked him to finish up the unloading. Then she motioned for Heath to follow.

“I'm pretty sure we'll have to carry him up the steps. Want me to get Bruce to help us?”

Heath cut a glance her way, an insulted squint to his eyes. “I beg your pardon, but I do occasionally get away from the computer and into the gym. I'm pretty sure I can manage his scrawny hide by myself.”

“Sorry,” she murmured as they passed the men's locker room, and then hurried through the bunks to Amos's bed. She'd been right, he was in no shape to walk, much less climb a flight of steps.

Heath didn't hesitate once he reached the bedside. He tossed off two blankets, tucked the third neatly around Amos's limp body and scooped the man up as effortlessly as he might lift a child.

“Lead the way,” he instructed.

She moved through the familiar hallways, her handiwork on the walls a blur as a dozen questions sprang to mind. What if somebody else came down with it? Maybe she should close for a few days rather than risk making her clients sick, but where else would they go in this bitter-cold weather?

At the top of the stairs, the door to the apartment stood open. The sofa was pulled out with fresh sheets smoothed over the mattress. Heath settled Amos
carefully and Olivia tucked warm blankets around his shivering body. Heath was silent. He'd stepped back and shifted his gaze to her walls. She noticed his wide-eyed stare at the unframed canvases that crowded every lateral surface of her minimal living quarters.