Livvie's Song (23 page)

“The pie.”

“He’s certain you hid the stolen goods somewhere, and he wants his fair share.” She paused, chewing her lip again. “And there’s something else, Will. He flashed a gun.”

“Guns always did give Clem a false sense of security. I’ll stay on guard, but, chances are, he’ll head out with those guys in the morning. One thing about Clem Dodd—he’s a lot of talk, minus the gumption.”

Livvie looked at her lap and pondered her next words. “There’s something I have to ask you.”

“Ask me anything now. It’s all out on the table, Liv.”

She raised her chin and examined his face. “Do you still have those jewels? I mean, I want to believe you, but….”

He sat forward in the sofa and let his eyes roam over her face, as if searching out every detail. “No, Liv, I don’t have the jewels, but I don’t fault you for doubting me. The truth is that I threw them down a sewer drain. I know, sounds stupid, but that’s exactly what I did.”

“Two of those men said the same thing, but the other fellow didn’t sound convinced.”

“Clem Dodd’s determined to get what he thinks he deserves for the small part he and the rest of them played in the robbery. Fact is, I was the one who did the deed—broke the lock, smashed the glass case, scooped up a fistful of diamond rings, ruby necklaces, earrings, and the like, and ran off with them. Meanwhile, the store had an alarm at the police station, and, before we knew it, we heard sirens. Clem and the other fellows hightailed it out of there in the ‘getaway wagon’ before I knew what was happening.” With creased brow, he gave his head several fast shakes. “You don’t know how many times I’ve regretted that stupid act, and to throw away those precious gems was even dumber. The jeweler had replacement insurance, but I should have just handed the bag over to the cops when they caught up with me. Fool that I was, I thought they wouldn’t be able to prosecute me if I came up empty-handed, but there was a witness who’d seen me run out of the store, bag in hand.”

She pondered his words, a part of her wanting to sympathize, another part wishing she could wash her hands of him here and now, and still another part knowing she needed him in order to keep Livvie’s Kitchen open. And then, there was the matter of that dread gun. Oh, Lord, what was she to do? She certainly couldn’t ignore the lurking possibility of danger. Not with two young sons to protect.

As if he’d read her flurry of thoughts, Will brushed his hands together and inclined his head toward her. “Livvie.” He spoke in a near whisper. “I meant what I said when I told you I’d leave. I don’t want to put you or those dear boys of yours in any sort of danger. And, while I’m sure I can take care of myself with regard to Clem Dodd, I don’t want to put your business or your clientele in jeopardy. If you are the least bit concerned about that, and you want me—”

“I’ve already told you, I want—need, rather—you to stay.” She couldn’t afford to let on that she’d grown accustomed to seeing him every day, that she enjoyed his company. Heavenly, merciful days! Whatever would Margie say if she discovered her little sister’s attraction to an ex-convict, Christian or not? “You’re staying, and that’s that.”

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. Then shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” —Jeremiah 29:11–13

Will was amazed at the recent turn of events. First, Clem and his thugs had shown up at the restaurant with their loud talk and empty threats, and then, after overhearing their crass blabber outside her window, Livvie had come marching across the hall to confront him about it. He’d long known that the day would come when she’d discover his shocking past; he just hadn’t pictured it happening quite this way, with Clem, Hank, and Rudy spilling the beans. Oh, but he’d seen lightning in those blue-green eyes when he’d opened the door, broom at the ready to clobber whoever had forced his way inside. And then, after she’d divulged what she’d heard, he’d fully expected her to give him the ax. Instead, here she was, insisting he stay on as cook, even though she knew about his past, as well as the potential for trouble in his future. Granted, she had a point about needing a cook, but, surely, another Joe Stewart would come forward if she advertised her immediate crisis.

“Livvie, I could jump on the morning train tomorrow and remain an enigma for the rest of Wabash’s days—no doubt to everyone’s benefit,” he heard himself saying.

She stood, so he followed suit, watching her brush the wrinkles out of her cotton skirt. In the sticky air, her coppery hair had coiled into tiny ringlets around her temples and fell in soft swirls over her proud shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to reach up and test its texture! To stay on the safe side, he clasped his hands behind his back.

“It would not be to everyone’s benefit, Will,” she said. “In the short time you’ve been here, you’ve already impressed a good number of folks with your excellent cooking skills. If you suddenly disappear, you’ll be more than an enigma; you’ll be a source of suspicion and mistrust. Would you really want to leave the fine folks of Wabash in that kind of quandary, especially in light of your Christian testimony?”

He could now add “smart” and “sensitive” to the long list of Olivia Beckman’s attributes. “You’re right; I don’t want people thinking I had to run to save my skin or protect my reputation. Maybe I should just come clean with folks, tell them about my sordid past.”

“And what would be the point in that? Why deliberately give people a reason to doubt you or find fault, not to mention spread senseless gossip? If and when they discover the truth, you can let them make up their own minds about you. By then, most of them will have gotten to know the real Will Taylor, so your past won’t matter.”

Genuinely warmed by her words, he dared to inch forward. To his surprise, she didn’t retreat. “You make several interesting points, Livvie Beckman.” Some kind of citrus scent wafted off of her, whether from her skin or hair, he couldn’t be sure, unless he leaned closer. “Does it matter to you?” he asked. “My past, that is.”

“A bit, I suppose.” Her answer drew him up short, yet not to the point of making him step back. “But everyone deserves a second chance. Goodness, how could anyone live to see twenty if he’s never given a chance to redeem himself after making a mistake?”

“I’ve made some big mistakes in my lifetime,” he confessed.

“And now you’re different. You said yourself that God gave you a clean slate.”

“He did, indeed. Thanks for reminding me of that.”

Her gaze connected with his, and he couldn’t help himself. With nerves jangling, he unlocked his hands from behind him and lifted one to her forehead. “These few strands here look like they need tending.” He lightly fingered the loose tendril, looping it around his index finger as he toyed with the idea of kissing her, especially when she closed her eyes and expelled an airy, shaky breath. A quick calculation reminded him that it had been eleven years since he’d kissed a woman, and the last one had been some floozy whose name and looks he couldn’t recollect.

As he’d studied the Bible in prison, the Lord had convicted him of many things, including the importance of treasuring a woman in the way God intended. Not that he didn’t still possess those old longings that made him purely male, but he’d finally figured out how to curb his instincts and desires before they led to outright sin. If she wanted to be kissed, she’d have to send him a clear message before he took the next giant step. So, he released the tiny curl and brushed his knuckles gently against her cheek. For weeks, he’d marveled at that lightly freckled skin, and he delighted now in its warmth and utter softness. A muscle flicked at the corner of her mouth, making his throat go as dry as hot sand.
Lord, she’s a beautiful woman—too beautiful for someone like me. What am I even thinking?
But, even as he questioned his sanity, he raised his other hand and cupped her cheeks, as he might a fine crystal vase. Blast, it sure would simplify matters if she’d jerk away from him about now. He could apologize all over the place, promise never to come so close to kissing her again, and then see her to the door.

But she stayed firmly grounded, with her face tilted upward, almost like an invitation. So, with pounding pulse, he leaned closer and, ever so gently, touched his mouth to hers. It wasn’t an exploratory kiss, by any means; just a slow, tender, feathery one that made his heartbeat skitter out of control. He moved his hands to her shoulders and pressed gently, but she kept her arms at her sides, while her long eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. As their breaths tangled in the velvet warmth of their first kiss, only one word came to mind:
magnificent
.

***

Heavens to Betsy! What was she doing? To say that her eager response to Will’s kiss shocked her would be putting it lightly. Why, it flat-out flummoxed her! She was still mourning Frank, for goodness’ sake, and kissing another man—an ex-convict, of all people—seemed to smack of betrayal. Yet, even as these thoughts tripped through her mind, she allowed the brush of his lips to continue. The rapturous sensation sent the pit of her stomach into a wild swirl, and she couldn’t hold back the sigh that rushed out of her. Gracious! Any second now, she’d be wrapping her arms around his neck. If ever there was a kiss to melt her tired soul, this one fit the bill.

Time, place, and all that he’d confessed just moments ago fell away like broken shackles as Will’s hands left her shoulders and slipped around the small of her back, drawing her closer. She gladly leaned into him, moving her hands behind his waist and looping her thumbs under his leather belt. It had been months and months since she’d been touched so tenderly. Oh, but she missed Frank, even as she lost herself in Will’s warm kiss, and wished for just one more chance to hold her husband. They had shared a precious love, Frank and she, but busy lives and active boys had often interfered with intimacy. Quick embraces and pecks on the cheek would tide them over for days at a time. Sudden regret washed over her for not loving him deeper, longer—fuller. A tear ran down her cheek. “Frank,” she whispered.

Will instantly pulled away, frowning, and dropped his hands to his sides, his beautifully shaped lips still wet from the intimate moment. “You called me Frank,” he stated.

At a loss for words, she stood there, dazed, wondering if it was true. With all her might, she struggled to recall, but overwhelming emotion clouded her memory. At last, she whispered, “I didn’t really, did I?”

“Yes, you really did.” She detected no animosity in his voice, just a hint of hurt.

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t know, I must have been—”

“Thinking about him,” he finished.

How could she deny it? She stared up at him without speaking.

A smile, deliberate and somewhat pained, slowly eased onto his face. “It’s all right,” he said, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the lone tear on her cheek. “It’s fully understandable. He was your husband, Livvie, and you lost him suddenly and tragically. I’m the one who should be apologizing. Don’t know what possessed me to kiss you. I told myself not to do it, that you weren’t ready for it. Good grief!” He swept a hand over his furrowed brow. “He hasn’t been gone all that long. I hope you won’t despise me or let this silly kiss affect our working relationship.”

“It’s been more than a year,” she murmured.
Silly kiss?
So, it had meant nothing to him? “Life goes on. Most days, I manage quite fine, if I do say so, myself. And, no, I don’t despise you. Mercy, if this was anyone’s fault, it was mine. I’m the one who knocked on your door. I could have easily waited to talk to you in the morning.” A worrisome thought sprouted in her head that perhaps she’d secretly wanted to experience his touch, upset as she’d been by what she’d overheard outside her window. In her heart, she knew Will was a good man, and all she’d really needed was reassurance. Well, he’d reassured her, all right—and topped it off with a delicious, decidedly not silly kiss.

The trouble was, it had stirred up memories of Frank and even prompted her to speak his name.

Land sakes! Will would never want to kiss her again, and that realization somehow left her feeling dejected and alone.

At the restaurant the next day, not so much as a word was spoken about the kiss. In fact, Will treated her as if nothing had happened, so that she began to wonder if she’d merely imagined or dreamed the entire incident. Of course, she hadn’t, for the experience of that mesmerizing moment played over and over in her head like a picture show. Moreover, she couldn’t forget the conversation she’d overheard beneath her window or erase the troublesome suspicion that the man with the scarred face would show up again.

***

With their constant nagging, Cora Mae, Coot Hermanson, Alex, and Nate had managed to talk Livvie into going to church with Will the following Sunday. He’d invited her days ago, but, ever since that kiss, he’d been hesitant to even talk to her for fear of getting fired. He should have known better than to kiss a widow who still carried a hot torch for her husband, especially when that widow was his boss! When he’d awakened the morning after the kiss, he’d vowed to keep their conversations strictly professional and to work as efficiently as he could in the restaurant and then hurry upstairs to his apartment after work to minimize interaction. During the days, he fussed over the boys and Sally, since their presence at Livvie’s Kitchen made the time go faster and lightened the atmosphere.

Thursday night’s Family Feast was an even bigger success than Tuesday’s, with a line of customers that stretched more than half a block. At the patrons’ urging, Will once again took a break to entertain them with his harmonica, and everyone put down their utensils to clap their hands and sing along. When he went up to his apartment after work that night, he pondered the events of the past several days and realized that he’d never had more fun or felt more accepted.

On Saturday night, he found himself performing onstage in the dance hall again, this time with a different band that was no less welcoming of his participation than Berk’s. Apparently, his harmonica fame preceded him, for as soon as he walked through the door, trying to blend in with the crowd, someone shouted, “Will Taylor to the stage! Will Taylor to the stage!” Soon, the entire room entreated him with one voice. To his dismay, the dolled-up Marva Dulane immediately rushed to his side with hungry eyes, as if she were ready to sink in her hooks. What would it take to convince her to find another fishing hole?