Mom in the Middle (12 page)

“If you'd put a bed in that second room instead of spreading your amazing array of toys out everyplace, I could just stay here with you.”

“Those are artisan's tools, not toys,” he reminded her for the umpteenth time. Just because she had no artistic skill of her own, she poked fun at his. The day he was stationary enough to blow glass, not just cut and solder it, she'd truly be amazed by what kind of “toys” would be required.

“And as much as you're welcome to visit, staying here is
not
an option, Rebecca Thelma Casey. After sharing a bathroom with you girls for all those years, I've earned my personal space. Besides I need all my equipment with me so I can finish the piece I'm doing for Mom.”

He'd proudly shown Casey the colorful display of frosted yellow daffodils and gleaming orange tiger lilies. The four-foot-square pane of intricate glass would eventually replace a window in the family kitchen back home. It would be a radiant reminder of summertime when their mother sat at her breakfast nook during the freezing Iowa winters.

“I have to hand it to you, bro. You've definitely put the gaggle on notice that this Mother's Day your gift is the one to beat.” She popped spicy calamari into her mouth.

He shook his head. “I have another project I have to do first. I'm shooting for Mom's birthday at the end of June. I'll be back home by then and I can install it myself. She's been after me for years to do this for her so I can't wait to see her face the first time she gets a look at it.”

“Then you really are planning to go home in a couple more weeks?”

“Well, yeah. There's easily three months of planning at corporate before I have to move down to the Galveston site.”

“And what about that sweet girl and her family?”

Guy's chopsticks stilled, spring roll halfway to his
mouth. He narrowed his eyes, deciding whether to play dumb or come clean.

Maybe halfway was best.

“Sweet girl, huh? Considering you were full of suspicions yesterday, you sure have become a fan overnight.”

“Trust me, I still want to see the final report on the Reagans, but if first impressions pan out I agree we don't have any long-term worries.”

Several things assaulted Guy at once. The report the family was waiting on. He had to do something about that, and soon.

Then there was the conversation he'd had with their insurance agent that morning. Don Quinn was the owner of the independent Iowa firm. He'd worked with H&H since the beginning and stuck with them even after the arbitration with the Grossmans that had cost a small fortune to settle. Don was adamant that the coverage provided on the Reagans case was far beyond fair and equitable. The injury had not been a result of negligence on the part of Hearth and Home. It was confirmed by the Reagans own surgeon to be a spontaneous fracture, not uncommon in a woman Sarah's age. Given the recent history of payout, Don stood firm in his refusal to offer a gratuitous settlement beyond what was contractually required.

Sarah still had months of physical therapy ahead of her that would not be covered. It would add up to tens of thousands of dollars Shorty could never pay. That could ultimately jeopardize their only signifi
cant asset, their home. Guy was prepared to cover it all out of his own pocket, but how could he do that without offending the Reagans? And if he told them the truth of his conversation with Don, would they take their case to their attorney after all? Even a claim that was doomed from the start could tie up the family for months in litigation and run up a huge tab for the lawyers involved. If that happened, the family sure enough would know he'd rolled the dice and gone outside of their agreed upon procedure that was designed specifically to protect H&H.

A procedure required because he'd messed up in Nashville.

And if all that wasn't enough, there was the matter of Shorty having turned surly again. Abby said mood swings were just part of day to day life with the multiple sclerosis, but this one seemed to be settling in for a while. Shorty had been grumpy and argumentative today, not wanting to work out the details of their reconstruction plans that should be well underway.

Guy checked his watch, wondered if Dillon was already down for the night. If he hurried…

“Don't you agree?” Casey tapped the edge of Guy's plate with her chopsticks.

“Huh?”

“What is it with people tuning me out today?” she demanded, her face turned to the ceiling as if expecting a celestial response.

Guy smiled at her mock frustration. “Sorry. I'm listening now.”

“I said for being so young Abby really has a great head on her shoulders. She's a darling girl. And by the way, she has one whopper of a crush on you that's stopped her from thinking about Dillon's father for days at a time.”

“She told you that?” He held his breath.

“Not in so many words. Are you gonna eat that last bite of calamari?” Without waiting for a response, Casey speared the fried squid with the tip of her chopstick and raised it to her open mouth. As she munched, she continued, “And don't think for a minute, Alexander Theodore Guy, that I don't see the same look in your eyes. You've got a thing for that the cute little blonde and it has nothing to do with professional obligation. Admit it.”

“You know me better than that.” He ducked his head and busied himself with his meal. Maybe playing dumb would have been the best choice after all.

“Sooner or later, you'll talk.” The Warden nodded her head, certain her prisoner would eventually fess up.

“There's just nothing more to say on that subject, that's all.”

“If you say so, bro.” She winked. “How about pulling out the sofa and helping me make up the bed before you leave?”

“It's almost eight. What makes you think I'm going out again?” The woman had a sixth sense. Scary.

Under the table she tapped her bare foot against his ankle.

“You've still got your boots on, cowboy. My guess
is you're going to drop by and see if there's anything you can do tonight to help out that little filly.” She shook her head. “And I sure hope she turns you down. There needs to be at least one woman in the world who doesn't want Guy Hardy to come to her rescue.”

Nope. Casey wouldn't let him off the hook. Ever.

But, Lord, please let her be wrong about Abby.

F
rom her comfortable position in the rocking chair, Abby heard truck wheels grind to a stop in the driveway, then the slamming of a heavy door. Dillon responded immediately, squirming in her lap where they'd been snuggled for ten minutes to quiet him for the night. She should be annoyed, since it was almost time to put her son down. Instead her heart shimmied in her chest at the thought of a visit from Guy.

She kept her seat, waited for the knock, didn't want to seem as if she'd been expecting him. But truth be told she'd been thinking of him since they'd said their goodbyes at New Harvest. At home, during their favorite dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese, Dillon had pointed toward the front door and asked for Guy repeatedly. It was the same pitiful way he called for his Cookie Monster doll when it fell out of the crib at night.

Her spirit was torn and the wound worsened by the
minute. Just as Phillip would never come home, Guy would never be hers. And she'd discovered
never
was a long, long time. He could only be a friend passing through her life, helping to smooth the way as much as she'd let him. That was all he was willing to give and she had to accept it just like the hopefuls who'd gone before her.

Besides, he didn't even think of her as more than another sister. How sick that she wanted him to do otherwise.

Knuckles wrapped softly. He was a considerate man.

“Guy!” Dillon shouted. He wiggled hard for his mama to release him. She rocked forward, settled him on his bare feet and watched the light of her life waddle across the old wooden floor. When he reached his destination, he slapped both palms hard against the surface and called with glee, “Guy!”

The single word from Dillon spoke volumes about the condition of his tiny heart.

A low rumble of laughter could be heard through the hollow core of the door. Abby released a sigh and knew the wonderful flutter of butterfly wings that always accompanied the sound of Guy's voice. She threw the dead bolt and opened her home to the only man who'd ever made her feel such things.

With the abandon only a child can display without embarrassment, Dillon launched his stout body against Guy's legs. Chubby arms wound tightly around shins and a small happy face burrowed into faded blue jeans.

“Guy!” he squealed. The delight was enough to
lodge a lump the size of Dallas in Abby's throat. Her baby desperately needed a daddy and he mistakenly thought he'd found one.

Guy squatted and opened his arms to Dillon, who didn't hesitate. The two melted together, held each other tight and exchanged noisy raspberry kisses as if their forty-eight hours apart had been a lifetime of separation. Guy stood, hugged Dillon to his chest and locked eyes with Abby.

His were shiny, welled up with unshed tears.

The sight took her breath away. This incredible man loved her son.

Oh, Father, if he could only care about me that way.

Guy cleared his throat, blinked hard and stole another noisy helping of neck sugar from the toddler who was completely content to be pressed against the broad chest.

“Hey, leave some for his mama,” she teased to help all of them past the emotions of the moment.

“Are you kidding?” He jostled Dillon, getting shrieks of delight for his trouble. “This bruiser is one quarter nails, snails and puppy-dog tails and three quarters honey-puffs cereal. He has enough sweetness to last a lifetime.”

“You're pretty sweet yourself, you know that, Mr. Hardy?” She smiled up into his incredible blue eyes, wondering if he had any inkling how her heart was tap dancing.

He shifted Dillon to the crook of one arm, opened the other and waited.

But not for long.

She stepped into the comfort of Guy's embrace, snaked her arm around his middle, pressed the side of her face to his chest and listened to the wild thumping inside. The three of them shared their first group hug and Abby committed the moment to treasured memory in case it never happened again.

She forced herself to ease the pressure she'd applied around his taut waist and tipped her head back, expecting to see pity in his eyes that her need for physical contact was as blatant as her son's. What he telegraphed with his gaze was far from pity.

Guy dipped his head and touched his lips to hers. Softly, with no insistence. Gently, making no demands.

“What in blazes is all that ruckus about at bedtime?” Her dad's voice carried down the hallway just before they heard the squeak of his chair.

She went to pull away but Guy held her to his side.

“It's okay. I can hug you two, can't I?”

“Sure,” she agreed. There was nothing wrong with that between friends, was there?

But what about that kiss I was about to return?

“Papa,” Dillon greeted his grandpa but made no move to lean away from Guy's arm.

“Well, what a cozy picture you three make. I can see I'm about as necessary in here as lips on a chicken,” Shorty grumbled miserably. He maintained a hangdog expression on his weathered face for several long seconds before the smallest signs of a wily grin began to form.

Abby didn't know which was worse—having her father upset by the scene before him or having him pleased by it. Either way it was a no-win situation for everybody. She tapped Guy lightly on the back and, blessedly, he took the hint. His arm dropped from around her and he casually used the free hand to goose Dillon in the ribs. The baby arched his back and giggled at the game he and Guy played, taking turns tickling and laughing. It was no wonder her son had become so attached to the first man who'd been able to get on a toddler's level, roll on the floor and give piggyback rides.

“Hey, Daddy,” she said, grazing over the tender moment.

“Good evening, sir. I just dropped by to see if you needed anything and we were all saying hello.”

He bent to extend his hand. The two men gripped firmly, the light of friendship beginning to glow in their eyes. She was reminded of the first day Guy had come to their home. The scene outside the laundry room where the bonding had begun, despite her father's reluctance. She tried to recall the envy she'd felt but could only conjure up a warm feeling of appreciation for the companionship Guy had freely offered her father when he'd needed it most. In His wisdom, God had brought these two honorable men together, if only for a season. Was Guy's mission to help heal all their hearts from former grief and then leave them with new heartache?

 

“You're always welcome here, son. Sorry if I've seemed a tad grouchy.”

“A tad?” Guy quirked his eyebrows upward at the understatement.

Shorty snorted, the only agreement he was normally willing to give.

“Some days are just harder than others,” he admitted. “This business with Sarah being gone is almost over and then, the good Lord willin' we can get back to normal.”

Guy wondered what
normal
meant in this home. In his adult years he'd come to understand that the Hardy family was unique in this day of high divorce rates and single-parent homes. A big family, secure in ways that mattered most was definitely becoming an anomaly.

So maybe Shorty was right and
normal
was a family with problems, illness, financial worries and loss. Guy's gut churned from the revelation. How had he failed to understand that before now? How many times had he set away or, worse, driven away a woman who'd come to care for him after he'd helped her out of a tight spot, then dated her for a short while? It wasn't that he didn't respect her feelings, it was just that his mattered more.

Ugh. What a creep.

“Don't mention it, sir.” He crossed to the rocker beside the spot where Shorty had positioned his chair. “Do you mind?” He asked Abby's permission
to sit with her son. She nodded and he settled carefully, shifted Dillon low so he could cuddle up comfortably and rest against a warm shoulder. The towhead of whisper-fine locks tucked beneath Guy's chin. A perfect fit. Again a burning sensation behind his eyes caught him unaware. He lowered his head, brushed his chin against the blond softness and planted a quiet kiss on Dillon's cheek.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll put this boy down,” Abby offered.

“Oh, please let me hold him a while. I haven't seen my nieces and nephews in months and I could use some Uncle Guy practice.” Practice?
Fix
was more like it.

Her brown eyes were puzzled. They held a message he didn't quite understand. She seemed to approve of his closeness with her family, but was he taking it too far? Had he crossed a line? First there was the hug, and then that kiss.
What was he thinking?
And now this need to comfort Dillon. Even Guy had to admit that for a man determined not to have a family of his own, he was sending mixed signals.

Off-limits behavior with a single mom, Casey would say.

He'd clear that up before he left.

“How can I refuse a request like that?” A sad smile curved her pretty lips.

Yep, he had to clear up any seeds of misconception his selfish acts might have planted.

“I'll get back to the practice tests I was sorting
over here on the table. Signal when you're ready for me to put him in his crib.”

Abby moved to the other side of the room to work in view of where Guy sat rocking Dillon. Her arms and legs were tanned from afternoons of gardening at the church and helping out in the backyard. She folded one bare foot beneath her bottom and perched on the edge of an oak dining-room chair, colorful stacks scattered across its surface. She punched a button on her portable CD player and an unfamiliar tune punctuated with street lyrics poured from the small speakers.

“Baby girl, how about turning down that racket?”

“It's called hip-hop, Daddy.” She rolled her eyes at Guy and lowered the volume but continued to bob her head to the beat.

“What passes for music these days is beyond all adult comprehension,” Shorty muttered. “I don't know how the youngsters stand it, do you?”

Ouch! A reminder of the significant age difference between himself and Abby. If Shorty was intentionally going for that point, he'd hit right on the mark.

Guy tried to focus on their conversation as the older man launched into the discussion he'd flatly refused to have only the day before. The details of the home reconstruction were important. The work needed to begin right away if they hoped to have it finished within two weeks. But with the scent of baby powder tickling his nose, the sound of Dillon's soft snoring endearing to Guy's ears and the pleasing
sight of Abby engrossed in her work only a few yards away, concentration eluded him.

“So I was thinking I might buy a new Ford and join the NASCAR circuit.”

“Good idea,” Guy agreed.

“Or maybe pick up a dozen huskies and train for the Iditarod.”

“Iditarod?” The old man had finally snapped. He was talking crazy. Guy turned his attention to Shorty and was greeted by dark eyes sparkling beneath bushy gray brows. His thin arms were folded across his chest, his jaw set in that stubborn line that was clearly the family trademark.

“Busted, punk, as the reality TV cops say right before the takedown.” He winked, leaned forward and lowered his voice so his words would be masked by the music. “You're still in denial, I see. You cover your feelings for my girl about as well as your hair covers the crown of your head.”

He cackled at the insult and patted Guy's arm with a bony hand to indicate no harm was meant. “You better wake up and smell the bacon before it's too late. You'll be gone for good in a few weeks and a girl as special as mine may never cross your path again.” He nodded toward the sleeping boy. “Same goes for my precious grandson. I never told this to anybody, but before Phillip deployed I promised him his child would always be in good hands. I'd say that's where he is right now, wouldn't you?”

Guy nodded, lost for words at what was
sounding for all the world like Shorty's blessing. He rested his cheek against Dillon's warm head and prayed.

Father, I've been so wrapped up in my decisions for my life that I haven't made time to listen for Your will. I know You have a plan for all of us, but mine's been mapped out for so long that I never thought it would change. Have You put me in this family's path to make it better, or have You put them in mine to teach me a lesson? I don't know which it is, Lord, so how about revealing a little more to me? And soon!

Dillon's snores grew louder. “Looks like this little fella is down for the count.” Guy chuckled at the baby bear rumbling.

Abby's head popped up, but before she could make a move, Guy stood.

“Keep your seat. I know the way.” He cradled the boy close, stepped around Shorty's wheelchair and made his way down the corridor that had become so familiar he could navigate it in the darkness. He settled his precious cargo into the crib, keeping the warmth of a protective hand on Dillon's back until the steady snores resumed.

“You've got quite a fan there, you know.” Abby's whisper came from the doorway. He didn't take his eyes off the boy.

“The feeling is mutual. He's adorable, Abby.” Just like his mama.

The boards creaked beneath her feet as she stepped closer and stopped beside him. He glanced
to his right, looked down into brown eyes that sparkled in the glow of the small night-light he'd fashioned to look like Big Bird.

“Can we talk outside?” she asked softly.

“Sure, I need to get out of your hair so why don't you walk me out to the truck?”

Back in the front room, the two men arranged a drop-off time the next day for building supplies while Abby slid her bare feet into rubber thongs.

She followed him out to the darkened front porch and pulled the door closed behind them. Before he could take the three concrete steps down to the sidewalk, he felt her hand on his forearm, preventing his progress. This would be the time to set things straight. To apologize for the impetuous kiss and assure her it wouldn't happen again.