The Promise of Rainbows (8 page)

“I would have comforted…ah…offered to
pray
for him,” Sadie said, quickly correcting herself.

Susannah knew her sister was only teasing. Well, perhaps not completely. But she was happy Sadie and Shelby were making an effort not to talk about Jake like he was a sex object anymore and not to tease
her
about her interest in him.

“So, what do you think Mama plans to do once she has him at Sunday dinner?” Shelby asked.

Susannah stroked her chin. If she knew her mama, she was fixing on bringing Jake under her wing.

That man didn’t have a chance.

Chapter 7

Jake was seriously considering dropping off the flowers and the wine he’d bought and making tracks back to his house in Dare River. Sure, it was often lonely on Sundays when he wasn’t on tour, but that’s what his four-wheeler and fishing gear were for.

Distraction was a useful tool for the lonely heart. He’d learned that as a young boy growing up without his daddy around much. Sundays had been about going to church, and when they returned home, his mama would make a roast or grill a chicken. Sometimes she would even make a pie, his favorite being cherry.

But they’d never felt like much of a family. His older brother had sat across from him while his daddy’s seat would sit empty more often than not.

Now Jake was going to a real family dinner, and on a Sunday to boot. How in the world had that happened? Reverend Louisa might look like someone’s grandma with her gray hair, but she sure as shooting didn’t act all sweet-like. No, that woman could have given Annie Oakley a run for her money. Instead of lassoing horses, the Reverend lassoed souls. Apparently, she had her sights set on his.

He rubbed his heart as he drove down Rye’s driveway. He only had to stay a few hours. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he feared it would be.

Then he saw the little girl waiting for him at the end of the driveway in a pale blue coat decorated with sunflowers, and he had to pound his heart to ease the sweet ache of it. He’d once dreamed of having a daughter like Annabelle. Perhaps a few of them. He’d never wanted a son. Not when the boy might have to go off to war. Jake didn’t want that for his kin.

Holding Annabelle in his arms this morning—even though she’d pretty much plopped herself there without asking—had moved him something fierce. And the wisdom that had come out of her mouth? Well, that old saying was true. Kids did say the darndest things.

No one else was with her, and he wondered if she’d told them she was going to greet Jake all by her lonesome. Her blond curls weren’t in the perfect ringlets from this morning, suggesting she’d been playing outside.

When he pulled his truck to a stop beside the other vehicles and opened his door, she ran over to him.

“Jake!” she shouted and then launched herself at him like he was a dear, long-lost friend. “I’m so glad Grandmamma invited you to Sunday dinner. You need a home-cooked meal.”

He needed a home-cooked meal? Who
was
this child? “It’s good to see you too, Annabelle.” Reaching inside the truck spontaneously, he grabbed one of the yellow roses from the bouquet and handed it to her.

She tilted her head to the right and gave him a soft smile, one that melted the last of the fear hovering around his heart. “I
love
flowers. So does my mama. When spring comes and the flowers reach out of the ground again, can I come see the gardens my mama planted for you?”

Talking with this child was like talking to Yoda. “Ah…sure.”

She took his hand as he tucked the flowers and wine against his chest and shut the door to the cab. “Yay! I’ll talk to Mama and make sure you have some chocolate plants so the chocolate fairies can come live with you. You like chocolate, don’t you?”

Tammy had joked about using chocolate plants in his garden, but the last thing he wanted was for the press to get wind of any eccentric star behavior on his part. He liked to stay out of the news when he could help it. “Never had a thing against it,” he answered to be polite.

“You can have some of my chocolate in the meantime,” she told him, leading him to the front door. “Uncle Rye keeps extra candy here for me and Rory. I’ll have to let go of your hand to open the door since I have my flower in the other one.”

She was pretty much clutching the rose to her chest. Thank God he’d bought the type with the thorns removed. “Okay.”

Two adorable dogs were waiting at the door, barking. The sight made his muscles lock up. Dogs always made him think of the one he’d lost.

“It’s okay, Jake.” His little friend immediately reached for his hand again. “Rory, you’re going to have to hold Barbie for me just a little longer. I need to show Jake where to put the flowers and the wine.”

“
Annabelle
,” her brother said, holding two leashes in hand, “you’re supposed to call him Mr. Lassiter.”

She shook her head. “He’s Jake to me, Rory, but you should call him Mr. Lassiter. Jake, that’s Barbie, my dog, and the other one is Rory’s. He’s a labradoodle, and his name is Bandit. They don’t bite or jump, so don’t be scared. Aunt Tory used to be afraid of dogs, so Uncle Rye went to extra trouble to train them to behave around her. Even Bullet and Banjo are good now. But don’t worry a bit. Uncle Rye put them in the mud room since we have company.”

She was soothing him about the dogs? How had she guessed that the sight of them caused him grief? “I’m not scared of them, Annabelle,” he said to reassure her.

“Maybe you should get a dog,” she said. The scary determined look in her eyes reminded him of Louisa. “They’re man’s best friend, you know.”

“Maybe sometime,” he said, hoping that would satisfy her. After all, he couldn’t tell her what had happened to his dog. The poor girl would cry. Man, he was already getting emotional, and he was only a couple of inches inside the door. Jake focused on the smell of home-cooked food drifting from the kitchen, hoping to shift his inner turmoil.

“I see you have a new friend, Jake,” Rye observed as he walked into the foyer. “And there’s no better friend than Annabelle. Unless we’re talking about Rory,” he said, chucking the little boy under the chin. “They’re both pretty special sprouts. Good to see you, bubba. Welcome.”

Jake had been to Rye’s house before, but never for something as personal as Sunday dinner. “Thank you. I did bring yellow roses—your favorite—and wine. You can have a rose if you’d like.”

Rye gave a soft chuckle. “I’ll let you save them for the ladies.”

Annabelle held her flower out to her uncle. “Jake gave me a rose, Uncle Rye. Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Of course, I can’t have any wine. I’m too young to drink spirits.”

She was so serious, Jake didn’t dare laugh. Rye’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t laugh either.

“You are at that, sugar,” Rye said with a twinkle in his eyes. “But soon enough I’ll have to chase off all the boys because you’re way too pretty for words.”

Annabelle looked up at Jake. “J.P.—my daddy once Mama finally agrees to marry him—will have to chase them off too when I get older.”

“I’ll help them, Annabelle,” Rory said, frowning now. “No one messes with our women. Right, Uncle Rye?”

Rye nodded. “Right, bubba. Come on in, Jake. We’ve been talking your ear off by the front door. Where are our manners?”

“In the barn with the cows,” Annabelle said, earning her a kiss from her uncle.

“Moo,”
Rye added, making the kids giggle.

Annabelle gripped Jake’s hand. “Come on. We need to get these flowers in some water. They’re thirsty.”

“I’m surrounded by women who seem to hear flowers talking,” Rye said, rolling his eyes.

“Uncle Rye, you’re not supposed to make fun of us,” Annabelle said, waving her rose at him. “Aunt Tory doesn’t hear the flowers talking yet, but she’s gonna some day soon. Mama said.”

“Your mama had better be wrong about that,” Rye responded, putting his hands on his hips. “Jake, if I ever start hearing flowers talk to me, put me down, will ya?”

“Oh, Uncle Rye,” Annabelle said in a much aggrieved tone. “You’re incorrigible. Isn’t he, Rory?”

“He is, Annabelle,” her brother said, earning him a noogie from his uncle.

“Rory, go on and put the dogs in the mudroom for a while. Annabelle, honey, you’d best take those flowers off to get their water,” Rye teased.

Annabelle nodded and skipped down the hallway to the kitchen with Jake in tow, humming a tune he recognized as “Amazing Grace
.
” It made him think back to the sermon this morning, to the Reverend’s advice about moving on with life. But this wasn’t the time for making decisions. He could set his mind to it when he was alone later.

The kitchen was brimming with activity. Some of the stainless steel pots were steaming. Others were sizzling. He hadn’t been in this room before, but it didn’t surprise him to see that it was a chef’s dream. Rye’s pint-sized Yankee wife was a chef, after all.

“Hello, Jake,” Tory said, wiping her hands on a towel and crossing the kitchen to greet him. “You brought wine and flowers. How kind.”

She took the gifts from him and gave him a brief hug.

“All of the ladies get a rose,” he said, trying not to feel embarrassed. But his ears grew warm anyway. He wasn’t used to giving multiple women flowers, although some of his female fans threw them at him. It was still beyond him to understand why.

“You should get us flowers more often, Uncle Rye,” Annabelle added.

“I might if y’all stopped hearing them talk,” he muttered. “Freaks this good ol’ boy out.”

“Are you complaining about the flowers talking again, sugar?” Tammy said, stepping away from cutting a heap of peppers. “Hello, Jake. I see Annabelle has taken you in hand again. Literally. Let go of the man’s hand for a bit, honey, so Jake can greet everybody.”

“Indeed she has,” he commented, leaning down to kiss Tammy’s cheek as the little girl stepped back.

This quiet Southern lady had always charmed him, and he couldn’t be happier that his friend had found such a perfect partner. She’d listened to Jake’s vision of the land surrounding his home and helped him plant his roots there. Come spring, he couldn’t wait to see Redemption Ridge in all her glory. He hoped to feel more settled by then.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his beautiful decorator strolled into the kitchen with her two sisters and thrust out her hand for what seemed like a professional handshake. He shook it lightly, aware of the eyes on them. Susannah’s skin was so soft and warm against his that he didn’t want to let go. She hadn’t changed clothes from church and looked more beautiful than ever.

“You should kiss him on the cheek, Aunt Susannah,” Annabelle suggested. “It makes a person feel more welcome.”

Susannah’s cheeks turned pink, and Jake fought the urge to clear his throat.

Tammy gave him a strained smile. “She gets that from school. Annabelle, shaking hands is just fine for some people, and it’s best to let them decide how they wish to greet each other.”

“But kissing is
always
better, Mama. Uncle Rye says so.”

Tammy gave her daughter a look before turning to Rye. “Your uncle was mostly talking about family members, and you know he’s a kidder.”

“But sometimes Uncle Rye is right,” Annabelle said with a stomp of her foot.

Rye swung her into his arms. “Thank you, darlin’. Now, let’s go find a vase for your rose so it won’t die of thirst.”

“Oh, Uncle Rye,” she drawled, waving at Jake as her uncle carried her across the kitchen.

Jake shook Shelby and Sadie’s hands too. It would seem awkward to hug them after being so cool and professional with Susannah.

J.P. strode into the kitchen, accompanied by a gray-haired man wearing a green polo shirt. “You remember my stepfather, Dale.”

“Yes. Good to see you, sir.”

“And you,” the older man said.

Then Reverend Louisa appeared right beside her husband, and after a quick glance, Jake noticed she had a cat-who-got-the-cream smile on her face.

“I’m happy you could join us, Jake,” she said, leaning in to hug him without so much as a warning.

He tensed up as she patted his back. “Ma’am…Reverend.” He was getting flustered. “What would you prefer I call you?”

“Louisa would be lovely,” she commented.

Tory appeared with the bouquet of yellow roses he’d brought. “You mentioned that each woman was supposed to receive a flower.”

Had he? He must have been demented. “I…ah…thought it was more…symbolic-like.”

Annabelle jumped out of her uncle’s arms. “Hold that vase, Uncle Rye. Jake. Here. Let me help you.” She set her flower on the kitchen counter and proceeded to hand him the first rose.

The Reverend—Louisa—held out her hand while he stood there like an idiot. He extended the first flower to her, and the rest of the women lined up to take theirs. Susannah was the last one to take a rose. Giving it to her felt more than symbolic. It felt
right
.

He wished he could give her a wheelbarrow full of them, enough to perfume her home and make her dream of him when she rested her head on her pillow at night.