What She'd Do for Love (9 page)

Now that the deal was done, it was as if the older man needed to review the history of the place, to justify his decision all over again. Ryder had had the same experience with others. He accepted their stories as he had accepted their signatures, as part of the process of passing along a legacy. “I appreciate the contribution you’re making to this project,” he said. “I’ll stay in touch to let you know when to expect construction crews. We’ll try to disrupt your life as little as possible.”

“I guess I’ll have a prime view of the roadwork,” he said. “I worked a highway crew one summer, a long time ago. It’ll be interesting to see how the methods have changed since then.”

“Look me up anytime, and I’ll give you a tour, answer any questions you might have.” The men shook hands and Ryder climbed back into his truck. As he waited at the highway for a truck to pass, he thought of turning left, and stopping by the Rocking M. Maybe Christa would be there. But she’d be busy with her mother. The family didn’t need him disturbing them.

Christa might not welcome his presence, anyway. She’d made it clear she didn’t think of him romantically, and though he would have welcomed her friendship, he wasn’t optimistic about that, either. She saw him only in the context of the highway project. To top it off, when they’d met in the Blue Bell last Saturday, he’d been so concerned with blocking any attempts his mother had at matchmaking, that Christa might have taken his protestations the wrong way.

He flipped his blinker for a right turn and eased onto the road. When you only lived in a place for a short time, staying only because your job took you there, people never really got to know you. And he never really got to know them. Keeping his distance had been a survival skill he’d learned at a young age; don’t get attached and it won’t hurt so much to leave. But the people in Cedar Grove—Bud, Paul, and even Melvin and yes, Christa—made him wish for roots that ran deeper.

* * *

T
HE
C
HAMBER
OF
Commerce met for breakfast at the Blue Bell on Friday mornings. Etta Mae directed Christa to a large table at the back of the room. “Christa! There’s a seat over here by me.” Kelly waved from midway down the table. Already feeling better about her decision to attend the meeting, Christa navigated a path through the chairs to join her friend. “You remember Didi Moffat, right?” Kelly indicated the dark-haired woman on her other side.

“It’s Didi Raybourn now.” Didi offered her hand.

“I saw Paul the other day.” Christa shook hands, getting comfortable in her chair. “He said y’all have a new baby.”

“We do.” Didi leaned back so that Christa could see the infant carrier in the chair beside her. “This is little Alex.”

“He’s adorable.” Christa offered a finger and the infant grasped it, and offered a toothless smile. She felt a brief stab of longing. She and Didi were the same age, yet Christa seemed years away from ever having a baby of her own.

“What are you doing here?” Kelly asked. “Are you that bored at home?”

“My mom volunteered me.” She chose a biscuit from the basket in front of her, and looked around for the butter. “But I thought it might be good to hear how the Chamber feels about the highway project.”

“Some are for it, some are against it.” Kelly handed Christa a bowl of butter pats. “Though I think now that the project is a done deal, the Chamber has decided to do what it can to make the highway a positive, not a negative.”

Rhonda Benson, tall and broad-shouldered with a crown of short brown curls framing a round face, loomed over the other end of the table. She tapped a fork against her water glass. “I want to call this meeting of the Cedar Grove Chamber of Commerce to order.”

While Christa ate biscuits and eggs and sipped coffee that was better than any produced in a chain coffee shop, Rhonda quickly dispensed with minutes from the last meeting and a string of announcements about businesses that had closed or those that planned to relocate along the new highway. No one commented on the announcements; apparently such news was routine these days and they’d all accepted the changes as inevitable. Christa wondered if she’d come home when the highway was first announced would she could have made any difference? Would people have listened if she’d asked them to protest?

“Now we come to new business,” Rhonda announced. “The Annual Summer Festival.”

“Should we even have a festival this year, with so many businesses in transition?” Christa couldn’t see the woman who spoke, but several people around her nodded.

“Absolutely we’re going to have a festival,” Rhonda said. “The money all goes to good causes—the Animal Shelter, the Food Pantry, and the Strangers’ Aid Society.”

Christa leaned over to whisper to Kelly. “What’s the Summer Festival?” she asked.

“Rhonda and some others came up with the idea a few years ago,” Kelly said. “It’s really fun. All the money goes to charity.”

“With fewer businesses to participate, we’re all going to have to do our best to come up with clever ideas for the booths,” Rhonda said. “We want to give people a reason to visit, and we want to raise more money than ever for these worthy causes. Now, I want to hear your ideas.”

“A dunking booth is always good,” someone said. “Especially if we can get a local celebrity, like the mayor or the school principal.”

“Ned Yates always handles the petting zoo,” a woman said. “The children love that.”

“Those are all splendid suggestions, but I’m looking for something new and different,” Rhonda said.

“We should have a theme for the festival,” Christa said. “Something we can use in advertising the event, to promote interest.”

Rhonda nodded. “What do you suggest?”

Familiar faces turned toward her—some she had known since before she took her first steps. They were all waiting to see what the hometown girl with the big-city experience had to say. Christa hoped she lived up to their expectations. “Why not focus on local heritage?” she said. “We could feature displays about the ranches in the area, and organize the booths along a heritage trail. Each stop would highlight some interesting aspect of local history.”

“I could make my booth like a little schoolhouse, and have pictures of early schools, and maybe an old desk and blackboard,” a woman said.

“The bake sale booth could feature old recipes—and sell the historical society cookbook they put together a couple of years ago,” someone else said.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Rhonda said. “Thank you, Christa.”

Kelly put her hand up. “Yes, Kelly?” Rhonda said.

“I think we should have a kissing booth.”

Laughter greeted this suggestion. Kelly’s smile never faltered. “But instead of women selling kisses, let’s turn it around and have men.”

“I can guess one man we all hope will participate,” Traci, the bank teller, said. “Do you think we can persuade Ryder Oakes to offer up his lips for a good cause?”

“I don’t think we want to risk any kind of sexual harassment claim,” Rhonda cautioned. “But I like that you’re thinking of new ideas for the booths.” She scanned the table. “Does anyone else have an idea?”

“Instead of a kissing booth, maybe we have one of those bachelor auctions,” Didi said.

“This town doesn’t have enough bachelors,” Kelly said. Several other women murmured in agreement.

“Maybe not bachelors, then,” Didi said. “Maybe we ask guys to offer up their services for chores around the house. There are plenty of single moms and widows and older people who would love to have someone to paint or mend screens or something for the day. I think we’d get a lot of interest.”

“Not an auction, a raffle,” Rhonda said. “That way no one’s feelings get hurt if they draw a low bid. We could ask the participants—men and women—to offer up four hours of their time for chores around the house.”

“It’s not as much fun as a kissing booth,” Kelly said. “But I think people would like it. We’d probably sell a lot of tickets.”

“I’d buy one,” a woman at the opposite end of the table said. “I’ve been after my husband to paint the back fence for two years now. It would be nice to get it finally done.”

“If I win Ryder, can I use the four hours having dinner with him?” Traci asked.

Rhonda brought her gavel down on the table, making the silverware jump. “Order.”

Conversation died and everyone turned their attention to the chairwoman. “I think the handyman raffle is a great idea,” Rhonda said. “Kelly, you and Christa take the lead on that. Find us some willing participants and we’ll all help sell the tickets.”

Christa opened her mouth to object to being volunteered for this assignment, but Kelly kicked her under the table. “Come on. It will be fun,” she said.

“All right.” After all, she’d agreed to volunteer, and she’d rather work with Kelly than anyone else.

“We’ll start with Ryder,” Kelly said. “I can’t wait to see his face when we tell him we want to raffle him off.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
DIRT
ROADS
around Cedar Grove took their toll on Ryder’s white truck, so most Saturday mornings he devoted to washing the truck, parked beneath a large live oak in front of his apartment. Barefoot, wearing old jeans and stripped to the waist, he enjoyed the fresh air and exercise and the end result of a clean truck.

When the blue sedan pulled to the curb midway through his Saturday morning ritual, he thought at first the driver was coming to visit one of his neighbors. But when Christa Montgomery, dressed in pink shorts and a pink plaid sleeveless blouse, slid out of the driver’s seat, Ryder couldn’t help hoping she’d stopped to see him. He dropped the sponge back into the bucket of soapy water and waved.

Christa returned the greeting and started toward him. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes, so he couldn’t read her expression. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t seem angry, either.

He walked out to meet her. After the coolness in the shade, the sun felt hot on his bare shoulders. “Hello, Christa.”

“Hello, Ryder.” She stopped in front of him, but avoided his gaze.

“Are you looking for me, or is this just a pleasant coincidence?” he asked.

“I came to ask a favor.”

“Anything for you.” He wasn’t normally a flirt, but she brought out that side of him. Standing here in the late summer sun, he was too aware of her long, bare legs and pink-clad curves. The light glinted off her hair and her cheeks flushed pink. From the sun, or from something else? Maybe he unsettled her; he liked the idea that he could do that.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Yes, she was definitely uncomfortable. “The Chamber of Commerce sponsors a festival every summer, in the town park. All the proceeds go to local charities.”

So it wasn’t a personal favor; he told himself he shouldn’t be disappointed. “How can I help?”

“One of the committee members—not me—thought we could raise a lot of money if we held a raffle.”

“I think raffles are a pretty time-honored way of raising money. What are you raffling?” And where did he come into this? Did she want him to buy tickets? Surely that wouldn’t make her so uncomfortable.

“We’re asking men and women to offer their services doing things around the house—repairs and painting and housecleaning, things like that. People can buy raffle tickets for a chance to win four hours of chores from a particular person.”

“And you want me to be one of those persons?”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. After all, you don’t even live here.”

“I’m living here for the time being—probably for the next couple of years. I don’t mind helping out. And I’m a pretty handy guy.”

“All you have to do is show up at our booth on the day of the festival,” she said. “You can work out the details with whoever wins you. I mean, whoever wins your services. Your
time
.” Her cheeks blushed pink.

He searched for a way to put her at ease. “How did you end up with the job of asking me to do this, if it wasn’t your idea?”

“We drew straws. I got the short one.”

“Ah.” That explained a lot. “Well, I’d be happy to help.”

“Thanks. It’s the second Saturday of July—I think I forgot to tell you that. Does that still work for you?”

“I plan on being here, so, yes, that will be fine.”

“Great. Someone from the committee will be in touch.” She turned back toward her car.

“How’s your mom?” he asked.

“Oh.” She turned to face him once more. “She’s about as well as can be expected. She won’t rest as much as Dad and I think she should and she tries to do a lot and wears herself out. She’s stubborn.”

“That could work in her favor as she goes through treatment.”

“I guess so. She’s determined to beat this. And they caught it early. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to get through it, does it?” Gone was the flirting tone; he wanted her to know he truly did care.

“It was fun meeting your mom the other day,” she said. “She seemed nice.”

“She is. And she likes having me close. That’s a luxury we haven’t had since I left for college, really.”

“I had a hard enough time being in Houston, and that was only a few hours away from here. I can’t imagine being separated from my family by whole states or even continents.”

“You’d adjust. It seemed normal to me, but I’ll admit, it’s nice to see her more often. It’s good to know she’s happy in her new life.”

“Was it hard for you, when they divorced?”

The real concern in her voice touched him. “It felt...unnerving,” he said. “As if the world tilted a little, in a way it isn’t supposed to. Your parents are always supposed to stay together. It made me wonder if everything I thought about my life, or at least about my childhood, was based on false assumptions.”

“Now that you’ve had time to get used to the idea, do you still think that?”

“Sometimes. But I’ve never been one to dwell on the past.” Growing up, his father had always advised looking forward. Actions could affect the future, but they could never change the past. And if you didn’t think about all the things you left behind, it hurt less.

“How is it we always end up having these kind of conversations?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He certainly didn’t go around baring his soul to everyone. “Maybe it’s because you’re such a patient listener.” Or maybe it was because he felt something for her that he’d never known with anyone else.

“Well, uh, I guess I’d better go, and let you get back to washing your truck.”

He hated to see her leave. They’d started out awkwardly, and now that they were past that, he didn’t want this visit to end. He glanced at the soap drying on his truck. “Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

She hesitated; he could almost see her debating whether or not to make up an excuse not to linger. Truth—or maybe curiosity—won out. “Not particularly.”

“If you can wait just a little while I finish up my truck, I’d like to show you something.”

“What do you want to show me?”

“Just something interesting. Wait for me, just for a minute?”

“All right.”

He returned to the truck and rinsed the last of the soap, then gave it a quick dry with some old towels. He retrieved his shirt and shoes from the apartment and motioned her over. “Let’s go for a ride,” he said, and held the passenger door open for her.

She climbed into the truck, giving him an up-close view of those lovely legs. Smiling, he walked around to the driver’s side. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Just a place I found that I enjoy.”

She remained quiet on the short drive across town, but he didn’t find the silence uncomfortable. Christa was easy to be with. He didn’t feel the need to prove himself to her or impress her.

He exited the road just outside of town and turned onto a dirt track that led up a small rise. At the top, he parked in the shade of a trio of oaks. Just below, a slash of raw earth marked the beginning of the new highway, and beyond that rolling hills and pastureland. “It seems like I can almost see all the way to Dallas from here,” he said.

“Pretty view,” she said. “In the spring there are probably lots of wildflowers.”

“There will be more when we’re done,” he told her. “Part of the project calls for seeding wildflowers on both sides of the road. Drivers will want to make the trip just for the scenery.”

“I never thought about highways being beautiful,” she said. “I just thought of them as necessary and, utilitarian, I guess.”

“They are that, but they don’t have to be ugly, necessarily.”

“I didn’t realize you’d already started construction.”

“We just broke ground this week. We have a long way to go.”

“Are you trying to point out how foolish I am to be against the project?”

“No.” He took her hand. “I just wanted you to see that maybe it won’t be as bad as you fear.”

She slipped from his grasp, almost reluctantly, he thought.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as I fear,” she said. “And maybe you’ve already figured out—I don’t deal that well with change. I need time to adjust.”

“Feel free to come check the progress anytime. I’ll give you a tour—answer questions.”

“Thanks.” She stared out at the rolling landscape once more. “Did you always know you wanted to build roads?” she asked. “I mean, when you were a little boy, did you drive trucks through the sandbox and imagine yourself doing this one day?”

“If you’ll recall, my mom says I wanted to be a cowboy.”

She smiled. “And a fireman and a race car driver. All right, if not when you were little, what about when you were old enough to seriously begin thinking about a career. Did you try out different things before choosing engineering?”

“Not really. I think I was in high school when I decided I wanted to do this for a living.” He nodded toward the road stretching before them.

“What is it about roads, do you think, that attracts you?”

“Roads take you places. They connect you with people. They lead to new experiences and help you revisit old ones.”

“Maybe that’s why I don’t like them as much. I like to stay put, and I like things to stay the same.”

“Then roads bring the people and things you love to you.”

She laughed. “Do you always see the positive side of everything?”

“It’s better than focusing on the negative.”

“I wish I shared your optimism.”

He took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I think more than just the highway project has you down. Is it your mom? Are you worried about her?”

“I am worried, but I believe she’ll be all right.”

“Then what is it?”

Again the laugh, self-deprecating and trying to make light of the sadness beneath the mask. “I guess I’m trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. My dad’s been after me to get serious about my job search. Every day I tell myself I’m going to update my résumé and make some calls, but I end up frozen, doing nothing.”

“Getting laid off had to hurt. Maybe it undermined your confidence a little.”

“Oh, it definitely did that. My dad gave me this talk about how I needed to get right back on the horse that threw me—not let a tiny setback stop me. But that’s not what’s stopping me now. It’s that I’m not sure I want to do the same kind of work I did before. At least, not for a big firm in the city. I’d prefer to find something where I was helping people more, not just selling them products.”

“Have you thought any more about starting your own business?”

“Yes, but doing what?”

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, I think you’d be good at it.”

“How do you know?” She looked skeptical.

“I’m not just flattering you. Moving around so much all my life, I learned to size up people quickly.”

“I can’t imagine a life like that—never staying in one place very long.”

“And I can’t imagine a life tied to one place all the time.”

“Don’t you ever want to just...stop?”

“Maybe.” Though he’d survived his own childhood all right, he wasn’t sure he wanted to raise his children the same way. “When I find the right place I might stay put,” he said. “Or the right person to settle with.”

“Having another person to consider changes everything,” she said. “That’s why I need to figure out my job situation. Then I can worry about the relationship stuff.”

“You’re not into multitasking?”

“You know what I mean—if one area of your life is unsettled, how can you focus on anything else?”

“Maybe that’s why I’m still single. My life has always been unsettled.”

“Maybe you’ll do such a good job with this highway, you’ll impress your bosses enough that they’ll let you pick and choose your jobs. You can work in one area of the state and find a home base where you want to remain.”

“I hadn’t thought about it exactly like that, but I do think this job will be a good career move for me.”

“Then that’s one area of your life where you’re definitely more settled than I am.”

“You’ll come up with something.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And thanks for bringing me here this afternoon. Talking this out—with someone besides my dad—helped.”

“I’m always available if you need to talk more. You don’t even have to buy a raffle ticket.”

She laughed. The sound made him feel lighter inside—off-balance in a not-bad way.

“Let me take you to dinner or to a movie,” he said. “We could have a lot of fun.”

The request stole her breath. “I...I told you I wasn’t interested in a relationship right now.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me. I thought we’d just go out, take your mind—well, mine too—off of things. Nothing too serious.”

She hesitated, and he thought for a moment she would relent. “No,” she said.

“Why not? We get along well. We enjoy each other’s company.”

“I don’t think we’d suit. We’re too different.”

“We never have trouble finding things to talk about. Aren’t you tired of staying home all the time? I know I am.”

“There are plenty of women in town who would go out with you if you asked.”

“And every one of them would expect a long-term relationship. Since you and I both have no plans to stay in Cedar Grove—and you’ve made it clear you don’t want anything beyond friendship—I’ll be able to relax with you.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t.”

He turned away and put the truck in gear. “I’m keeping the offer open if you decide to change your mind.”

“I’m sorry, Ryder. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt. I just don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn.” To hurt, you had to let yourself really care for someone. He hadn’t gone that far with Christa. Not yet.

* * *

“H
OW
ARE
YOU
feeling today, Mom?” Christa knew her mom hated the question, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. A week had passed since her visit with Ryder and Adele had started chemo. Christa sensed her mom wasn’t having an easy time of it, but she refused to admit it.

“I’m fine,” Mom said. “How are you feeling? Are you sleeping all right?”