Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (44 page)

“I'll forgive you because you've brought me to the dessert table,” she conceded, “but I have the distinct impression that you and Allan aren't friends.”

“He's a toad,” Matt said. “And he's got a bit of a reputation.”

“For being a flirt and a womanizer?” Rachel asked, plucking a cupcake out of an arrangement and depositing it on her plate.

“Exactly. How did you know?”

“I'm not a naive girl,” she replied with a low laugh. “I'm a grown woman. I've been married. I've met his type before, you know.”

Of course, she was completely capable of taking care of herself. She'd already been married, and she probably knew more about relationships than he did. Heat rose in his neck and he shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry. I got a bit protective there. So, should I make good on my offer and introduce you to some people with decent reputations?”

She shook her head. “No, but you can pass me one of those brownies.”

She pointed to a plate of thick, dark squares, and he took a napkin and nabbed the biggest brownie on top of the pile, placing it on her plate.

“Hungry?” he asked with a smile.

She shook her head. “Chris's favorite.”

And with those words, the moment sagged. Of course, none of this changed the reality of the situation, and they both knew it. He looked in the direction of the kids, and he noticed the boy standing off by himself, his eyes sad and dull. Chris's blond hair ruffled in the warm breeze, and he looked idly over the fence into the neighbor's yard, ignoring the other children who were playing in a flower bed.

Rachel flashed him a quick smile and angled in her son's direction. Matt stood back and watched as she bent down and revealed the treat on her paper plate. Chris perked up a little at the sight of the brownie, but even with his mother at his side, he looked alone.

Poor kid
,
Matt thought.
He's been through a lot
.

The one thing Matt was certain of was that if you wanted to protect a child, you had to protect the mother. And even though Rachel didn't seem inclined toward being protected, Matt wasn't going to let anyone take advantage of her on his watch.

“Looks like you lost out, too.”

Matt looked over in surprise to find Allan at his elbow. Allan crossed his arms over his chest, standing a few inches into Matt's personal space—an obvious challenge. The smaller man's eyes were trained on Rachel, too, irritation still etched over his features.

“Yeah,” Matt admitted with a wry grin, nodding toward the boy. “But this time it was to the better man.”

Allan narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “All right. I'll give you that. He looks like a cute kid. I could get used to him.”

“Leave her alone.” Matt dropped the smile, his tone low and steely.

Allan shot him an incredulous look. “Why? You have no claim on her.”

“Because I care.” Matt eyed him grimly. “I care about her and I care about that little boy. If I hear that you've messed with her the way you've done other women in this town, you'll have me to deal with. Personally.”

Allan swallowed and took a step back. “Are you threatening me?”

“Hardly. Just telling it like it is. Leave her alone.”

“Fine.” Allan muttered something under his breath and walked away in the opposite direction. Matt watched him go. He had a feeling Rachel wouldn't approve of his Neanderthal methods, but he thought he could live with that. He might not be able to do much more for her, but he could keep one creep away from her, and that was something.

* * *

The next day, Matt flicked off the Saturday morning news and sauntered into his kitchen. He stared into the fridge for a minute, then shut it without taking anything out. He normally relished a quiet day to himself since they were so few and far between, but today his mind kept wandering back to Rachel. He felt mildly foolish for getting protective of her the day before. She was obviously capable of taking care of herself, but that hadn't completely quelled his urge to put Allan in his place.

Matt leaned against the counter and picked up a cup of warm coffee. He downed it in two gulps.

One question nagged at him: If it had been some other guy chatting up Rachel, would it have made a difference? He liked to think it might have, but if he had to be completely honest with himself, it wouldn't. Not really. What he'd felt was a protective instinct watered down with a big dose of jealousy.

He'd been planning on calling her this morning, but he hadn't quite built up his courage yet. He was going to do a community fire-safety presentation at a church in a few days. He'd been told that it was being put on by the youth group, so that meant that the majority of the audience would be young, and he figured it would be a good opportunity for him to put some of Rachel's tips into action—and for her to coach him, if she was willing. Except he was slightly embarrassed now that he'd gotten all protective of her, and he was afraid she'd think he was asking for something more.

His phone rang and Matt pulled it out of his pocket, recognizing Rachel's number. He breathed a sigh of relief that she'd called first, and he picked up.

“Hi there,” he said, a smile warm in his voice.

“Hi, Matt.” Something clattered in the background, and Rachel's voice became muffled for a moment, and then she came back. “I'm sorry. What a morning over here! I was just calling to see if you know of a good plumber.”

“That's not a good sign.”

“No, not really,” she agreed. “The only bathtub in the house is plugged right up, and I need to get someone in here to fix it.”

“Just a plugged drain?” Matt asked. “Nothing more complicated than that?”

“You wouldn't say ‘just a plugged drain' if you saw it,” she retorted. “It's a mess!”

“I can fix that for you this morning.”

“Do you moonlight as a plumber?”

“No, but I've fixed it in my own home enough times. It's not that complicated. Just takes a few tools. But if you don't trust me, I'll give you my uncle Sid's number.”

Rachel laughed. “To vouch for you?”

“No, he's the best plumber in Haggerston, but I've got an advantage over him.”

“Which is?”

“I'm free.”

“You make a compelling case. You said you can come today?”

“For sure. Today is my day off, so I can be there in about an hour, if that works.”

“Thank you, Matt.” Something clattered in the background again. “You're a lifesaver. I'll see you soon.”

Three-quarters of an hour later, Matt pulled up in front of Rachel's house. A curtain fluttered out an open window on the upper level, and from deep inside the house, the tinny jangle of a radio sang out a country tune. Chris sat alone on the front steps, a cracked, empty flowerpot in front of him and a stick in one hand. He glanced up as Matt parked the truck, and dropped his gaze again.

Matt hopped out of the truck, slamming the door with a bang. He'd brought some of the notes Rachel had given him about presentations along with him, just in case, and he folded the page lengthwise and shoved it into his back pocket.

“Hi, buddy,” Matt said as he ambled up the path.

Chris didn't answer. Matt stood next to him for a long moment, undecided, then dropped his tool belt onto the wooden steps with a clunk and sank down next to him. The boy didn't want to talk, and Matt didn't feel the need to change that. Instead he picked up a pebble and tossed it toward the flowerpot. He missed.

Chris picked up another pebble and tossed it. It rattled into the ceramic pot, and Chris shot him a victorious grin.

“Nice shot,” Matt muttered.

Matt tossed another pebble, this time landing it perfectly. He couldn't be beaten by a seven-year-old. His adult ego just couldn't take it.

Chris grabbed another little rock and the game was on. They tossed stones, each mentally keeping score, the only sounds that of the click of pebble hitting ceramic. Chris's small shoulders relaxed and the brooding look in his eyes slowly seeped away, leaving the determined glint of a boy who wanted to win. Sometimes a guy needed to compete in order to hammer out his conflicting feelings, and little boys were no different from their full-grown counterparts.

The day after the Broxton Park Elementary fire, Matt had played basketball with his brother, not stopping until they both were slick with sweat and breathing hard. He'd slammed basket after basket, ramming his own pain and frustration through the hoop with the ball. He'd beaten out his grief with his shoes against pavement until he had no more strength to give.

The fix wasn't permanent, but it was therapeutic.

Craig was the kind of brother who could play basketball with you and never say a word about the elephant in the room. Sometimes a man just needed to stare down his elephant alone. It looked as though a kid needed that luxury, too. At least today.

Chris threw another pebble and landed it perfectly.

“Nice,” Matt said and stuck out a foot, pushing the pot farther back. “Let's try that.”

Chris shot Matt a grin. The challenge was accepted.

Chapter Five

R
achel stood in the open doorway, her hand on the screen door. Matt sat on the steps with Chris, their backs to her. Matt's strong, muscular back made Chris's slender form seem all the smaller in comparison, yet they both sat in a similar stance, hunched over in concentration as they tossed pebbles at a cracked flowerpot. In a wash of summer sunlight, sitting on the sagging front steps, they were just two guys throwing rocks. She was about to push the door open but didn't have the heart to interrupt them.

She'd spent the morning planning Chris's birthday party for the next week. When she'd told Chris about Aunt Louise's idea, he'd been initially excited and then uncertain.

“But who will come?” he'd asked.

“Everyone. Aunt Louise, Uncle Herb, Uncle Chet, Aunt Joanne—”

“I don't know Uncle Chet.”

“Yes, you do. You met him at Aunt Louise's house. He's the one with the motorcycle.”

“Oh, yeah.” He'd brightened at the mention of the motorcycle.

“Everyone wants to get to know us better,” she'd explained. “And a kid only turns seven once.”

She felt desperately hopeful about this party. A day of balloons and cake couldn't fix everything, but she hoped that it would be the start of a few roots in his young life—a memory he could look back on when he was grown and could say
Remember that party we had in Grandma Rose's old house?

On the front step, Chris's pebble dropped into the center of the pot, and Rachel found herself beaming in spite of herself. It was a good shot. Matt glanced over at Chris and gave him a nod of respect.

The floor squeaked as Rachel shifted her weight, and Matt turned, his blue eyes meeting hers with a smile.

“You're here,” she said.

“Sorry, I got caught up in a very serious competition here.”

“I noticed.” She chuckled.

“I lost,” he admitted ruefully.

“By three,” Chris added helpfully, and Rachel smothered a laugh.

“Actually by four, I think,” Matt said. “Good game, Chris.”

Matt lifted a tool belt from the step beside him and rose to his feet. Chris bounced up next to him, and Rachel felt a wave of relief at her son's enthusiasm. Lately, anything that made him happy made her hope that they were turning a corner.

“Upstairs?” Matt paused and looked down into her face. His clear eyes held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary before she answered.

“Yes, upstairs, first door on the left.”

A smile flickered at the corners of his lips. “Let's see if I can fix this.”

Rachel dropped her gaze and jogged up the stairs in front of him, leading the way to the malfunctioning tub.

The bathroom was nothing extraordinary—a sink, a beveled mirror and a tub. Rachel remembered rinsing mud from her face and hair in this very bathroom after a mud fight with a cousin twenty years earlier. She'd had a good cry in that bathroom when she felt homesick for her parents but didn't want Grandma to know about it. She'd lounged in that tub as a girl, wondering what it would be like to be a “grown-up lady.” That bathroom hadn't changed—not even the cracked tile beside the tub.

“It drains very, very slowly,” she explained. “I've tried those liquid drain cleaners, and nothing seems to work.”

Matt dropped his tools onto the floor and squatted next to the tub. He grabbed a wrench and set to work dismantling the drain. As his hands moved, his muscles flexing as he strained against the stubborn plumbing, he shot her a boyish grin. “I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten all Neanderthal on you.”

“Oh, that's no problem,” she assured him. “I actually got a call from Allan this morning.”

She hadn't been entirely thrilled to hear from him, especially since she wasn't sure how he'd gotten her number. When she'd asked him about it, he'd said that he'd overheard her give her number to one of the teachers, something she hadn't liked. It seemed creepy.

“Oh?” Matt's gaze flickered up toward her, then back down to his work.

“He asked me out to dinner,” she admitted.

Matt pulled up the inside of the drain, the whole piece, including the dripping clog, coming up together in a greasy, slimy mess.

“Ew.” Rachel peered over his shoulder, wincing in embarrassment. “I'm sorry. I feel like I should be politely hiding that from you. That's nasty.”

“It was formed well before you arrived,” Matt said. “Got a garbage?” Matt shook the clog into the garbage and glanced up at Rachel speculatively. “And?”

“And what?” she asked.

“Are you going out with him?”

Rachel felt the smile tickle at her lips. “No.”

Matt nodded, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. He cared—that much was clear. He didn't want her to go out with Allan, and while she could see that Allan was most definitely a cad, she found Matt's protectiveness endearing.

“See?” Matt said. “Clog fixed. Easy peasy.”

“You are pretty handy after all,” she said.

“You sound surprised.” He shot her a grin.

“Well, a girl can never be too sure. To listen to Allan, he's a war hero and a business genius. Sometimes guys exaggerate their abilities,” she teased.

“Do they, now?” Matt began reassembling the drain, fitting the pieces back together. “Not me. If I say I can do it, I can.” He arched an eyebrow at her teasingly. “And if I say I'm terrible at something, you can trust that, too.”

“And what are you terrible at?” she asked.

He thought for a moment as he tightened the last part, then rinsed off his hands. “I'm a terrible singer.”

“Oh, you can't be that bad.” She grinned.

“Sure can.” He laughed. “And apparently I'm not good at warning women away from Allan with any measure of grace or dignity.”

Rachel rewarded him with a spontaneous laugh. “I actually appreciate it. I'm used to taking care of everyone else. It's nice to have someone looking out for me for a change.”

Matt stood up and dropped his tools back into the belt. “Done.”

“Thank you, Matt. I really appreciate this. Can I get you some lemonade or something?”

“Sure, that would be great.”

“Do you want some lemonade, too, Chris?” Rachel called into the hallway.

From a bedroom, Chris called back, “No, I'm playing now.”

Rachel led the way downstairs and into the kitchen. She gestured toward the old kitchen table and Matt sank into a chair while she grabbed two tall glasses and a pitcher of pink lemonade from the fridge.

“I was going to mention it earlier,” Matt said as he took a seat. He pulled some folded sheets of paper from his back pocket. “I'm doing a fire-safety presentation for a local church. Would you be free to critique me?”

She nodded. “Which evening?”

“Friday.”

That was still several days away, and Rachel did a quick mental tally. She and Aunt Louise had plans to swing by Peace Hills Christian Church on Wednesday. Friday, however, would be free.

“I could arrange for Chris to be with my aunt Friday evening. I don't see a problem.”

“Thanks.” He shot her a smile. “Do you want a ride?”

“Sure.” She smiled back. “What time should I expect you?”

“Well, the presentation starts at seven, so I'd say about six-thirty.”

Overhead, Chris thumped as he played a game upstairs, and a mild summer breeze wafted through an open window carrying the scent of lilacs. The kitchen tap drip-drip-dripped in a lazy staccato. Even the clock above the kitchen entryway seemed to slow down the seconds in that hazy summer day, slowing down her inner rhythms. Rachel leaned silently forward, refilling his glass with ice-cold lemonade, and she caught his eye with a friendly smile.

“I only have one concern,” Rachel said quietly.

“What's that?”

“Well, you and I both know that you aren't planning on being around here too much longer. I haven't told Chris that because seven-year-olds aren't very discreet, if you know what I mean.”

“I have an idea.”

“I know I wanted you and Chris to get to know each other, but I don't want Chris to get hurt.”

“When—if—I leave.”

She nodded. “He's been through so much lately, and I want him to settle in here. I just don't want him to get too attached to you and then have him be heartbroken when you move away.”

He nodded. “I get it. So I should keep my distance a bit.”

“Yes and no.” She searched his face, hoping that he understood. “I think his relationship with you is really important. Just be careful. He's a sensitive boy.”

She didn't want to offend him, but she knew that if she didn't protect her son's little heart, no one else in the world would. He had that combination of strength and fragility that all children had, but right now he was a little more fragile than most.

“Okay,” Matt said with a curt nod. “I'll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

Rachel had just complicated things further, and she knew it, but a mother's job was a pricklier experience than she'd ever appreciated before. His birthday party was coming up, and it was a good opportunity for Chris to start building some bonds with the people who would be staying in his life. Besides, Rachel found herself getting closer and closer to this firefighter, and it would be better for everyone if they could just keep this professional. When Matt eventually left, it would be hard for Chris, and if she could make that goodbye easier, she would. It would probably be better if Matt weren't invited to this party.

“I thought of another technique you might find helpful,” she suggested, changing the subject. “Since you're here.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He pulled his page of notes closer. “And, Rachel, I really will be careful with Chris. I don't want to hurt him, either.”

She smiled her thanks. He understood, and that would make things easier.

* * *

Wednesday arrived, and Rachel and Aunt Louise loaded Chris into the car and headed out to the church. Peace Hills Cemetery had no hills. It was nestled behind the Peace Hills Christian Church just outside town, a steepled church in the middle of a verdant field. All around, the land rolled out flat and empty, except for the distant farms and the slow, passive cows that chewed their cud just past the barbed-wire fence that separated church property from farmland. The old-fashioned church stood along a solitary stretch of highway, a single-story building, the white siding blasted by the weather down to gray boards. Every few years, during the hot summer months, the members would donate time and resources to bring the faded old building back to a gleaming white. During her summer visits to Haggerston in her youth, Rachel and her grandmother had helped in painting the church twice that Rachel could remember.

It seemed right that Grandma Rose rested here in the cemetery behind the church that had been the center of her life.

“Do you remember Grandma Rose?” Rachel asked her son.

Chris surveyed the graveyard and shook his head. “No.”

“Well, you were pretty little when you last saw her. You were about three and a half, I think.”

“And this is hers?” He squatted next to the marble gravestone, engraved with Rose Emmett's birth and death, followed by a Bible verse.

“This is hers.” Rachel looked down at the grave sadly. “I miss her a lot. She was a great lady. She thought you were a pretty special kid, too, you know.”

Christopher looked to the grave next to hers. “And that's Grandpa's?”

“Yes, that's Grandpa. Well, my grandfather, and your great-grandfather. He died about twenty years ago. And over here...” Rachel led the way through the gravestones to an old, chipped stone. “This is your great-great-grandfather's gravestone. And next to his is his first wife, Lily. His second wife was buried in a different graveyard with her family.”

“So this is our family?”

“This is a lot of them,” Rachel replied.

“What about Dad?”

“He's buried in Billings.”

“Shouldn't he be here, too?”

Rachel sighed. “We buried him where we lived. We did the best we could.”

“They're not really my family, though,” Chris said. “Not really, right?”

“Of course they're your family.” Rachel squatted down next to her son. “Why would you say that?”

“Jeremy at school said that my real family didn't want me. That's what being adopted means.”

“No, being adopted means that your biological mom gave you to us, to be our son. You're Christopher Carter, and this
is
your family. We want you very much.” Her voice quivered, and she looked earnestly into his blue eyes.

“Yeah.” He lacked enthusiasm.

“Sometimes other kids will say things that are pretty dumb,” she said. “They don't know what they're talking about.”

“Okay.”

This was an old conversation. They'd had it several times already, and she'd hoped that by bringing him to this graveyard, showing him the generations of Emmetts, he might feel more of a connection to the family line.

“Look.” She brushed her hand over the top of a gravestone. “This is your great-great-grandfather's grave. He was an army pilot. He flew planes.”

The graveyard circled around the side of the building, and Rachel angled her steps in that direction, her son walking along behind her. The high-noon sunlight beat down on their heads and Rachel headed closer to the church for the slim line of shade next to the building.

“What's over here?” Christopher asked.

“Run ahead and see,” she replied.

Chris picked up his pace and jogged around the corner. As she walked on, her heart sank heavily. She kept bringing him to places that held her childhood memories, hoping to somehow share the strength that she had found here, only to fall short every time. This church loomed tall and cheerful in her mind, yet for Chris, it seemed to be nothing more than an aged building. The gravestones that had sparked her imagination when she was a girl seemed to remind her own son that he wasn't biologically linked to the family that rested beneath them.