The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Page 25

  “Oh,” she said calmly. “Well, if it’s only a stupid movie, fine. I’ll get a sitter for tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”

  “I can…” Well, no, he couldn’t drive but he hated that she assumed that.

  “Don’t get all macho on me.” She glared at him. “I have your records. I know you haven’t driven yet. Forgive my self-interest, but I prefer to get there and home alive. If we go out again, after you’ve practiced, you can drive.”

  He nodded and stayed on the sidewalk as she walked toward her sons. He watched her, thinking that that had gone a lot easier than he’d expected. On top of that, she’d said he could drive the next time they went out. Maybe not exactly those words, but that’s how he interpreted them. They would go out again.

  Of course, he still had no idea what to expect or what he wanted in the future, but one thing was sure. He felt good being with Willow. Cheerful. Even optimistic, a little, as much as he allowed himself to be.

  The shouting had felt good, too. It had opened something inside he’d kept closed up. It had loosened his frustration. Maybe he should yell more often.

  He watched Willow and her sons as the whole crowd went up the steps, rang the bell, and handed the box to Mr. Masterson. After a minute of chatting, the do-gooders turned and started back.

  “Mr. Masterson really appreciated that.” Nick hopped toward Sam. “He said we could come over and make a pie with him sometime.”

  “He said thank you and didn’t even mention the time we were in his backyard,” Leo said.

  “Yeah, I know how he felt. I remember the time I found two short, redheaded, very noisy marines in my backyard.”

  “Captain.” Nick ducked his head and laughed.

  “But you like having us around and you were glad to see us,” Leo said. “Once you got used to us and stopped drinking.”

  These were great kids. He hated that they knew, that they’d witnessed his worst traits. Maybe if he behaved really well, they’d forget that drinking-too-much part.

  Maybe they could even accept him and their mother being together. He bet they’d like that. In fact, he knew they’d be on Sam’s side.

  Could he get them to influence her? He didn’t think that would work. She didn’t look ready for more, and she wouldn’t like him using her sons to further a romance.

  But at least he and Willow were going to that stupid movie together.

  “I need you to do two things for me.” Sam hated to ask the general for help. Wouldn’t have a few years ago.

  The general stood by the stove, turning the bacon. With that idiotic pink towel hanging from his belt, he didn’t look as imposing and inaccessible as Sam remembered him.

  “What do you need, son?”

  He’d never called him that, “son,” when he’d wanted to hear it. Not in high school when he’d won letters in football, track, and baseball and had gone to state in the hundred-meter. Not even when he’d gone to A&M on a football scholarship. The general hadn’t paid him much notice at all until Sam had gotten his leg blown off, the biggest foul-up of his life.

  “I need to practice driving my car. Would you help me?” The request hadn’t hurt at all. “I’d thought about getting hand controls,” Sam explained as if the general had asked that. “But they told me at Walter Reed I should be able to drive once I got used to this new prosthesis.”

  “Fine. When?”

  “In an hour?”

  The general nodded as he put a plate in front of Sam, and the few words of conversation ceased.

  As he was shaving after breakfast, Sam considered his reflection. He looked a lot healthier. His face had filled out some, possibly due to the good cooking of the Widows and the big breakfasts the general served.

  But his hair took more time to wash and dry than he wanted to spend. It took hours to groom the mess and a fortune on what they called “product” to tame it, but if his long hair didn’t bug the general, what fun was that? It looked as if the general had won this fight without even fielding a platoon.

  When they arrived at the high school parking lot, the general took out some books he’d stowed in the trunk and placed them on end to mark a course for Sam to maneuver through.

  “You’re doing fine, son,” the general called out as Sam knocked down six books in a row. “Be patient. Give yourself time.”

  It wasn’t that Sam couldn’t steer; that was easy. It was controlling the speed that caused him problems. Alternating between the brake and accelerator felt as if he had to pull his foot from thick mud. He didn’t have the motion down well, which meant he didn’t slow as quickly as he’d like.

  “You’re getting better.” Although he had paled when his son nearly mowed down a post near the entrance, he didn’t cringe when Sam barely missed the chain-link fence surrounding the area. Of course the man had faced bombs, mortar, and grenades in battle.

  The two near wrecks had taken place only moments after Sam had taken control of the car—or not taken control, because the vehicle had taken off on its own. After fifteen minutes of intense effort, Sam seldom headed toward total destruction of the Mustang or the fence or the general, who occasionally had to leap out of the way. Yes, his driving had improved but the pressure on his knee and the stress of attempting to drive perfectly had worn him out. Not that he’d tell his fa… Not that he’d tell the general. He stopped the car, got out, and walked around to settle into the passenger seat.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow,” the general said as he strapped himself in the driver’s side.

  Sam nodded. “I want to get my hair cut.”

  Did he detect a grin on the general’s face? A quick shimmer of gloating in his eyes? But all the man said was, “Okay, let’s get to the barbershop.”

  “Not the barbershop. Aunt Effie used to take me there when I was a kid. They shaved me. Head for the strip mall on the highway east of town. I saw a place there.”

  They found themselves in a shop with neon pink chairs and curtains that he hadn’t thought the general would enter. Now the man sat in the reception area on one of those feminine chairs and leafed through a book on hairstyles as if he planned to dye his hair blue or get a Mohawk.

  When the stylist had completed the cut, Sam studied himself in the mirror.

  “How do you like it?” the young woman asked, razor in hand.

  He nodded. It looked better. He looked better. Nearly human again. Would Willow like it?

  Crap. He hadn’t done this for her. Maybe for the boys, so they wouldn’t get the idea that long hair was masculine. For himself because it was easier, but not for Willow or the general or anyone else.

  But the questions remained: Would she like it?

  “Nice cut.” Willow admired the new Sam after he settled in the passenger seat. He’d been great looking before, but now he looked gorgeous and tough. She could barely drag her eyes away from him to watch the road.

  Sam had pulled himself in and settled in the car without, of course, a smidgeon of help from her, thank you. As she pulled away from the curb, she asked, “What’s the occasion? The long hair didn’t bug your father enough?”

  He laughed. “How’d you know?”

  “Hey, I have two sons and I’ve worked with military men for years.” She flipped on the blinker to turn onto the highway and toward Marble Falls. “I know ’tude and machismo.”

  From Sam’s relaxed position, she guessed he didn’t feel a bit emasculated with her driving. At least, he didn’t hold on to the edge of the seat and point out oncoming cars. They talked comfortably about her life with two sons and his with a military father.

  Later, during the movie, he did the stretch-and-drop maneuver to drape his arm over her shoulders. She hadn’t had a man do that since she was a teenager, but it still worked and he had the maneuver down pat. She even put her head on his shoulder and he nuzzled her a little.

  When they left the theater, she had no idea what to do next. She hadn’t been the driver on a date before, if this was a date
. She decided not to take him to a make-out place, although she remembered a few from her youth. They could go to his house, but the general was probably there with Winnie, which cut down on privacy. The boys would be at her apartment with a sitter, and she wanted to spend more time with Sam. Alone. Talking. Maybe more.

  As Mattie and Adam left the theater, he recognized the couple a few yards ahead of them and called, “Hey, Sam, Willow.”

  Adam was a little—okay, very—surprised to see the two of them. An odd pair, but they looked good together. When the couple stopped walking and waited for them, Adam asked Sam, “You get a haircut? I can tell you didn’t go to my barber.”

  “I learned from your experience.” Sam smiled.

  “This is Mattie Patillo, minister at the Presbyterian Church.” Adam nodded at her. “Mattie, I’d like you to meet Willow Thomas, a member of the Christian Church, and my friend Sam Peterson.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Mattie grinned.

  “So how’d you like to get something to eat? There’s a coffee shop just down the highway.” Adam pointed. “Easy walk.”

  After he said that, Adam glanced at Sam. Could he walk that far? His gait looked good and comfortable now, but would it last?

  “What do you think?” Willow asked Sam.

  “I’m game,” he said.

  Then Sam took Willow’s hand and gazed at her with an emotion Adam hadn’t seen in his eyes before. Of course, the two men had only shared a few pizzas and watched some preseason football so he’d have been unlikely to see tenderness in the soldier’s expression. Thank goodness.

  “Sam’s been so good with my sons.” Willow turned toward Adam. “You know Leo and Nick are active kids.”

  The minister nodded, still keeping his eyes on Sam.

  “I’m very grateful for all he’s done.”

  To Adam, the words almost sounded as if the trip to Marble Falls were a debt she was repaying with her presence. Evidently Sam read it that way, too, because he kept his eyes on her face and all the tenderness the minister had glimpsed there seconds before drained away, replaced by a blank stare. When Sam looked away for only a second, Willow’s expression held longing.

  What was going on between these two? Would they be good for each other? Maybe. A current flowed between them even as they attempted to ignore it. What could he do to help?

  Oh, good Lord. He sounded like Miss Birdie. Immediately he said, “Come on. Let’s go. This place has great pie.”

  Willow felt more and more nervous the closer the car got to Butternut Creek. Once or twice she glanced at Sam, then back toward the road.

  Now that he was no longer her patient, she really wanted to kiss him again, but she had no idea how to put a move on a guy in the car. Her date had always done that. Was Sam as confused as she was? Probably he’d never put a move on the driver, but she didn’t doubt he’d figure out how.

  Maybe she should pull into a dark area, turn toward him, and let him take over, but that sounded passive and unlike her.

  “Please don’t let me out under the streetlight in front of my house, because I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice seductive as well as holding a note of amusement.

  She glanced at him, then quickly turned her head and kept her eyes on the road. Could she tell him she felt the same without the words catching in her throat?

  “I want to kiss you, too.” Yes, she could say that.

  He grinned. “Could you find some place to pull over before we get to my house so my father and the neighbors aren’t watching us?”

  Life didn’t get much better than that. Well, it would when she stopped but for now, that comment and his smile were enough.

  “Especially not Mrs. Gohannon who lives across from you. Biggest gossip in town.” She kept her eyes on the road and drove along the curving highway toward Butternut Creek. In fact, they were nearly to his house before she pulled off into a neighborhood park, turned off the lights and engine, and turned toward him. As he slid across the seat, she held up her hand.

  “Not so fast. I have a question for you. “

  He groaned. “You overthink everything.”

  “That’s probably true, but I need to know this. Why are you interested in me? I’m not like the other women I imagine you’ve dated. I don’t flirt. I’m not a bit girlie.”

  “You’re right. You’re nothing like the women I’m usually attracted to. Obviously I’ve been interested in the wrong kind of women.”

  Why did he have to be so darned charming? She steeled herself to say, “I’m divorced and have two kids and work long hours.”

  “Exactly the kind of woman I’ve been looking for.”

  “What? Why?”

  He took her hand. That felt really good. How could only a touch fill her with so much pleasure?

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I knew you were the one when I first saw you. After I got acquainted with you, I was even more certain.”

  She considered that for a few seconds. “You’re not saying it was love at first sight.”

  “Probably not. Maybe attraction at first sight or chemistry or a lightning strike, but you are the woman for me. I’m not going away until we can figure this out.” He shrugged. “Maybe we can’t. Maybe we have too many complications, but I want to try.”

  He drew his index finger down her cheek and gave her the smile she’d attempted to ignore. As if any woman could.

  “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

  How could she resist him?

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I need to point out that this is a local make-out place so just one kiss. I don’t want the cops to check on us. That would be embarrassing.”

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and moved it slowly to her neck.

  She took off her seat belt and moved closer to him. “Only a kiss for now.”

  “But…”

  “Hey.” She held up her hand. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” Oh, sure, as if she’d drive off now. “I want us to get to know each other better.”

  “Kissing is a great way…”

  “For now I prefer the old-fashioned way. Conversation.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.”

  She grinned and nodded. Then Sam increased the pressure on her shoulder and she slid into his arms, at least as close as she could with the console between them. Since this was to be the only kiss tonight, she hoped it would be good and memorable.

  And it was. Oh, Lord, it was.

  A few days later, the Widows met at the diner after the lunch rush to discuss the church and duties and who was sick and who needed help.

  But they didn’t mention Sam and Willow because they’d done everything they could and weren’t prepared to admit failure or congratulate themselves for possible success. They’d just allow that relationship to simmer.

  “What about the preacher?” Winnie asked. “Who else can we find for him?”

  “How ’bout that new CEO at the asphalt company?” Mercedes suggested.

  “Her husband died not too long ago. She’s not ready.”

  “I’m fixin’ to give up on him,” Birdie said. “And you know how much I hate to concede defeat.”

  “I had hopes for Howard’s niece,” Mercedes said. “Too bad she was only visiting for a week.”

  Birdie shook her head. “Left before we could even introduce them.”

  “Not a spark between Pastor Adam and Reverend Patillo?” Winnie asked.

  “None at all. Lost cause.” Birdie shook her head. “All right,” she stated. “Let’s get down to business. Winnie, take notes.” Birdie didn’t think of Winnie as the third Widow, not like Mercedes did. In Birdie’s mind, Winnie was a provisional Widow. Maybe a Widow-in-waiting but not a full-fledged Widow, not yet. But she did take good notes.

  When Winnie nodded, Mercedes, chair of the church elders, said, “Don’t forget, there’s an elders’ meeting Wednesday evening. Will you both be there?”

  The other two nodded.

&nb
sp; “And we need to call a meeting of all the women of the church about the spring festival,” Birdie said.

  Before they could really get started—because Butch did make those nice apple coffee cakes for the diner and each had a healthy slice—Birdie’s cell rang. After a short conversation, she turned it off and stood, fixing the other women with an unwavering gaze. “Ladies, we are needed.”

  Mercedes and Winnie leaped to their feet, gathered their purses and totes, and followed Birdie.

  The Widows had accepted the mission.

  “Heaven help me,” Adam murmured as he turned off the phone. In fact, heaven help all of them because the Widows were on the way.

  Oh, he knew good and well the women were the best people to get the job done. They’d get the rooms in the parsonage fixed up in no time and do it right. But the whirlwind of the three of them—because Winnie had become an even greater force when triangulated with the other two—could rock the foundation of the house.

  This was why Adam had started over to the church as soon as he called them, to get away. After a few steps, he paused beneath the huge oak tree that stood on the edge of the parking lot, midway between the parsonage and the church. He couldn’t—could not—abandon the Smiths. Deanne had been discharged and would be arriving within the next hour. He’d called Howard to collect her, her mother, and Missy, and drive them here. No matter what the preacher might tell himself about all the work that awaited him at the church, he couldn’t allow the family to walk unsuspectingly into a house filled with Widows.

  Adam turned, slowly, and ambled back to the parsonage just as a pickup pulled into the parking lot and Jesse stepped out.

  “Got a load of furniture from the thrift shop for you, Pastor.” Jesse went to the back of the truck and opened the tailgate. “Give me a hand?”