Wait for Me

by Louise, Tia

  “Same here.”

  Dove looks up at us with worried eyes. “Darcy’s sure going to win Princess Peach now.”

  Noel’s lips tighten, and she shakes her head. “That’s not how it works, honey… At least, that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

  A note of worry is in her voice, and I decide to meet Digger head-on with this pageant nonsense. He’s not the only one with a bankroll.

  25

  Noel

  Dove is infatuated with Taron, and to his credit, he’s taking the time, getting to know her. Every morning, he’s up with us at breakfast, talking to her and letting her help him make hoecakes.

  She sits on his hip watching as he spoons the batter into the pan, and they wait, having little conversations about her favorite foods, her friend Boo, Angelina Ballerina, and of course, Princess Peach.

  “That one’s ready.” Her head is on his shoulder, and she points to a cake in the back right corner. “That one’s ready, too.”

  He flips them, balancing her on his arm. “Good eye.”

  His muscle flexes, he kisses her head, and I can’t stop a swoon…

  At night she snuggles up with him on the couch while he reads whatever Angelina Ballerina book she’s chosen. I peek through a crack in the door to watch, snorting as he does the different voices.

  He’s so big and she’s so little, but they look so much alike. I’m surprised my brilliant little girl hasn’t figured it out yet.

  “You can be Mr. Operatski.” Dove points to a picture in the book.

  Taron makes a face. “I don’t like him. He’s a big grouch all the time.”

  Her little lips press together and she thinks. “Mr. Mouseling?”

  “He’s Angelina’s dad?”

  She nods, and the way he looks at her, the tenderness in his voice, melts my heart. “Okay.”

  “He runs the Mouseland Gazette, but he builds stuff, too, like the Royal Theater for Angelina to play with.”

  He might be taking it slow, but my heart is off to the races. It’s like a puppy on a leash, straining and jumping all around for the thing it wants.

  The thing that isn’t good for it.

  The thing that almost killed it.

  During the days he works with my brother, preparing the soil for planting, going into town and meeting with the growers, stacking the new trees as they arrive, their roots wrapped in burlap sacks.

  Sometimes, on my way to prepping my store, I’ll slow my pace to watch him work, to let my eyes run down his strong body, watching the flex of his muscles, the deepening of the lines in his arms, and the pull of the fabric across his shoulders.

  Of course, he busts me, and his grin is as powerful as ever, even more now that his hair falls over his eyes. He pushes it back with a large hand, and my memories of those hands on my body flood my mind.

  Blinking away, I focus on the store and my future—cleaning, arranging, making the products I need to sell.

  Time passes.

  Thanksgiving is in a few days, and I’m sitting at the table going through the paperwork Deacon prepared to register Miss Jessica’s old shed as a place of business when he bustles through the door with Dove chattering beside him, home from school.

  She skips to the table where I’m sitting and climbs into a chair. “I told Ms. Moody we’re making presents for Miss Jessica’s friends at Pine Hills. She said we’re doing community service.”

  I slide the papers together and drop them in a folder before moving them out of her way. “Why were you telling her about that?”

  Dove’s eyes are wide, and she tilts her head to the side. “Darcy said she and Mr. Digger were volunteering at the food bank in town on Thanksgiving Day.”

  The rivalry between my daughter and Digger’s niece frustrates me. Darcy Hayes is a little brat, and I want Dove to be better than that. At the same time, I’m not about to let a her have an edge on my daughter.

  “I have an idea.” Sliding my work away, I take down a roll of newspaper. “Let’s make a sample kit for Ms. Moody to show her what we’re giving them.”

  “We can give her Miss Jessica’s favorite lip balm!” My daughter’s voice goes loud with excitement.

  Taron stops behind her. “Is that the same lip balm you made for me?”

  “It is.” Turning quickly to the pantry, I fight the memory of that first night… when I ran my finger across his full lips, and he kissed me.

  Hell, every time I’m in this pantry, I fight with the memory of him at my back doing very dirty things. A shuffling at the door causes the little hairs to rise on my skin.

  “Can I help with anything?” His voice is quiet, and I wonder if he remembers what happened in this pantry as well as I do.

  Reaching up, I grab the shea butter, sweet almond oil, and raw coconut off the shelf, trying to hurry from this small space and its big memories. I’m moving too fast, and when I turn, I slam right into his hard chest.

  Large hands catch my upper arms. “Easy.”

  Lifting my chin, I meet his eyes, warm and dark.

  “I’m sorry… thanks.” His lips are so close, his breath is a whisper across my cheek. The space between my thighs heats, but I’m stronger than that. “You can let me go now.”

  He doesn’t let me go right away. He holds me a minute longer, and his eyes move from mine down to my lips. My heart beats so hard it’s painful.

  “I ran out of that lip balm a long time ago. Would you make some for me?” His eyes blink up to mine again, and I can’t move.

  I’m a deer caught in the spell of dying for him to kiss me, dying for the feel of his lips on mine, on my body, rough, hungry… and knowing if I let it happen, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Am I ready for that? Do I trust him not to hurt me? My heart says yes, yes! But my mind remembers…

  “Sure.” The word escapes on a weak sigh.

  His grip on my arms squeezes and relaxes, and it takes a breath for me to realize I can step back, step away from the fire that burned me beyond recognition once.

  Turning on my heel, I hurry to the table, where Dove has put on the special pink apron I got for her.

  She frowns at me. “Mamma, why is your face all red?”

  Jesus, little kids. “Is it? I think I stood up too fast. Here… Spread out the newspaper.”

  Taron’s boots thud on the floor behind me, and I set everything on the counter, hurrying into the pantry again for the ingredients to make the lotion. I move faster this time. I can’t be alone in here with him again.

  When I return to the table, they’ve spread the newspaper, and she hops down, reaching to take Sawyer’s grilling apron off the door.

  “You can wear this.” He takes it from her slipping it over his head. “If you get any of this oil on your clothes, it will not wash out.”

  Pressing my lips together, I grin at her authoritative little voice. She sounds just like me.

  Taron smiles, and the love in his eyes for her almost completely nukes the barriers I’ve built around my heart.

  “You’re really good at this.” He sits in a chair across from where Dove stands beside me.

  “I’ve been doing it since I was five.” She nods at him, like she’s not only six and a half.

  We spend the next few hours measuring out lotions and scents, putting balms in glass pots and sticking labels on the outsides. When we have enough set to the side, I pat my daughter’s back.

  “We’ll put them in gift bags later. It’s time for you to get some sleep.”

  She turns and hugs me then holds out her arms to Taron. He slips the apron over his head then picks her up and carries her to my bedroom where she’ll take her bath before they read their nightly story.

  I’m almost finished cleaning up when he returns. “She might look like me, but she acts just like her mamma.”

  “I hope that’s a compliment.” I arch an eyebrow at him, and he gives me that panty-melting grin.

  “It’s a compliment.” The ripple in his voice is too much.

>   “I’m pretty tired tonight myself. I’m heading to bed now, too. Thanks for helping.” I’ve got to get out of here before I do something foolish like kiss him silly.

  “Thanks for this.” He holds up the small pot of lip balm.

  I do a little wave. “It’s your payment for helping.”

  “I was thinking…” He pauses, sliding a hand in the front pocket of his jeans. “Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth?”

  My stomach tightens, and I don’t know why the thought of telling Dove Taron’s her father makes me nervous. “Okay.”

  He exhales a laugh. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels a little terrified at the prospect.”

  “No!” Shaking my head, I try to fake confidence. “She’s going to be thrilled to know you’re her dad.”

  “I’m already Mr. Mouseling, I guess.”

  Stepping forward, I put my hand on his chest and look up into his pretty eyes. “You’re so good with her. She knows you love her. She loves you. It’ll be fine.”

  “I guess the real question is when?”

  Chewing my lip, I look up at the clock. “No time like the present?”

  He holds out a hand, and I lead the way, going through the kitchen into the living room all the way back to my bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, but it’s quiet.

  “Dove?” I peek in the bathroom, but she’s not in the tub. The water is run, but I don’t see her. “Where is she?”

  Turning, I start to feel nervous, when I look up and see a little golden head on my pillow. Taron turns on the lamp at the side of my bed then laughs. Dove is sound asleep with Alice clutched to her side.

  He squeezes her little foot gently. “Making cosmetics is hard work.”

  “You should know.”

  “I do know. I sat in this room with you many nights watching you do it.”

  We’re standing at my door facing each other. The light from my bedside lamp is dim yellow. The house is quiet. Sawyer goes to bed early, and Leon hasn’t come home yet. It’s just the two of us, caught in this moment with our daughter asleep a few feet away.

  “You’ve done a really good job with her. She’s so sweet and funny… and really smart.”

  “Leon is partly responsible for that. He’s been testing how much she can learn since she started talking.”

  His expression changes, and he looks toward the window. “He’s a good kid.”

  I reach out and slide my hand into his. “We’ve all been through a lot.”

  Closing his fingers around mine, he looks into my eyes. “I wish I could change what happened… I only want good things for you.”

  My chest tightens, and I search his gaze. “I believe you.”

  Lifting my hand, he presses his lips to the backs of my fingers. My eyes are fixed on the place where we touch, and so many emotions rush to the surface… self-preservation being one of them.

  “We’d better get some sleep. I have to take those kits to Pine Hills tomorrow, and Dove has her Thanksgiving party at school.”

  He nods, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Goodnight, Noel.”

  Miss Jessica is wearing a smock covered in turkeys when I arrive at the nursing home. Pure bliss lights up her eyes as she takes out each product from her gift bag.

  “Oh, this is my favorite eye cream.” She turns it over in her hand, examining the label. I help her remove the cap and she gives it a sniff. “I love that scent.”

  She goes through the exclusive foot cream I only make for her and me now, a cinnamon-peach candle, lip balm, and my signature scent body lotion, which again, I only make for us.

  “Dove is so sad she couldn’t be here to help pass out the presents, but she’s a pilgrim in the school play.”

  “I’m sure she’s amazing in it.”

  “She actually just gets off the boat at Plymouth Rock. I think she carries a Bible and a corn stalk.” Miss Jessica laughs, and I wrap my arms around her thin shoulders. “I am so thankful I met you that Christmas.”

  “I’m thankful for you and Dove. You keep me young.” She’s so happy. It’s hard to believe she’s eighty-six now. “And how are things going with Taron? I tell you, he is such a handsome young man. Every time I see him at church, I have to fan myself.”

  My lips tighten. I want to avoid this topic, but she reads it all over my face. “It seems like he’s trying very hard.”

  “He is.” I nod, holding her freckled hand. “I’m just so afraid. He was my first love. I loved him without caution, without care… and he almost killed me.”

  Her face grows serious, and she blinks down at our clasped hands. “I know, honey. I remember.”

  “I know we’re supposed to forgive people… But how can I forget that?”

  She only nods. “Only time can answer that question. I know you’ll do what’s right. You always do.”

  Gratitude overwhelms me and again, I hug her closer. For a moment we sit in a silent embrace. “The store is so cute. I painted the walls a light peach shade with green trim. The floors are such a pretty pine, and I’m installing shelves and cases…”

  “Oh, I wish I could see it.” Her voice has such longing, I know we can do it.

  “I’ll talk to Mindy about driving you out there. If you’re able to go to church, I don’t see why you can’t come to see your old investment property.”

  “My schedule’s wide open.” She’s teasing, but it makes me remember.

  “I found a box of old papers, letters and things. I need to bring it for you to go through.”

  She just shakes her head. “I didn’t keep anything of value in that old shed. I’m sure it’s just old receipts and accounting ledgers.”

  “Still… I’ll probably look through them anyway to be safe.” I give her one last hug. “I’m headed to the school, but I’ll let you know. Maybe Taron can help us.”

  I’m about to leave when her grip on my hand tightens. “Remember it’s the darkest nights that produce the brightest stars. If he’s showing you his true colors, believe him.”

  “But how do I know which are the true ones?”

  “You’ll know.”

  26

  Taron

  I’m sure every parent feels this way, but seeing my daughter land on Plymouth Rock with the rest of the first-grade Pilgrims makes me proud to be an American.

  A little boy speaks his lines about establishing a new country where all men can be free, but my entire focus is on the little blonde pilgrim in the back holding a Bible and a corn husk.

  They sing “This Land is Your Land,” and when it’s all over, the whole room erupts into cheers. I whistle loudly, and Noel pulls on my arm.

  “What?” I look down at her, and she just shakes her pretty head.

  Ms. Moody steps to the mic as the children file off the stage. “Thank you, parents for coming. The children are heading to their classrooms to prepare our Thanksgiving meal for you all.”

  We start moving toward the doors, but she isn’t finished. “Before you disperse, I’d like to say a special thank you to Mr. Taron Rhodes, Dove’s father, for his generous contribution to the playground improvement campaign. His ten-thousand-dollar donation not only exceeds our fundraising goal, but it will allow us to secure the latest in safety sod and even include the special-needs enhancements on our wish list. Mr. Rhodes is truly an asset to Harristown Elementary, and we are so grateful for your generosity.”

  The room is silent a split second then bursts into applause. Parents make their way to where I’m standing to shake my hand and say thank you.

  Noel steps back, but her eyebrows rise, and her lips part. “What did you do?”

  Moving closer to her, I put my arm around her shoulders. “I talked to the principal last week. Patton sent me an email with our year-end numbers. I want Dove to have a safe playground.”

  We’re moving toward the door when I catch Digger’s narrowed eyes. He turns quickly and disappears into the crowd headed to the classrooms, and I bite back a big laugh. In your fac
e, Hayes.

  Noel doesn’t miss a beat. “Dove’s safety is your primary concern?”

  “Always.” Satisfaction tightens my chest, and I put my hand on her waist, leaning closer to her ear. “And Digger’s little niece can stick that in her knit cap and wear it.”

  “Taron. She’s only six.”

  Our eyes meet, and her lips press together, fighting a laugh. It doesn’t work. We swap a low-five before making our way to the classroom for elementary Thanksgiving Dinner.

  Mindy meets us at the door of the classroom. “That’s some gift, teacher’s pet.” A twinkle is in her eye, and she pushes a lock of curly brown hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you cared so much about playground equipment.”

  “Kids play rough. It’s good they’re safe.”

  “Well, I think it’s great. Merry Christmas to us all.” She pokes me with her elbow. “And if it helps her win Princess Peach, you got my vote.”

  “I don’t know what you mean… Is that a thing?”

  She grins and narrows her green eyes before going to help her niece who’s sitting beside Dove. Noel squats beside our daughter, and Boo is making her banana in a pilgrim hat and googly eyes talk. It’s all lively and hilarious, but Dove is quiet.

  Her elbow is propped on the table, and she pokes at her Rice Krispie Treat turkey with a pretzel stick.

  My satisfaction turns to concern, but Noel doesn’t seem to notice. She chats with Mindy, while I stay with the rest of the dads, observing from the perimeter.

  Digger stands behind his niece’s chair not smiling, and even Darcy is flicking her cheese cubes around on her plate with her fingernail and studying my daughter across the table.

  When the kids have finished eating, they go outside and run around the old playground a while. Noel helps the mothers clean and pack the leftovers, and she gives Ms. Moody a small gift.

  Standing by the fence, I’m watching Dove sit on top of a dome-shaped climbing area when Digger stalks up beside me. “Well played, Rhodes. I guess you think you got me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had a good year, and I want the kids to be safe.”