Southern Sympathies

by Boeshaar, Andrea

❧

  By the glow of his large flashlight, Alec loaded his arms with tools from his garage. Since Lydia’s house was dark next door, he figured now would be a good time to gather up his stuff and get out of here—before she came home. Alec had no intention of talking to her, much less telling her good-bye. But good-bye it was. He’d had a good forty-eight hours to work himself into an emotional black hole, and he’d concluded that he would make her one unfit spouse. What had he been thinking? He’d lived a veritable fairy tale the past six weeks. But reality had delivered its staggering blow. His future seemed as bleak as his present-day situation, not to mention his sorry past.

  Walking to his truck, Alec deposited the tools into the backseat beside his duffle bag containing the new jeans, underwear, and a few sweatshirts he’d managed to purchase. Now, with a full tank of gas, he planned on driving until his pickup ran out of fuel. Wherever he found himself, he’d stay. Maybe he’d find work. So what if he lived the rest of his life alone? He ought to be used to it by now.

  “Alec?”

  He froze at the sound of Lydia’s soft voice coming from behind him. Then he inwardly cursed his misfortune. Why did she have to show up now?

  Straightening slowly, he expelled a breath.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Without a glance in her direction, he turned and walked back into the garage. “Ever think maybe I was avoiding you on purpose?” The barbed reply pricked his conscience, but he continued with his task and picked up another box, carrying it back to his truck.

  “I. . .I just wanted to know if we could talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  “Well, I’ve got a few things on my mind. Would you hear me out?”

  Alec threw the box into his truck with more force than necessary, startling Lydia. So she’d been right. Gerald had succeeded in tearing them apart. Obviously, Alec had changed his mind about her. . .about them.

  “As you can see, I’m kinda busy,” he said tersely. “But if it’ll make you feel better, then by all means, vent. I’ll try to pay attention.” He walked back into the garage.

  Lydia felt tempted to just walk away and not say another word; however, she somehow sensed that Alec’s gruff demeanor was a mask to cover his pain. But could she get through to him—past that steel armor of his?

  Lord, I’ve got one shot here, she quickly prayed. Please give me wisdom.

  Alec set more items into his truck and then it suddenly occurred to Lydia that he was boxing up the remainder of his belongings.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yep.” He walked away again.

  This time she pursued him into the garage.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m leaving Woodruff. In fact, I’m leaving North Carolina.”

  “I see,” Lydia said, fighting the sting of tears. She lifted her chin. “So, you’re content with letting Gerald win?”

  Alec swung around. “Yeah, he won. Look at me! He’s taken everything!”

  “You still have the Lord. And you still have me.”

  He huffed and returned to his sorting and packing.

  “As for your job,” Lydia continued boldly, “you said it didn’t mean more to you than I do. And your house. . .well, the homeowners insurance should cover the loss.” She stepped forward and touched his sleeve. “Don’t you see, Alec, you lost things. Temporal things. They can be replaced.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He pulled away from her and strode to his truck.

  Again, she trailed him. “So this is really it? You’re leaving? It doesn’t matter to you that we love each other?”

  “Lydia,” he said, facing her at last, “get real, will you? I love you as much as I could love any human being, but it won’t work. I’ve got nothing to offer you. I can’t support myself, let alone a family, and it’ll take me years to get back on my feet again. That’s too long to wait.”

  “I’m willing.”

  “I’m not.” He laughed curtly, bitterly. “I dream about you at night, Lydia. Never before has a woman—any woman—affected me the way you do.”

  “There’s a reason,” Lydia countered, her face flaming from his candid admission. “We’re meant to be together.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? No. Now, get out of here!”

  “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. And we could fight back. . .if you’d only stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to hear my idea. But if your mind is made up, then there’s nothing more I can say.”

  She wheeled around and walked away, only to pause several strides later. “Alec Corbett, I would have never believed you could be such a. . .wimp!”

  Spinning on her heel, she continued down his driveway. She heard him slam the door of his truck forcefully, and she couldn’t help the satisfied smirk that curled her lips. “Yellow-belly coward!” she called over her shoulder.

  That did it. From the corner of her eye, she saw him round his pickup and come after her. She almost laughed out loud. Nothing like insulting a guy’s manhood to get his attention! But she nonchalantly kept walking to her car and had almost reached it when Alec grabbed hold of her elbow and whirled her to face him. His hold was surprisingly gentle considering the ferocious expression contorting his handsome features.

  “Where’s your brain, Lydia?” he asked roughly. “You can’t marry a guy like me no matter how much we love each other.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “No, because it’s out of the question. Can’t you see?”

  “Well, then, could I ask you? Will you marry me, Alec?”

  Beneath the street lamp, she saw a flicker of amusement cross his face. “Sorry, honey, I’m the man and I do the asking.”

  “In that case, could I interest you in a business proposition?”

  Releasing her, Alec folded his arms, looking curious. “What kind of business proposition?”

  She set her hands on his thick forearms. “It’ll solve everything and we can be together. . .forever.” She tipped her head. “Buy me a cup of coffee and let’s talk.”

  ❧

  “It’s a tempting offer,” Alec said, sipping his coffee at the Calico Junction restaurant in town. The place had closed at nine, but the owner had been one of Michael’s clients and graciously allowed them to sit and talk while he cleaned up the kitchen. Thus, they had the place to themselves. “But I’m not marrying you for your money.”

  “No, you’re marrying me because you love me. And I love you. The money is an added blessing.”

  He chuckled, the first time all evening.

  “Alec, if you don’t marry me,” she pressed, “just think of the precarious position I’ll be in. Word will get out that I’ve got this trust hanging over my head and awful men like Sim will start crawling out of the woodwork, trying to entice me. Of course, I’ll never marry anyone except you, so their efforts will be in vain. . .but what a nuisance. Furthermore, that million dollars will go to waste. I can’t touch it unless I remarry.”

  Alec eyed her speculatively. “You Boswicks sure know how to get to a guy.”

  “Does that mean yes?” Lydia asked hopefully, drawing comfort from the lightness of his expression.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said tersely, downing the rest of his coffee.

  “Don’t think too long. Brian feels my life could be in danger, but I don’t really believe it. Nevertheless, the idea upset Mama and Pete enough that they took Tyler and Brooke to the Smiths’ in Tennessee. Pete was afraid Gerald might hire someone to kidnap the children and, as a ransom of sorts, I’d have to marry Sim.”

  Alec paled visibly. “I never thought of that. I guess I’ve been so focused on myself, I failed to think about you and the kids. I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

  She set her hand on top of his. “It’s understandable.”

  He looked over at her, his eyes searching her face in uncertainty. “You’re too good for me, know that?”

  “Oh, don’t start. I nee
d you right now.” She leaned toward him. “You’re my hero, Alec. My knight in shining armor.”

  “Yeah, and you’re my damsel in distress.” He grinned, but slowly sobered once again. “I’d like to laugh off the abduction idea, but the fact is, I wouldn’t put it past your father-in-law. I mean, if he was desperate enough to firebomb my house, why wouldn’t he resort to kidnapping his grandchildren?”

  “That’s exactly what Pete said.”

  “And if that’s really the case, Tyler and Brooke aren’t safe anywhere.”

  “There’s only one solution.”

  He met her gaze, then took her hand and squeezed it affectionately as they stood. “Come on, let’s go talk to Mark Spencer.”

  While Alec fairly tugged her toward the door of the restaurant, elation filled Lydia’s heart. Everything was going to be all right.

  Epilogue

  “Boy, you sure gottalotta junk!”

  Standing on the fence beside his best friend, Matt Smith, Tyler nodded as he watched the movers unloading several pieces of furniture. “We filled up the whole truck and my new dad’s pickup was bursting with stuff.”

  “Wow. Good thing you bought the Maxwells’ house. It’s gottalotta rooms.”

  “And the best thing is, we get to live next door to each other again!”

  “Yeah!”

  A few minutes passed and then Tyler looked at his buddy. “What’s humble pie?”

  Matt shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s got spinach in it and tastes nasty.”

  “Oh.” Tyler mulled over the explanation. “My dad said he had to eat a lot of it before marrying Mama.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Tyler shrugged. He’d never understand grown-ups. Except, maybe once he became one, things would make more sense. All he knew was that Mama looked happy all the time, and Mr. Alec was now his dad. In fact, Mr. Alec looked happy all the time, too. And Tyler had been practicing calling him “Daddy,” and the name seemed to fit just right. The only bad thing was Daddy’s business kept him gone a lot, but Mama promised things would change once they all moved to Tennessee.

  After Mama and Mr. Alec got married, he’d gone ahead to Tennessee to “scope things out,” only returning home on weekends. Daddy started his own company, building all kinds of furniture and cabinets, and he told Mama, “Business is booming.” Daddy said he wanted to start over somewhere new and not long after, he found this house right next to Matt’s, bought it, and here they were!

  “Hey, Ty,” Matt began, “I heard my daddy say your Grampa Boswick is going to jail.”

  Tyler nodded sadly. “Yep, he did some pretty bad things, but I don’t know what exactly.”

  “Are you gonna visit him ever?”

  “Beats me.”

  “That’d be cool to see the inside of a real jail.”

  Tyler let the comment go. He wasn’t sure if it’d be cool or not. He’d just decided he would rather feel happy that Mama married Mr. Alec—that is, Daddy—than feel sad that his grampa messed up. But Daddy said everybody messed up sometimes, and now he and Brooke and Mama all had to forgive and forget.

  Suddenly Tyler’s parents walked out the back door of their new house with Brooke running after them. Daddy whispered something to Mama and then kissed her long and slow, like he did all the time.

  “Yuck,” Matt grumbled, his face scrunched up in distaste.

  Daddy looked over. “Ty, you want to come to the hardware store with me? Maybe we’ll pick up a pizza on the way home.”

  “Sure!” He never missed a chance to go someplace with his new dad—even if it meant not hanging out with his best friend. “See ya, Matt.”

  “Yeah, see ya.”

  Climbing over the fence rail, Tyler jumped down and ran across the lawn. Then he and Daddy made their way to the pickup with Mama and Brooke waving after them. A surge of utter happiness filled Tyler’s being. Nothing beat having Matt as his next-door neighbor again, except maybe getting the daddy he’d prayed for. That was awesome!

  And just like his best friend, Tyler now had a real family of his own!

  About the Author

  Andrea Boeshaar was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Married for over twenty years, she and her husband, Daniel, have three adult sons. Andrea has been writing for over thirteen years, but writing exclusively for the Christian market for eight. Writing is something she loves to share as well as help others develop. Andrea recently quit her job to stay home, take care of her family, and write. Check out Andrea’s web page at http://members.aol.com/akbwrites2

  Dedication

  To my son, Brian, who reads my work and always has an encouraging word to say about it afterwards.

  And special thanks to Traci DePree, copy editor extraordinaire.

  A note from the author:

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  Andrea Boeshaar

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