His Healing Touch

by Loree Lough

  Over his shoulder, he caught sight of his bed reflected in the mirror, and groaned. Piles of rumpled clothes were scattered across the comforter, evidence of the trouble he’d had deciding what to wear. In the end, he’d rejected the coat and tie idea, opting for a white knit shirt and blue slacks.

  “You’re losin’ it, pal,” he told the man in the mirror. “When was the last time you went kablooie over a…a girl?” Not since junior high, he acknowledged, grimacing—years before that nasty train business ever entered Buddy’s head.

  Enough, he thought, grabbing his bomber jacket. On his way to the door, he noticed that the plant his mom had given him “to warm the place up a bit” was in desperate need of a good watering. She’d put it on the foyer table, saying it would be an earthy welcome for guests.

  Wilted branches and yellowing leaves told him it was probably too late to save it, but he had to at least try. It would be the first thing his mother asked about when her cruise ship docked at the Baltimore harbor.

  He hung the jacket on the front-door knob, stepped into the powder room and slid a paper cup from the wall dispenser. Realizing it would take ten trips with a vessel this small, he drank the water and tossed the cup into the trash can. He’d water the plant tonight, after he’d cleared off his bed.

  Glancing around as he headed back into the foyer, he realized the whole place needed a thorough cleaning. He might not have noticed, if he didn’t have such a clear memory of how tidy Kasey’s place was. He smiled, because very soon, while he admired neat furniture arrangements and artfully placed knickknacks, he’d be surrounded by the scents of roasting turkey, baked yams, simmering gravy….

  Licking his lips, Adam used his forefinger as a hook and slung the jacket over his shoulder, all but dancing out the front door. He hadn’t felt this good since—

  No point dwelling on that; it’d only spoil the mood.

  He bolted the door and, whistling, he descended the porch steps. If he saw one of those street-corner flower vendors on his way to Kasey’s, he might just stop, buy her a bouquet.

  He was driving along, singing an old Thanksgiving tune that was on the car radio, when he spotted a peddler, doing a keep-warm two-step as he huddled in a white tent.

  Walking up and down the narrow, grassy aisles, he remembered Kasey saying that while she thought roses were pretty enough, they’d never been her favorite flowers. But which were? he wondered, reading ID tags that hung from each blossom-filled pail. The carnations were pleasant enough. So were the asters and lilies. He saw out-of-season tulips and daffodils, chrysanthemums the size of volleyballs, and something called Bachelor’s Buttons. One pot’s label said Snapdragons; another, Impatiens. He was running out of patience!

  The day before, he’d purchased a three-pound box of chocolates, but something told him Pat and Aleesha would get more enjoyment out of the gift than Kasey, what with her wasp-waist and all. He wanted to bring something just for her. But how harebrained was it, he chided himself, to so much as consider bringing posies to a woman who made flower arrangements for a living?

  Groaning inwardly, Adam was about to give up, when he spotted a colorful bunch of blooms in the corner. “What’re these called?” he asked the boy behind the counter.

  “Wildflowers.” The kid grinned and pointed at the individual buds in the assortment and rattled off their common names: “Black-Eyed Susan, Baby’s Breath, Queen Anne’s Lace, daisies…”

  Something about that last grabbed Adam’s attention. He thought the daisies were graceful and appealing in a simple yet elegant way…just like Kasey. “How much?”

  “Ten bucks,” said the teen, “or two for fifteen dollars.”

  Adam glanced around the tent-like stall. “You have another one like this?”

  “Sure.” The kid produced a second bouquet. He donned a proud expression. “But I don’t know why y’want these, ’cause basically, they’re just weeds.” He gestured toward the long-stemmed red roses in the front row. “Girls love roses,” he said, nodding.

  “Not this girl,” Adam said, acknowledging a pride all his own. He plunked a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

  The boy rang up the order, held out a five as change.

  “You keep it,” Adam told him. “You’ve been a big help.”

  Pride became pleasure as the kid pocketed his tip. “Thanks, sir. Happy Thanksgiving!”

  “Same to you,” Adam replied. But the boy hadn’t heard him, for he’d already turned his attention to another customer.

  Back in his car, Adam cranked up the heat and rubbed his hands together to fend of the chill, late-November wind. He’d be warm soon enough, because if he knew Kasey, there’d be a fire blazing in the hearth.

  Blending into traffic, he smiled at the two paper cones that protected Kasey’s wildflower bouquets. If he hadn’t been so satisfied with his purchase, Adam might have noticed that a low-slung, silvery sports car was headed in the same direction.

  “Somebody’s here!” Aleesha shouted. As usual, she’d posted herself in the living room window half an hour earlier, determined to announce the guests as they arrived.

  She parted the gauzy living room curtains. “Wrong. I heard a car door, but it’s just somebody going to the Russells’ house across the street.”

  Suddenly, Aleesha groaned. “Oh, man, who invited him?” Frowning, she turned from the window.

  Kasey looked over her daughter’s shoulder. “Who?”

  “Jerk,” the girl said, pointing at the man walking toward their house, “that’s who.”

  “Aleesha, I’ve spoken to you about that….”

  “I won’t never say it to his face.” And under her breath, she muttered, “Much as I’d like to.”

  Kasey’s heart knocked against her ribs as she watched Buddy approach. “Mom,” she called over her shoulder, “did you invite Buddy to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Yes, honey.” Pat came into the room drying her hands on a red-and-white plaid dish towel. “I ran into him at the post office yesterday. He reminded me his folks will be in Florida until spring, asked what we were doing for the holiday. I couldn’t very well tell him about our feast without inviting him. He looked so…so sad and so lonely.”

  I’ll just bet he did, Kasey thought, as Aleesha used her sleeve to buff a breathy vapor cloud from the polished glass. “Great,” she muttered. “This is just great.”

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  Tidying the curtain, Kasey forced a bright note into her voice. “Nothing, sweetie. Everything’s fine.”

  “No, it ain’t. I can tell.” Then Aleesha nodded. “Oh, I get it. Buddy and Dr. Thorne…they ain’t exactly best friends, right?”

  If there was an Understatement of the Year award, Aleesha would have won it with that one!

  “Does Dr. Thorne know he’s gonna be here?”

  “No, sweetie. I’m afraid not.”

  “And Buddy, he doesn’t know Dr. Thorne will be here?”

  Kasey shook her head.

  “Hoo-boy!” She slapped a hand over her eyes. “This is gonna be some interestin’ meal!”

  “You can say that again.” Lord, Kasey prayed, watch over us today especially.

  “Oh, honey,” Pat said, wringing her hands. “I wasn’t aware the two of them even knew each other, let alone…” She bit her lower lip. “If I’d known, why, I never would have—”

  “It’s okay, Mom.” She gave her mom’s hands a reassuring pat-pat-pat. “I’m sure they can get along for one afternoon.”

  Pat grabbed the doorknob. “Please, God, let that be true!”

  She opened the door and smiled brightly. “Buddy. Do come in, won’t you?”

  “How you doin’, Mrs. Delaney?” Buddy kissed her cheek.

  “Let me take your coat,” she said, “then you can—”

  “No problem, Miz D. I know where it goes.” He dug around in the hall closet for a hanger. “Mmm-mmm-mmm,” he said, sniffing as he stuffed his jacket in with the others, “I smell pumpkin pie.�
�

  “Sweet potato,” Aleesha corrected. “Gramma is allergic to pumpkin.”

  Only when he looked toward the girl’s voice did he seem to notice Kasey, standing in the wide arch leading to the living room. “Hey, Kase. Good of you to invite me, considering…”

  She didn’t need to ask “considering what?” “No problem,” she said. “There’s a tray of vegetables and dip on the family room coffee table,” she said, gesturing toward the hall. “I have a few last-minute things to do before everyone else gets here, but I’m sure there’s a football game on somewhere, so make yourself at home.”

  He didn’t go into the family room, but followed her into the kitchen, instead. “You want I should set the table? Peel potatoes? Take out the garbage?”

  Kasey hoped he couldn’t hear the nervousness in her laughter. “No, but thanks.” She didn’t dare let him lift a finger. He’d mowed the lawn a time or two, and dragged the trash cans to the end of the driveway once. Even if he had been the Secret Santa who’d visited the Delaneys all year long, it gave him no right to think of her as chattel.

  After the holidays, she’d get to the bottom of that mystery, once and for all. She’d get out her calculator and find out exactly how much she owed…whomever, and somehow, she’d return every penny. As her dad used to say, “You don’t want to be beholden to anybody, ever, ’cause even if they say ‘no strings attached,’ there’s always some kind of price to pay.”

  Smart man, that Al Delaney. Maybe someday, she’d start writing down all his sage advice, and give it to Aleesha as one of her college graduation gifts.

  “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Everything’s under control. Now, how about some iced tea, maybe a soda?”

  “Water’ll be fine.” He pocketed his hands. “I’m glad nobody else is here yet, Kase. I was hoping we’d have a couple minutes to talk, alone….”

  She tied a blue terry-cloth apron around her waist. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to call, apologize for the way I behaved the other day. I feel like a heel. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Maybe, she thought, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, if the scene in the Mi Casa parking lot had been the first time he’d let testosterone rule his actions. But Aleesha had hit the old nail square on the head when she’d pointed out that Buddy routinely treated the Delaney women as if they didn’t have one functioning brain among them. A clumsy male attempt to protect the needy women around him? Kasey didn’t think so.

  “I’m going to set the table,” she told him, tightening her apron. “You’d better take advantage of controlling the remote while you can.”

  “Why? Will there be other guys here?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “A few.”

  “Do I know ’em?”

  She nodded, filled the tumbler with water from the pitcher in the fridge. “Yes, except for Aleesha’s friend from school, I think you do.”

  “Who?”

  There was an edge to his one-word question that told her he suspected Adam was on the guest list, too.

  Kasey handed him the glass and walked into the family room. She turned on the TV and clicked through the channels until she found the Ravens game. Tossing him the remote, she grinned. “You’d better flick while the flickin’s good,” she teased, winking.

  He didn’t change the station. “Seriously, who else is gonna be here?”

  She started a mental rundown of the males who’d be seated at her table, intending to mention Adam last, of course. But the doorbell rang.

  Like a bloodhound, he seemed to sense her relief. “Saved by the bell?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.

  “Yeah,” she said over her shoulder. Please, God, don’t let it be Adam…just yet.

  Another prayer answered, Kasey realized, as the pastor and his brood filed into the house. Hugs were dispensed all around and coats were hung, before the Hills joined Buddy in the family room.

  “Melvin,” the young pastor said, raising and lowering Buddy’s arm like a pump handle. “How good to see you.” He grinned impishly, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “Missed you in church this morning….”

  No one dared call him Melvin. Not even his parents. Kasey had a feeling the only reason John got away with it was that white collar around his neck.

  Red-faced, Buddy’s smile tightened. “I’ll make you a deal, John—you call me Buddy, and I’ll try and make it to more of your sermons.”

  The reverend grinned good-naturedly, then said, “Tell you what. You come to Sunday service this week, and I promise never to call you Melvin again.” He let a moment pass, then added, “Deal?”

  A vein bulged on Buddy’s forehead as his brows drew together.

  Unfazed by Buddy’s ire, John nodded. “Melvin,” he said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “Very unusual. Yes, very different. Certainly not a moniker you hear much, especially not these days.”

  “I’m named for my great-grandfather. He was a fighter pilot during World War Two…died saving half-a-dozen soldiers in his unit.”

  “You don’t say! Well, praise the Lord,” John said. “You should be proud to be named after a hero!”

  Kasey stood, frozen with dread in the doorway, hands clasped under her chin. When Buddy met her eyes, it was as though a calming wind had blown over him. The crimson in his cheeks faded and the throbbing vein in his forehead disappeared. He sent her a sheepish grin, one she read as a silent apology for his prickly attitude.

  He slouched into Pat’s recliner and turned up the TV. “You a Ravens fan, John?”

  The preacher sat on the edge of the couch. “I suppose I could be, if only I had more time. They’re doing well this year, or so I hear.”

  Kasey sighed in relief, as Buddy brought John up to date on player stats and competitors’ recent scores. To give him his due, Buddy had a good heart, and as she’d just witnessed, he could be a nice guy when he put his mind to it.

  As she made her way back to the kitchen, she prayed he’d be even half as gracious when Adam arrived.

  Kasey stopped stirring the gravy and inclined her ear toward the back door. Shaking her head, she went back to work. Could have sworn I heard someone knocking, she thought, frowning.

  The tapping started up again, slightly louder this time. Parting the curtains, she saw Adam’s handsome face on the other side of the glass.

  “Adam,” she said, when he stepped into the kitchen, “how long have you been standing out there in the cold?”

  “Just a couple of minutes.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a boyish grin. “You look gorgeous in that getup, by the way.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at that. Her apron was spattered with grease and grime, and unruly curls that had escaped her French braid had been driving her crazy for the past half-hour. No doubt she’d worn all her lipstick off by now, tasting things.

  “Why didn’t you come to the front door?” she asked, blushing as she tried to pat a stray wisp into place.

  “Because I wanted to give you these,” he said, bringing the bouquets from behind his back, “and I didn’t want to make a big fuss.”

  Kasey pressed a palm to her chest and bit her lower lip. “Adam, they’re gorgeous.” She looked into his eyes. “But where did you find wildflowers this time of year?”

  He shrugged one shoulder, looking every bit like a shy teenage boy.

  “I’d better get them in water,” she said. “They can thrive under the most horrible conditions in nature, but once they’ve been cut…” She pulled a big cut-glass vase from the cabinet under the sink. “They’re a lot like human beings in that way, don’t you think?”

  Adam had no idea what she was talking about, but he was so happy to see her, he didn’t admit it. “I guess,” he said carefully.

  “Well, left to their own devices, people can survive incredible odds. But take them out of their natural environment, deprive them of the things that protect and nurture them, and they’ll wither on the vine.” She gig
gled. “If you’ll pardon my very poor metaphor….”

  Was she comparing herself to the flowers, saying, in essence, that outside influences had tampered with her world, and she’d grown up differently because of it? Because if she was, maybe Wade and the guys had been right. Maybe she knew.

  He could count on one hand the things in life that truly scared him, and have fingers left over. Kasey finding out what he’d done as a boy was one of those things. Adam swallowed, hard.

  “Thirsty?” she asked. “There’s iced tea and cold water in the refrigerator.”

  He remembered exactly where she kept the tumblers, because he’d poked through just about every cabinet in the kitchen on Halloween night. Remembered, too, that the glasses stood on the shelves in orderly rows, like glass soldiers standing at attention.

  He helped himself to one, filled it with water from the pitcher in the fridge. “Smells great in here,” he said, hoping to change the subject. “You must have gotten up at dawn.”

  “Actually, I did most of the cooking yesterday,” she said, arranging the flowers in the vase, tall ones in the middle and shorter ones surrounding them.

  “Yesterday?” He sipped the water, grateful she hadn’t returned to the subject of what happens when something tampers with a living thing.

  “All I had to do today, really, was set the table and put the turkey in the oven.” She glanced at the clock. “In half an hour or so, I’ll mash the potatoes and pop the biscuits in, and voila`!, dinner is served.”

  He watched as Kasey stood back, one hand on her hip, the other beneath her chin as she tilted her head this way and that to study her handiwork. Her delicate fingers moved so quickly they seemed like a blur as they repositioned flowers in the vase.

  “There,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “A Thanksgiving centerpiece!”

  Did she have any idea how stunning she was with her coppery hair aglow under the overhead lights and her cheeks flushed from the steaming pots and pans? Did she realize that one glance from those sparkling emerald eyes was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs? Or that her mastery of everyday things, like flower arrangements and alphabetized spice cabinets, kindled in him every urge God ever gave a man?