Doug and Carlie's Love Conspiracy (Doug & Carlie Series Book 2)

by Lisa Smartt

  In 32 years I had never pursued physical contact with a man. Ever. I never ran into the house to jump in Daddy’s lap. I wasn’t the one who started things with Jason or the other men. I just let people do what they wanted to me. I was numb. A non-person. Unfeeling. Eventually I decided that physical touch was for people who could still feel, not for people like me. But for the first time in my life, at a hamburger place in Greenfield, Tennessee, I reached my hand across the table and lightly touched the top of Dusty’s hand. He jumped a little and his face turned red. But then he slowly reached out and took my other hand. He wrapped his big scarred hands around both of mine. Like he was covering me, protecting me. His hands were rough but his gentle touch brought a sense of calm. I was alive again. A tear came to my eye. Not sadness, but joy.

  I looked down and smiled a bit. “Gosh, I’ve gone on and on about my family, Dusty. I never even told you how happy I was to hear about your legal victories. Carlie told me the whole story in detail. Amazing. And speaking of forgiveness, it sounds like you’ve had to do a lot of forgiving yourself. She told me about your dad.”

  “Yeah, never was much of a dad. Drank too much, hit my mom a lot. People who don’t know me well probably think I got this scar and eye patch in prison. But prison wasn’t near as bad as home.” He pointed to the patch. “Metal pipe when I was twelve.” He pointed to his chin, “A screwdriver when I was fourteen. He didn’t like me standing up for Mom. I understand that now. He was weak. It must have been a terrible feeling to be so weak that hitting a woman made him feel strong.”

  I didn’t bring up his wife, Melissa, and the baby. That would be for another day. We talked another two hours about work, West Tennessee, and his long journey toward a decent standard of literacy. We shared about church and family, the families we were born into, and the families we had chosen, the families who had beautifully made up for the ones we were born into.

  At 4:30, Mrs. Jessie patted Dusty on the back and asked with a smile, “Can I get ya’ll some supper?”

  Dusty rubbed his lips together and apologized. But she said, “Oh Honey, I’m just messin’ with you. You’ve done nothin’ but bring me joy today. Just watchin’ you two. It’s a blessing. Take your time. We’re here all evening.” She wiped off some tables and switched channels on the TV.

  I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want him to leave either.

  “Clara, I’m not much of one to go to fancy places. Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”

  “I don’t care. I’m fine with driving around or sitting at a park somewhere.”

  “I’ll show you the local sites. How about that?”

  “Sounds good!”

  He paid the bill and left Mrs. Jessie $10. His truck was old but immaculately clean. He opened my door and I slid onto the worn vinyl seat cover.

  He drove by the school he attended in Sharon. I asked about his favorite teacher and his worst memories. Mrs. Carson was his favorite. She believed he was smart and let him talk to the whole 8th grade class about small engines. Mrs. Jensen made him spell in front of all the 5th graders and he still remembers the agony and embarrassment when he spelled patience p-a-s-h-e-n-s.

  We drove down the street where Uncle Bart and Aunt Charlotte live. He showed me the little green house where he spent his childhood, the fenced-in dirt yard that housed hound dogs and a few chickens. I thought about what he’d said earlier, how prison had been less abusive than his home. He drove by Carl and Betty Jenkins’ house, the couple who had taken him in after the tornado tragedy. He swallowed hard and said, “They walked with me through some dark places, until I could see the light again.”

  The tour ended at his shop in Bradford. He pulled in right by the front door. He turned off the truck but country music was still playing softly on the radio. For the first time I smelled what Carlie smelled. But it wasn’t like pine trees. I couldn’t place it, but it smelled clean, like the way I thought a waterfall would smell.

  He spoke with enthusiasm. “I know you’ve been here before but thought you might like a real tour. I mean, look around, Clara. This IS my kingdom.” He opened his truck door and pointed to the building. “I’m thinking of having a moat dug ‘round the front here.”

  I played along. “Oh, you definitely need a moat. Seriously, it looks like business is booming, if the parking lot is any indication.”

  He looked out the back window. “Not too bad. I’m thankful.” He walked around the front of the truck and opened my door. He put out his hand and I happily took it. “I’ll be glad to show you around, if it doesn’t sound boring.”

  “Boring? Are you kidding? Anyone who can make it in business nowadays is a rocket scientist.”

  “I’m pretty driven. Daddy never held down a job. His brothers were all a lot like him. Carl and Betty Jenkins helped me go to trade school right out of prison. I worked here for Mr. Hopkins for a year and a half. He’d owned this shop for forever. Then he sold it to me three years ago when he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He had no children, sold it for a lot less than it was worth. He knew I was a felon and would have a hard time getting the loan. Said he couldn’t take it with him. I’ll never forget it. The shop takes a lot of sweat, but I’m not afraid of getting dirty.” The enthusiasm in his voice grew. “I love working on cars. I do. It’s a challenge when you listen to an engine and can hear that something’s not right, and then you figure out what can make it right.” He unlocked the front door, but paused a minute and turned toward me. “And for the record, I’m not afraid of things that aren’t new and shiny either, Clara. Sometimes the best vehicles have a little wear on ‘em. And the shiny ones that look brand new? Sometimes they’re not worth a dime.”

  He turned on the light and then opened the door that led to the garage. I could smell motor oil, cleaning fluid, dust, and work. “I’m putting a new engine in Mr. Janson’s hot rod over there. It’s gonna be incredible when it’s all done.” He pointed to the far corner, “Replacing the transmission on Mrs. Perkin’s van on Monday.”

  I knew what was happening. Dusty needed me to acknowledge that what he produced had value. “They must trust you. A lot.”

  “I hope so. Hope I can manage to keep my name out of the paper too, at least for a while.” He smiled and moved a gas can out of my path, then turned out the garage light and headed for the door. I had never wanted to kiss a man. Not that I could remember. Until then. In the darkness of that shop, I wanted to place my hands on his face, scars and all. I wanted to touch his hair and lay my head on his chest, believing he would protect me. But I didn’t. I walked into the office and out the front door like the thought had never even crossed my mind.

  We drove to Sonic for cheese tots and limeades. He talked about the best and worst of country music and his grandfather’s collection of George Jones records. I told him my favorite book was “War and Peace” and then laughed when he thought I was serious. He recalled the first time he saw “Star Wars.” I grieved the fact that he hadn’t seen “Pride and Prejudice.” He held my hand and we talked about the power of forgiveness.

  At 11:00 he pulled into Doug and Carlie’s driveway. I had already texted them that I would be late. We walked onto the porch and I said with a chuckle, “Thanks for lunch. And supper.”

  He put both hands in his pockets and looked around nervously. “No. Thank you, Clara. I hope I can see you tomorrow. Can I pick you up for church? My church isn’t big or fancy, but I’d like you to come with me, if you’re willing.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Great. I’ll come by at 10:00 then. See you in the morning.” He looked at me, hesitated a bit, then walked right off the porch. I was disappointed. And the disappointment made me happy. Hearing him whistle on the way to the truck made me even happier.

  Doug and Carlie were both waiting at the kitchen table. She must have convinced Doug that the news this time would be so exciting that it would be worth staying up for. He was eating Oreos and she was pouring milk.

  I happily called out, �
�Grab another glass, Carlie.”

  She came running over with a hug that had such intensity I thought my ribs would break. “Forget milk and cookies, sister. As your official matchmaker, I need all the details.”

  I sat down and grabbed a cookie. “It went well. Real well. I like him. A lot.”

  Carlie was standing behind Doug’s chair. She enthusiastically kissed him on the cheek, and put her hands on his shoulders. “Oh Honey, our little girl’s in love!”

  I laughed, “Did I say the word love? No. I said I like him a lot. That’s what I said.”

  Doug seemed unusually invested in the conversation. “We’re happy for you, Clara. I know for a fact that he’s happy.”

  I had been dying to ask Doug some questions and this was the perfect time. “Doug, I’m glad you’re up. I’ve been wondering, well, what you and Dusty talked about in Commerce, at the cemetery, in the car.”

  He raised his right hand. “I’m sworn to secrecy, Clara. A man’s word is his word.” He grinned as he reached for the bag of Oreos. “But I can tell you this. Dusty McConnell is the real deal. He’s been through the wringer, but he came out the other side…clean.”

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I daydreamed about pine trees and waterfalls. About Dusty’s hands and his less-than-perfect face, that looked perfect to me. Striking and handsome. About his stories of prison, some bad, but mostly the stories of hope he’d found there. I thought about his words, “My prison sentence was like a big U-turn sign. A chance to go a different way.” I thought about Doug and Carlie’s enthusiasm. How Doug had said he was trustworthy. I didn’t know Dusty McConnell well, but I wondered, I couldn’t help but wonder the one thing I’d wondered my whole life. Could he love me?

  Chapter 46 CARLIE: Roman Holiday in Sharon, Tennessee

  Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart came over early for Sunday breakfast even though they never come over for Sunday breakfast. They were fully dressed in their church clothes even though it was 7:30. At least they called before they came, five minutes before. Uncle Bart sat in the living room with Doug while Aunt Charlotte drank coffee at the table patiently waiting for Clara to come walking out of the guest room. At 8:05 her wish was granted. Clara came out wearing blue jeans and a faded brown t-shirt. No make-up, hair not fixed, but smiling from ear to ear. Beautiful. It was like her face was glowing. You know how they always say pregnant women glow, yeah, it was like that. ‘Cept I knew for sure she wasn’t pregnant. I suspected it might be love.

  Aunt Charlotte jumped from her chair and announced loudly, “Clara Louise Johnson, get your skinny little self over here and give me some love.” Clara happily reached down to give Aunt Charlotte a hug. “Have a seat, Baby, and I’ll pour your coffee. Carlie and Doug tells me you was out cattin’ ‘round with that Dusty McConnell till late in the evenin’.” Even though Doug was reading the paper in the living room, I could hear him laughing out loud at Aunt Charlotte’s bold declaration. She smiled and continued, “Sorry I had to run out on ya at lunch. But hey, the Lord called me to a sacred task and who am I to question his timing?”

  Clara happily recounted the day’s events for Aunt Charlotte’s enjoyment. After every story or detail Aunt Charlotte would wipe her eyes with a paper napkin and say, “Praise the Lord” or “You don’t say!” When all was said and done, she yelled loudly, “Bart, I’m all for goin’ to church this mornin’, but I done had some kind of church service in here at the kitchen table. My heart is full, Honey. Full to the brim. The Lord done smiled on us real good.”

  Dusty knocked on the door at 9:50. Ten minutes early. Ten points for you, Dusty McConnell. Fifteen minutes early would have caused you to lose five points because fifteen minutes early borderlines on a lack of consideration. I know. It’s a delicate issue. But the sweet spot of punctuality is five to ten minutes early and there’s really no discussion about it.

  I had never seen him looking so happy. Khaki pants and a dark green shirt. Polished boots. Big smile. He sat at the table with Doug and me while we finished our coffee. At 10:00 Clara opened the guest room door and it was like a light came pouring into the kitchen. Dusty stood and his mouth dropped open. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her look. More beautiful than the times she went out with Jake. More beautiful than the day I got married. I understood why now. Clara felt this overwhelming sense of acceptance from Dusty, a sense of protection and safety. And it had changed her. All of her. She might be limping but she was no longer walking in fear.

  Her hair was perfectly curled around her face. Make-up just right and she smelled like the Macy’s counter, only with none of that sassy attitude. She had on a solid blue dress that tied at the waist. The skirt was long and flared. She looked kind of like Audrey Hepburn in all those old movies. You know the tiny little waist and the flowing skirt. And Dusty looked like Gregory Peck in “Roman Holiday” when Gregory looked at Audrey like he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He fell for Audrey Hepburn and the whole audience is just rooting for them to get together even though we all know she’s some kind of European princess and he’s an American journalist. But Gregory Peck wore a suit a lot in that movie and Dusty McConnell is more of a cowboy boot kind of guy. Plus, Gregory Peck didn’t have an eye patch or a scar on his chin. And Clara is a kindergarten teacher rather than a princess, but still. The look of love is the look of love.

  Dusty couldn’t even speak. So, of course, I was glad to speak for him. “Girl, you are lookin’ GOOD this mornin’! Dusty, you should see how she normally looks in the mornin’. Seriously. Not like this. At all. Completely different. Trust me.” Clara laughed and Dusty smiled. He held out his hand and said, “You look beautiful, Clara. Unbelievable in fact.” She reached for his hand but tripped on the rug in her high heels. He reached out and caught her by the arm. It was exactly like one of those moments in a romantic movie. Except I was in my bright orange housecoat and if I were going to play a matchmaker in a real movie, I would be sure to wear regular clothes, not a housecoat, and definitely not an orange one, as it makes me look like a tangerine.

  Clara spent all day with Dusty. She had to leave on Monday and he had to work, so she met him at Wimpy’s for lunch on her way home. She texted me three words from a gas station in Chattanooga. The words every true matchmaker longs to hear: I love him.

  Chapter 47 CLARA LOUISE Five Weeks Later: Learning to Love

  Yesterday was the last day of school. Hugs. Coffee mugs filled with cocoa packets. Flowers and apples and best wishes. I greeted parents and spoke words of assurance to the children about the joys that awaited them in first grade. But all I could think about was pulling into Doug and Carlie’s driveway today. It always felt like home. Dusty had been to Commerce three times in the last month. He stayed with Bro. Jim and Mrs. Carol every time. When I asked what they thought about him, they both used the same word, “humble.” Brother Jim said, “There’s not much you can do with a proud and haughty man, Clara. He wants his own way and he’ll find a way to get it. But a humble man? Well, there’s no end to what He can accomplish.” I memorized their words and trusted their wisdom.

  Before I even pulled into the driveway, I saw the familiar red truck. Carlie said she was going to invite him for supper. As I got closer, I saw all three of them on the porch. Doug and Carlie were sitting on the porch swing and Dusty was in a white rocker whittling. I had seen my grandfather whittle many times and I assumed it was an old man’s pastime. But evidently not. Dusty looked up and smiled. He wiped the pocketknife on his jeans and folded it up and put it in his pocket. He walked quickly to open my car door. I got out and hugged him like I hadn’t seen him in months. But it had only been five days. Five long days. He whispered, “I missed you so much. How was your trip?”

  I whispered back and touched his face, “It was good because I knew you would be here.” We held hands and walked toward the porch. Carlie announced loudly that she made chicken spaghetti because she didn’t feel it was right to torment Dusty with him being a first-time dinner guest and a
ll. The food was delicious. Doug made homemade ice cream on the porch after supper. For a split second, it reminded me of being at Jake Smith’s house that day. I felt no disdain for Jake or his family though. Just a flood of relief. We played Pictionary and Carlie showed us the garden she’d planted out back. She’d forgotten to mark which seeds she planted where so she said summer would bring the joy of surprise. Surprise. I no longer feared that word.

  At 7:30, Dusty said he wanted to take me for a drive. He was unusually quiet but occasionally he’d reach over and touch my hand. Silence no longer sent fear into my heart. Silence with Dusty was comfortable. Restful. Some things no longer had to be spoken. I didn’t ask where we were going but I figured we were going to the shop because we passed the Bradford city limits sign. I asked if he would take me to the Doodle Soup Festival this year. He laughed and promised he would. Country love ballads played softly in the background and I felt an incredible sense of peace. Happiness. It startled me when he pulled the truck over on the shoulder and turned off the ignition.

  “Does this spot look familiar?”

  I grimaced, “It does. If I remember correctly, I was stranded here once, and after a pretty failed matchmaking attempt too. SO I’d been rejected by a man and then my car was stuck on the side of the road. Plus, and this was probably the worst part… I had very little hope of ever really attending the Doodle Soup Festival. It was a depressing day all the way around.” I laughed and looked right at him. “But thankfully, well, this good-lookin’ man came riding up on a white horse to save me.”

  He put his hands on the steering wheel, lowered his head, and grinned. “You have a terrible memory, Clara. Do you want me to straighten out the story?”