by Arlene James
He looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “I don’t know! What difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference,” she said firmly, “to Chaz.”
She had him worried now. She could tell by the way he paused to stroke his chin. “He’s got to have friends. Why wouldn’t he? He’s a perfectly likable boy.”
“Yes, he is,” she agreed. “He’s also completely wrapped up in his family. He seems to think this family is the sole reason for his existence. I don’t think even he realizes that he’s missing out on something most little boys have lots of, and that’s friends his own age.”
Orren’s brow furrowed. “Hasn’t he mentioned anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. And I’ve asked.”
Orren frowned. “You think this is my fault, I’m sure.”
She let that pass as unworthy of comment. “I think we need to expose him to children his own age without his sisters around for him to worry about. And I think Yancy needs the same thing.”
He folded his arms. “I happen to know a thing or two about children, Matilda, and I promise you that Yancy isn’t old enough yet to worry about friends her own age.”
“I agree,” she said smoothly. “Yancy isn’t old enough to worry about it. But I’m old enough to realize that she needs role models her own age even if you aren’t.”
He scowled at that. “What are you talking about?”
She folded her own arms, mimicking his stance, and let him have it. “Yancy needs to grow up, Orren. She’s four going on one and a half. If she doesn’t gain a little maturity soon, she won’t be ready for kindergarten. She needs to be around kids her own age in order to learn what’s expected of her. Surely you can see that.”
Orren tried another glower, but his concern for his daughter got the better of him. He let his arms slip down to his sides. “Don’t you think she’ll grow out of it on her own?”
“No, I don’t. She’s fixated. She just needs a little push in the right direction.”
Orren pushed a hand through his already wildly disarranged hair. She could tell he had accepted the truth of her arguments and was castigating himself for not having deduced these problems on his own. He sent her a belligerent glance. “I suppose you can just snap your fingers and come up with the solutions to all our problems,” he complained tartly. “You’re so good at finding them.”
“No more than you,” she retorted and immediately regretted it. “Actually, I’ve had more opportunity and reason than you to think about it,” she went on more mildly. “No one can blame you for not seeing such problems when more often than not you’re too tired to think when you’re here.”
He merely frowned and said, “What do you want to do?”
“I want to take them to church,” she said, failing to anticipate his explosion.
“To church! What’s the matter with you? What’s church got to do with it? I don’t have time for church! I work six, sometimes seven days a week, for pity’s sake!”
“I know that, Orren!” she interrupted his tirade, a bit more shrilly than she’d intended. “I’m not suggesting you go to church. Heaven forbid! I’m suggesting you let me take your children to church. There is this thing there called Sunday school, where they divide the children according to ages and engage them in age-appropriate activities with a Biblical theme. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. A man doesn’t live to your ripe old age without hearing of it!”
He ground his teeth in an obvious attempt to curb his temper. “So this is your grand solution?” he finally said. “Sunday school?”
She bit back another angry retort, suddenly ashamed of herself, and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m afraid it is,” she said finally. “You see, I don’t know any other eight-year-old boys, and short of enrolling Yancy in day care, I don’t know what else to do for her. I thought that Sunday school would give each of them a chance to socialize within their own age groups, and since I go every Sunday, anyway…” She let it tail off, the conclusion obvious.
Orren turned his back on her, his hands going to his hips. After a long while he said, “I suppose I could get them ready if you’ll come pick them up.”
“All right,” she agreed softly.
He nodded, then straightened and walked to the stove to retrieve his cooling eggs. Mattie turned and finished preparing the coffee, then switched on the pot to brew. Orren stuffed bread into the toaster and set it, after scraping his eggs onto a plate. They stood, each in his or her own spot, and listened to the ticking sound of the toaster accompanied by the sucking sound of the coffeepot, until Mattie could bear it no more.
“Orren, I’m sorry!” she blurted out. He jerked as if she’d poked him but kept his face resolutely turned away.
The toast popped up just then, and he snatched it from the toaster, dropped it quickly onto his plate, grabbed up the plate and carried it into the living room. She waited long minutes before she picked up his fork and took it to him.
“You forgot this.”
She held the fork out. Without so much as looking up at her, he snatched it out of her hand and stabbed it into the cold egg on the plate balanced atop his knees. Someone cried out, one of the girls, Yancy or Candy Sue from the sound of it. Orren shifted the plate. Mattie dropped a hand onto his shoulder.
“I’ll go. Eat your breakfast.”
She moved off toward the hallway. At the very last moment he stopped her.
“Mattie.”
She didn’t turn, merely stood where she was. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She knew perfectly well what he was thanking her for—and it wasn’t the fork. She smiled to herself. A hardheaded man who loved his children above all else. He had room in that heart for a woman; somehow she knew it. And he would know it, too. Somehow.
Chapter Five
“I’ve told the kids,” Orren said, his hand already on the doorknob. “I don’t expect I’ll be home tonight.”
Mattie controlled the first gush of feeling brought on by such news, which was shock, and in so doing succumbed to the rush of the second—concern. “Is something wrong? Can I do anything?”
Irritation flashed over his face. “Nothing’s wrong. Something’s right. I’ve got a special job. A mobile harvester coming through town had a breakdown and needs a diesel engine replaced pronto. The garage doesn’t do diesel, but the boss agreed to let me use the shop after hours to get it done on my own. Couple of the boys are going to help me. I expect we’ll be at it all night and part of tomorrow night, too.”
She knew better than to argue, but she couldn’t help it. “Orren, you can’t go without sleep that long.”
“For a solid two thousand bucks, I can,” he declared flatly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while to stay over with the kids.”
She could see that it was no use arguing with him. Instead she asked, “Should I bring dinner down to you?”
He shook his head.
“Then how are you going to eat?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
“Never you mind!” he snapped. “I’m an adult, you know. I can take care of myself. You just take care of the kids.”
Mattie wanted to cry. Couldn’t he see how much she cared? Of course he could, and that was what infuriated him. She lifted her chin, even as she sighed inwardly, and said, “You know perfectly well that the children will be happy and safe with me—as much as they can be without you.”
“That’s all I care about,” he grumbled, but his gaze no longer challenged hers.
She could feel his gratitude—and his reluctance to admit to it. Shaking her head, she said, “You could be happy and safe with me, too, Orren, if you’d let yourself.”
Alarm flared behind his fine blue eyes, followed quickly by denial and an all-too-familiar irritation. “If you were old enough to know what you’re talking about—” he began.
Mattie threw up her hands and rolled her eyes, turning away. “Just go!” She stomped over to the s
ink and wrenched on the tap water, searching among the breakfast dishes for the stopper. “Go on. Make your escape, Orren. I’ll be here when you get back. No matter what you do, I’ll be here. Because here is where I want to be.”
He stared at her for a long moment, mouth opening and closing again, as if he would argue or comment or perhaps even apologize, but in the end he just turned and walked through the door. Mattie leaned her forearms on the edge of the countertop and pulled a deep, calming breath, tears burning the backs of her eyes. But she would not cry. She was no child, and she would not let him make her act like one. No matter how hard he tried.
The television screen flickered silently. Mattie tucked her feet up under her thighs and resisted the urge to glance once more at the clock on the end table before turning the page of the book propped on the arm of the sofa. She already knew that it was well past midnight. Perhaps it was already past one in the morning. She no longer really wanted to know. Every minute now was pure torture. Surely he had caught a few hours sleep at the shop. No one could go this long without rest. Biting her lip, she pushed the worry away, but others crowded in to take its place. What if he fell asleep behind the wheel on his way home? What if he collapsed there alone? What if—
The sudden flare of lights against the kitchen window ricocheted off the end wall of the living area. Mattie leaped up, the book tumbling forgotten to the sofa cushion. Her gaze went automatically to the clock. It was later than she’d thought, ten minutes past two in the morning. But he was home. He was finally home. She sat back down again, relief momentarily washing away her strength, and bowed her head over her hands, quickly thanking God. The sounds of tires rolling over gravel and then an engine idling brought her head up once more. The rumble of the engine died away, and she let out her breath. Calm again, she pulled the book from beneath her and thumbed through the bent pages to find her place, intent on appearing unconcerned when he came inside.
She found her place and stared for long minutes at the printing on the page without deciphering a single word. It was her imagination, of course. Surely only seconds had passed since she’d picked up the book. Chewing her lip, she glanced once more at the clock. Two-twenty! She was on her feet again, the book in her hands this time. Carefully, she bent down the corner of the page and closed the cover. Reverently laying the book aside, she walked sedately to the kitchen door and looked out the small window in it. The headlights of the truck still burned, glaring harshly off the forward wall of the carport. She could just make out Orren’s form slumped over the steering wheel. Mattie jerked open the door and ran down the steps to the truck. She opened the cab door easily, without even lifting the latch, and reached inside. Orren shrugged and mumbled at her touch.
“Neetsleemm. Tire.”
Relief swept through her for the second time. She clamped a hand onto his forearm and another onto the opposite shoulder, saying, “I know you need sleep. You’re worse than tired. You’re exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Bed,” he sighed, letting her pull him out of the truck. His feet hit the carport floor, and he swayed weakly.
Mattie ducked beneath his arm and threw her shoulder against his side. “Come on, big guy. Lean on me. We’ll get there.”
“Mattie,” he said, and shook his head, eyes blinking repeatedly.
“That’s right. Good old Mattie. Step up.”
He obediently did as told.
“Again.”
He took the second step, then stumbled on the threshold. They staggered together into the house. “I got it. I got it,” he muttered. Leaning against the wall, he exhaled deeply and ran a hand over his face. “Where’re my kids?”
Mattie slid an arm around his waist and pushed him away from the wall. “Sleeping, of course, tucked all safe in their beds, which is where you need to be.”
He yawned, lifting a fist to cover it but not quite getting there. “We did it,” he said and fumbled in his pants pocket, swaying and extracting a wad of bills as big as a baseball. He shoved it at her, pushing it up under her chin. “Twenty-three,” he told her sluggishly. “Hundred.”
Mattie attempted to push it away, only to find herself holding it.
“God, I’m tired,” he said, laying his head back against the wall. “Can’t b’lieve I made it home.”
“You shouldn’t have tried it in this shape,” Mattie scolded lightly, reaching across him to stuff the bills back into his pocket.
He caught her hand and pressed it against his body, swaying forward so that his nose bumped her temple, his hot breath gusting into her ear. “What’re you doing to me?” he whispered.
Mattie jerked her hand free, her heart suddenly pounding, and gritted out, “Trying to get you into bed.”
His arms came around her loosely, his weight sagging against her. “I’m too tired to fight you, Mattie,” he said in a lazy drawl. “And I don’t really want to.”
She tightened her arm around his waist and tried to ignore the heat pooling in her lower body. “Then don’t,” she said matter-of-factly, and tugged him away from the wall once more. They staggered around the kitchen table and into the living room. She glanced up and noted that he was staring longingly at the sofa. “Oh, no,” she said. “We’re putting you to bed. We’ve gotten this far. We can manage the rest of the way. Come on.”
He growled low in his throat, but he straightened and took some of his weight off her. Together they slowly walked across the living room, his steps dragging, and into the hallway. She let him pause in the doorway to his bedroom. Sighing, he leaned a shoulder against the frame and pushed a hand through his hair. “Will I hear the kids?” he asked, confused.
She pulled him away from the door frame, afraid to let him get too comfortable just yet. “The kids will be fine,” she promised, leading him toward the bed. “I’ll be here when they get up.”
“You’re always here,” he muttered. “Sweet Mattie. Too good. What’ll we do withou’ you?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, pushing him onto the bed with her hip. She intended to let him down easily, leveraging his weight against her shoulders with both hands clamped onto his wrist, but he sagged and then collapsed unexpectedly, pulling her down with him and trapping the arm about his waist beneath him on the bed. She landed against him with an “Oof.”
He groaned and attempted to roll over onto his side, carrying her along with him, his arm curled around her shoulders. “Mattie,” he said, just that, but imbued with a satisfaction that gladdened her heart. She slipped a hand into the curve of his neck and laid her head against his chin, holding him while his breathing steadied and slowed. But she dared not stay there too long. Already her trapped arm was cramping. Reluctantly, she struggled up into a sitting position and pulled herself free. He muttered something and threw an arm across his face.
Mattie scooted off the bed and quickly stripped his shoes and socks from his feet. Next she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled him up by it, pushing it back off his shoulders. He awakened enough to shrug out of it and fumbled with his pants, getting them open and down over his hips. Mattie quickly averted her gaze, then reached down and grasped his pants by the hems, tugging them down his legs. He found the pillow and crawled onto it, folding his arm beneath it. She yanked and tugged and pulled the covers down beneath him, then carefully pulled them upward again, to his shoulders, her gaze preceding them. Heavens, he was beautiful, all solidly packed muscle in smoothly sculpted contours. No wonder he was so heavy! She brushed several locks of hair off his forehead, studying his face. It was a strong face, as hard and firm as the rest of him, and yet somehow vulnerable. She ached for the exhaustion that had claimed him, for the desperation that had driven him to it. Love swelled her heart almost painfully.
It had been building inside her for some time, perhaps from the first moment she’d met him, and with it came the certainty that she belonged with him. Had her mother felt this for her father? she wondered. Somehow Mattie knew that she had. Amy must have felt it, too. The
thought made Mattie glad. She wanted Amy to feel this way for her father. She wanted him to be loved like this. He was as good a man as Orren, as deserving, as responsible and loving, as dedicated a father—and as stubborn. Smiling at the thought, she shook her head. No wonder Orren felt so right for her. She was used to dealing with just his sort of pigheaded determination. She appreciated it as only the daughter of an equally pigheaded father could. Smiling still, she bent closer and lightly pressed her lips to Orren’s.
He shifted onto his back, and before she knew what was happening, his arms came up and enfolded her, pulling her down to him. He settled onto his side, putting her back to the bed, and for a moment he drew away. His eyes opened and stared into her surprised face. “Mattie,” he said, “I knew you’d be here.” And then his mouth sought hers again in a kiss fraught with sweetness and hunger and a depth of longing she had only guessed at.
She told herself that she ought not to take such advantage of him. His defenses were weakened by exhaustion. Weeks of proximity had worn him down. Nevertheless, she wound her arms around his neck and gave back as good as she got, telling him without words that she loved and wanted him. After a long, lazy while, his mouth slid from hers and he drew breath, sighing as he nuzzled her cheek. His hand wandered up her side and cupped her breast.
“You’re not a child,” he said softly into her ear.
Smiling and blinking at tears, she pressed her face into the curve of his neck. In only moments, he slipped again into deep sleep. She lay next to him, very much at peace, until her eyes began to grow heavy and she knew she had to go or spend the night here. Reluctantly, she extricated herself and scooted to the foot of the bed. Orren flung an arm out as if looking for her, muttered in his sleep, and settled down again. Mattie pulled the window shade to block the morning light and tiptoed from the darkened room, gently closing the door behind her. As she moved through the house, shutting off the television and turning out the few remaining lights, she tried not to wonder what would happen with them now.
