Kids on the Doorstep

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “It sounds like a co-pro-mise.”

  “That’s a big word and you’re right again.”

  “Well, Mrs. H. is full of big words and she says that one a lot. She’ll be happy to know I used it. She says our brain grows when we add a new word to our vo-cab-u-lary. Is that true?”

  “If Mrs. H. says so, than it probably is.” He chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze. “What say we get to our chores before Vixen tears down the entire barn?”

  She grinned up at him, revealing the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, and he wondered how he was ever going to manage to say goodbye to three little girls who stole his heart the minute they showed up on his doorstep.

  GLADYS FELT HER AGE TODAY and that was a hard thing to admit even if she was only admitting it in the privacy of her own thoughts. But this morning her bones felt as if they were grinding against one another and her arthritis finally kept her from working on her crochet project.

  “You okay?”

  Gladys startled at Renee’s voice. For a moment, Gladys had forgotten she wasn’t alone in the house. She stopped rubbing at her wrist and smothered the grimace for the younger woman’s sake. If there was one thing Gladys hated, it was the pity of strangers. “Oh, just fine. Didn’t hear you come in.” She paused. “You’re doing a good job, by the way,” she added with a brief smile but the pain in her joints prevented a long-lasting effort.

  “You come sit down,” Renee instructed gently, yet the firm set of her mouth said she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “There’s nothing in the kitchen that needs to be done just this second.”

  Gladys waved her away with a slight frown. “Don’t make a fuss. I’ve got a schedule to keep. It’s Meatloaf Monday, you know, and if you start deviating from your schedule, the next thing you know you’ll be eating spaghetti when you should be eating shepherd’s pie. Puts your digestion in a tailspin. Plus, John loves Meatloaf Monday.”

  That last part was delivered in a wheeze that Gladys immediately found pitiful and if it hadn’t rattled out of her and had come from someone else, Gladys would’ve told that person to stop being such a stubborn fool and take a load off. But Gladys was of the “Do as I say, not as I do” generation and she wasn’t of a mind to change her ways at this juncture of her life.

  “I doubt your precious John Murphy is going to keel over dead from a digestion—what did you call it—tailspin? just because he didn’t get his Meatloaf Monday. Now sit your rear in that chair and relax before you crumble to dust right before my eyes and I have to clean up the mess.”

  Gladys stared but a low snicker popped out of her mouth surprising them both. “I see where the girls get their spunk,” she said and then in spite of her previous declaration shuffled to the wide, comfy chair directly in front of the fireplace and sank into it. She gestured at Renee impatiently. “So, come and keep me company then if you’re going to make me sit here like the old lady that I am. There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit on my duff while you do all the work around here. If I’m going to be lazy the least you can do is help me pass the time while I do it.”

  Renee smiled and after putting another log on the fire, sat on the sofa and tucked her legs up under her. “How long have you been making John meatloaf?”

  “Since his mother died.”

  Her smile faded and Gladys was sad for that. She had a beautiful smile when she chose to show it. But Gladys appreciated her respect. Addie Murphy had been her best friend. Even after all these years, the pain of her passing hadn’t completely faded. “When Addie died those boys were so lost, especially Evan, and John felt the pressure to keep everything together. This ranch was all they had, all Addie had after that dirty rat husband of hers turned tail and ran leaving them with a hill of debt and, well, meatloaf seemed the only comfort I could offer them.”

  Gladys happened to meet Renee’s gaze at an opportune moment and caught a softening. It was probably not Renee’s intention to allow that small slip and it caused Gladys to wonder. And because Gladys was known to dabble in business that was none of her concern, she decided to put her arthritis to good use.

  “Maybe you’re right. I don’t think I’ll be able to cook tonight. These old hands are cramping pretty bad. It’s that darn storm that blew through here. Haven’t been myself since. Rotten old bones.” She leveled a finger at Renee and shook it at her playfully, saying, “Don’t get old. It stinks. Can you believe this old body went white-water river rafting just a few years ago?”

  Renee’s eyes widened and Gladys chuckled, loving the shock value of the statement. “Yep. Went down the Colorado. It was Evan’s suggestion and damn if I didn’t shock everyone and go and do it.” Gladys leaned in to whisper, “I think everyone half expected me to land in the drink but no, I did quite well. Had the time of my life. You should try it sometime. Evan can probably get you a discount.”

  Renee shuddered. “No thanks. I’m afraid of water. Now, tell me more about this Meatloaf Monday business. Is it hard to make? Maybe I could use the recipe and make it for you?”

  Gladys smothered the triumphant grin. Young people nowadays were just too easy to figure out. She sent a silent prayer to Addie if she was listening or watching and asked for a little help in making things turn out right. Lord only knew it was time for John to settle down and why waste a perfectly good opportunity when it was staring everyone right in the face?

  RENEE COULDN’T BELIEVE SHE WAS actually playing Betty Crocker but there was no denying that it was her mouth that had offered and it was her standing before a hot oven, worrying that John wouldn’t like it or that she’d somehow messed up the recipe.

  Well, it was meatloaf, she countered to the prattle in her head. How hard could it be? Mash up some meat, throw in some bread crumbs, a little egg and season. And then cook it to death. At least that was how she used to make meatloaf, but, come to think of it, she’d never won any awards for anything that came out of her oven.

  So she was nervous. Understandably.

  “Renee, that smells very good,” Taylor said, taking a break from her coloring book to smile encouragingly at her mother. “It smells like Loafmeat Monday. How come Grammy Stemming didn’t make it?”

  “She wasn’t feeling well,” Renee answered, looking distractedly at Taylor, then added, “Honey, think you might want to call me Mom now?”

  Taylor thought for a moment and then said, “I will take it under con-sid-err-ation. That’s what Mrs. H. says when we ask for something in class.”

  “You’re sure using lots of big words these days,” Renee observed, smiling. “Imagine what you’ll be saying after a full year of school. I might need a dictionary to keep up with you.”

  Taylor giggled and her eyes twinkled in a way that made Renee’s heart sing. Suddenly Taylor looked quite serious, “So, Grammy Stemming makes smashed potatoes to go with the meat. Did she show you how to make those, too? ’Cuz we can’t have the meat without the potatoes, that’s what Mr. John says. He’s a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy he says.”

  Taylor’s statement dripped cute but the message Renee caught and processed in her brain just made her blush. John was all man, that was for sure. It was almost unfathomable that he was still single. Renee had to wonder what was wrong with him that some woman hadn’t snatched him up long ago. She itched to know more about him but there was never a truly opportune way to nonchalantly dig for clues when the man rarely uttered more than a sentence or two. John Murphy wasn’t what anyone could call verbose. She cleared her throat and smiled. “Of course. You can’t have Meatloaf Monday without potatoes…that would be like cake without ice cream, or pizza without cheese.”

  Alexis piped in as she walked in from around the corner. “Or peanut butter without jelly.”

  Renee grinned, absurdly pleased that Alexis was playing along. “Right,” she agreed. “So, the only question we need to answer is, red potato or russet?”

  “Red, with the skins on,” Alexis said. “I mean, that’s how Grammy Stemming made them and they tasted pre
tty good.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Renee rummaged around for the potatoes and found them with a little help from Taylor who seemed to know her way around quite well and tried using the relatively mellow moment with her girls to start getting to know them again. The problem was, each time a question popped into her brain, she quickly discarded it for fear that it would come out wrong or Alexis might hightail it out of the room. She bit her lip. The silence grew and Renee started to feel the walls close in until Taylor began chirping as if she hadn’t noticed the awkward moment.

  “How come we don’t have a grammy?”

  “Excuse me?” Renee stammered, as the total offhand delivery of the question caught her off guard. “What do you mean? You have a grandmother.”

  “Where?”

  “Uh…” Renee stalled, suddenly wishing for a slice of that god-awful silence again, yet when she noted Alexis watching her keenly for a reaction, she cleared her throat and opted for a vague version of the truth. “Well, you’ve met your grandma Irene, uh, once I think, but you’re probably too young to remember and as far as your dad’s mother…oh, goodness, she died a while before you were born.”

  “Why isn’t our grandma Irene around much? Doesn’t she like us?”

  Renee tried a disarming grin but her middle child’s innocent question struck a sour chord and made Renee flinch. “Of course she does.” That’s a lie. A big fat one at that but she wasn’t about to tell a child that her grandmother was as cold as a Michigan winter when it came to her only daughter and any of her issue. Renee remembered the phone call she’d placed when Alexis was born and how badly it had gone down. Just one more shitty memory she’d tried to erase with plenty of booze. She scrubbed her hands down the apron she’d found hanging in the broom closet and forced a smile. “So who’s going to help me with these potatoes?”

  Alexis’s sharp gaze caught the fidgety movement and Renee had to fight the urge to shove her hands in her pockets to hide them. She smiled Alexis’s way and tried to communicate without words that she’d changed. But the moment was lost. Alexis slid from the chair and scooped Chloe along with her. Renee longed to chase after her but Taylor was still beside her, chattering like a magpie, totally oblivious to the emotional tide that had just swept out, and Renee clung to her middle daughter’s open nature as if her life depended on it because in a way…it did.

  JOHN HADN’T EXPECTED RENEE to roll up her sleeves and hit the kitchen but he wasn’t about to complain. One might think that after so many years of Meatloaf Monday a guy might get sick of it but he truly found comfort in the constant and it wasn’t lost on him that Renee had tried to accommodate him.

  The girls had cleared the dinner plates and Alexis was running the bath for her sisters. It was just him and Renee left in the room. He ought to say something nice. He ought to…stop his eyes from sinking to the midlevel of her fuzzy sweater and taking up residence. Glancing away, he absently tapped the table with his knuckles. Clearing his throat, he offered a gruff, “Dinner was good.”

  She looked up and gave a short smile. “Thanks.” Then shrugged. “Taylor was a big help. She must love spending time with Gladys or something because that girl certainly knows her way around a kitchen. Not sure how I feel about that,” she admitted with a slight frown.

  “What’s wrong with a girl being at home in the kitchen?”

  “Because it gives men the wrong idea.”

  Wrong idea? His mother had been a whiz in the kitchen. That was a bad thing? “I’m not following you.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I just don’t want my girls to think all they’re good for is to be stuck in the kitchen, you know? They’re smart girls. They deserve better. I want them to go to college and make something of themselves.”

  “Did you go to college?”

  “No.” She looked away but not before John caught the stark look of regret in her stare. It pulled and poked at the soft side of his underbelly. He shifted in his chair as if to escape but there was no relief. She continued, “Which is why I want better for my girls than just being a housewife, stuck in the kitchen with a passel of kids hanging off them.”

  He startled at the bleak and insulting view she’d just shared of her opinion on what he’d considered the greatest gift a woman could give to her children and couldn’t stop the stiff comment that followed. “My mother was a housewife.”

  Guilt flashed in her expression and she lifted her shoulder in apology. “I’m not putting down anyone who chooses that life. I just don’t want that for my girls.”

  “And what if it makes them happy?”

  “It wouldn’t.” Her answer was short and vehement. She recovered with a subtle smile but her shoulders were tense. If he wasn’t so riled at her comment he might be tempted to ease the knots out of the soft flesh but as it was he wanted to tell her to get off her high horse. And while she was at it, why didn’t she pull out the stick that was wedged up her rear.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a woman who wants to spend time raising her kids right. But if you’re the kind of woman who would rather dump her kids off at day care and forget about them for a good eight or nine hours a day that’s your own business, but don’t go judging others on their choices because they’re different than yours. And your girls should be free to make their own choices even if it doesn’t cotton to what you want them to do with their lives.”

  Her smile was wintry. “How nice of you to go all parental when you’ve never had any children of your own. Perhaps you’d like to write a book on the subject? I’m sure it’ll be a bestseller.”

  What a sassy mouth on this one. All piss and vinegar as Gladys would say. He leaned back in the chair and regarded her with shrewd objectivity. “Your mom a career-type?”

  “She was an image-is-everything type,” she answered, probably unaware that she had visibly tensed. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “Just wondering. Seems you’re pretty sensitive about certain things. You and your mom don’t get along?”

  She barked a short laugh as if the question wasn’t worth answering because the answer had to be patently obvious but the sound was ragged and tattered around the edges to John’s ears. “Must be my lucky day. First Taylor, now you. Is this some kind of conspiracy to get me to work through my feelings about my mom? Look, I’m over it. To answer your question, no, me and the mom don’t get along so well. In fact, I’m pretty sure if I was on fire she wouldn’t waste a drop of spit to put it out.”

  He whistled low and deep. That was pretty hard-core. John understood that kind of animosity. It was about the same way he felt about his own father. “What happened between you two?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago I’m not even sure I remember.”

  “I think you remember just fine.”

  She shot him a dark look. “Maybe I do. Too bad for you, I don’t feel like walking down memory lane.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Really. Just like that. First you’re grilling me and now you’re fine with letting it go?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t interest me enough to coax it out of you.”

  “Aren’t you a charmer,” she said drily and he chuckled in spite of the vague insult she’d just thrown his way but he couldn’t dispute it. He was no good at this talking shit. The woman didn’t want to talk about why she was so sensitive about her mom, it was none of his business.

  “That’s me. Grade A Choice.”

  He got up, ready to leave the faintly aggressive tension between them behind, but she cocked her head to the side and regarded him as if he were suddenly someone who fascinated her.

  “Why don’t you wear a cowboy hat?”

  He paused and returned the assessing stare as he countered, “Why don’t you like housewives?”

  “I asked you first.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not a cowboy. I just work with horses. There’s a differ
ence.” He pinned her with a look. “Your turn.”

  She inhaled sharply and for a split second he was sure she was going to turn tail and run but she didn’t. Instead she answered with an unwavering but undeniably sad stare.

  “Because I never wanted to be one but somehow that’s where I ended up.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  RENEE SLID INTO BED AND WINCED as the cold blankets shocked her skin. She’d left a fire burning in her small woodstove but sometimes the heat didn’t make it to the tiny bedroom and it felt like she was sleeping on a block of ice until her own body heat started to kick in.

  What an odd man, she mused as scenes from dinner replayed in her head. He was an enigma. Just when she thought she knew what he was about, he went and turned her assumptions upside down, leaving her to gape in confusion. She sensed something between them. Something that ran hot one minute and cold the next. Wasn’t that a bad thing? If she were made of glass such rapid change in temperature would surely cause her to shatter. Well, thank her lucky stars she wasn’t made of glass, she thought wryly. One thing was for sure, he was frightfully good at reading people. Or maybe he was just good at reading her. Now that was a scary thought.

  What had she been thinking? Meatloaf Monday. How ridiculous. She should’ve left him to fend for himself. Damn, if she hadn’t always had a soft spot for the weak and vulnerable. Um, yeah. Who was she trying to call weak and vulnerable? Certainly not John Murphy. Cornbread farm boys with wicked smiles did not grow up to be weak or vulnerable. They grew up to be men who filled doorways, with thick roping muscles honed from years of working with their hands, and quick, sharp gazes that saw through piles of bullshit to the truth underneath.

  Gazes that lingered and caressed the tingling flesh under your sweater until your nipples peaked and ached and all but poked out of your bra for need of someone to put their big strong hands all over them.

  She shuddered and moaned as she gave her pillow a sound whack for even allowing her mind to wander into such dangerous pastures—uh, territory!—even her metaphors were going country. Good grief. Was it contagious?