by Loree Lough
He tossed empty potato salad and cole slaw tins into the bag, then put what remained of the birthday cake on her kitchen counter. That done, he stacked her gifts on the living room sofa, placed her birthday cards on the coffee table and, with nothing left to do, headed back to the porch. When he hit the foyer, the distant strains of a familiar lullaby wafted down the stairs, stopping him dead in his tracks.
He followed it up the steps to Amy’s room. Her voice was so lovely, soft and dulcet and the slightest bit husky. But then, he’d be hard-pressed to name something about her that wasn’t lovely.
Was she sitting on the edge of Amy’s mattress, he wondered, or in a stiff-backed chair next to the bed? When Lamont peered around the corner, it didn’t surprise him to see Nadine stretched out on the mattress with Amy nestled happily in the crook of her grandmom’s arm.
He smiled, then remembered the flat, rectangular package still sitting on his backseat. Tiptoeing down the steps, he headed for the driveway, hoping she’d like his gift. Something told him he’d never know for sure because, earlier, he’d watched her fawn over a gaudy clay refrigerator magnet the church organist had sculpted for her, seen her fuss over the sweater vest Marian the librarian had crocheted from pea green and purple angora.
Lamont sat in the rocker on her porch, the present in his lap. The coffee was cold now, but he sipped it anyway, enjoying every swallow because Nadine had made it for him. He felt at ease here, inhaling the aromas from her potted plants, looking out over the expanse of freshly mowed lawn, listening to crickets and night birds that filled the darkness with harmonious song. He could picture himself whiling away the evening hours with her, right here on this porch, chatting until it was time to turn in.
“I do believe this is the first time I’ve seen a tough cowboy with a pink bow on his belt.”
He looked down. The way the gift rested in his lap, it did appear that he’d worn a fancy ribbon in place of a belt buckle. Laughing, he sat up straighter as she settled into the rocker beside him. “It isn’t much,” he said, handing her the little box.
“You shouldn’t have, Lamont.”
“Sure, I should. Gal doesn’t turn thirty-five every day.”
“Flatterer,” she said, and carefully removed the ribbon. “Did you wrap this yourself?”
“Can’t you tell by the wrinkles and the tape hiding the rips?”
“I really hadn’t noticed,” she said, lifting the box top.
Nadine parted the tissue paper and peered inside. “A gift certificate?” Turning it over in one hand, she read, “Dinner for Two at Cowboy Joe’s, Best Steak House in Texas.” She bit her lower lip before meeting his eyes. “Lamont, you shouldn’t ha—”
“Sure, I should,” he said again. Shrugging, he added, “I just thought, well, I kinda hoped you’d use it to treat me to a steak dinner.” He grinned. “You know, to make up for canceling steak night.”
Nadine tucked the card back into its tissue-paper bed, replaced the lid, and sat the gift on the table beside Lamont’s half-empty coffee mug. “Thank you.”
Was she blushing? And why on earth was her lower lip trembling? And was that a tear glistening at the corner of her eye? Last thing he wanted to do was upset her. Presents were supposed to make people happy, not make them cry. “Nadine,” he said, reaching across the space separating them, “it’s your gift. I was only kidding. Take anyone you please to dinner at Joe’s.”
Nadine patted his hand. “It’s a wonderful, thoughtful gift,” she interrupted, “and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share it with than you.”
Did she mean it? He stared deep into her big blue eyes. Well, it sure looked like she’d meant it. So then, why the waterworks? Sighing, Lamont prayed for a sliver of knowledge to help him understand this remarkable woman.
“And thanks for cleaning up the yard. You didn’t have to do that, either.”
He shrugged again. “No big deal. Saves you having to do it tomorrow.”
She laughed. “Yeah, leaving me plenty of time to muck the stalls and shovel out the henhouse.”
Lamont turned her hand palm up, traced his thumb over well-worn calluses, like connect-the-dots. If she were his woman, he’d see to it that she never had to work so hard. She deserved to be pampered and spoiled, to have her every wish fulfilled.
Instinct propelled him forward, where he knelt beside her chair. Automatically, his arms slid around her waist, and he drew her close. “Happy birthday, darlin’. I hope you have at least a hundred more, each one happier than the last.”
Nadine bracketed his face with those hardworking little hands. “You’re a smooth talker, Lamont London,” she said, smiling softly, “but thanks for the well wishes, all the same.”
“Ah, Nadine,” he rasped, “you’re wrong. That wasn’t some practiced line. I meant every word.”
She studied his face for what seemed like an eternity, analyzing his brow, his cheeks and chin, his mouth, as if trying to imprint it on her memory.
“You’d better cut that out,” he warned, his voice foggy with emotion.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Her hands were still pressed to his cheeks, her eyes still boring deep into his when Julie called from the kitchen. “Mom, what do you want me to do with this leftover cake?”
“That girl has terrible timing,” he groaned, sitting on his heels.
“Just leave it there for now,” Nadine called out, as he returned to his rocker. “I’ll take care of it later.”
She got to her feet, held her hand out to him. When he gave his to her, Lamont looked at their entwined fingers, thinking how terrific it would be if their lives could overlap this way. Standing, he kissed her work-worn knuckles. Oh, how he cared for this woman, probably more than was good for either one of them right now. But too late for second guesses.
Not knowing what to say next, he let her lead him down the flagstone walk toward his pickup. She stepped back and waved as he slid behind the wheel and, as he drove off, he could see in the rearview mirror that she’d returned to the porch, where she stood on the top step, watching.
Lord, he prayed, if she doesn’t feel the same way, get me outta this before it’s too late.
The porch swing moved slowly, propelled by one well-worn boot heel. Lamont stared past the hip-high stone wall surrounding the terrace, beyond the row of long-spent daffodils and tulips that ringed the granite patio, hands wrapped around a cool brown bottle of root beer. A nippy late-spring wind rustled tree leaves and carried the scent of newly sprouting cow corn.
Lamont remembered how Rose had insisted that these maple trees would die, planted just beyond the porch. But knowing how much she loved reading in the shade, he’d mixed fertilizer and peat into the sandy Texas soil and made a point of getting up sooner than usual every day to water the spindly saplings, how he’d knocked off work a few minutes early to drench them again each evening. His efforts had paid off, because the trees had grown tall and sturdy, reminding him of how he’d often come in from the pastures and found her reclining in her favorite chaise, poring over a paperback novel or woolgathering about one thing or another.
Soon, her precious roses would bloom, as they had every spring since her death. He’d teased her dozens of times for doubting the maples could survive, because her prickly shrubs produced thousands of colorful blooms in the same hard-packed earth. “I didn’t do it with smoke and mirrors,” she’d say. “Hard work and sweat is the only way to earn blue ribbons!” Every spring, Lamont secretly hoped they hadn’t survived the winter, because he sure as shootin’ didn’t need the constant reminder of her. But despite harsh weather and neglect, they came back, gorgeous and determined to stay alive.
Their natural stubbornness reminded him of Nadine, who had outlasted life’s hard knocks without looking any the worse for wear. Taking a deep breath, Lamont frowned and shook his head. He hadn’t felt this rattle-brained since that day when he first saw Rose in Amarillo. He’d been a cocky young buck back t
hen, so the notions whirling in his head and the feelings pounding in his veins hadn’t surprised him. But now? At his age? What fifty-five-year-old man gets double-quick heartbeats looking at a grandmother?
“Sure doesn’t look like any gran’ma I ever saw,” he told Obnoxious. Sure, there were a few laugh lines on her pretty face, a hint of gray at her temples, but these things only made her more all the more beautiful, because they were confirmation of a life fully and well lived.
His gaze went beyond his fields, to her ranch. He leaned slightly to get a better view. Funny, but he’d never noticed before that the light from her house was visible all the way over here.
The thin-necked bottle slid from his hand and landed with a foaming, spattering thud between his boots as he leaped to his feet. The glow wasn’t steady and calm, like the subtle halo of table lamps and porch lights. Rather, it ebbed and waned, brightened and dimmed.
Like fire?
Lamont didn’t bother to lock the back door. Didn’t stop to wonder whether Obnoxious would follow. Grabbing his keys as he raced toward the pickup, he prayed that the golden ring of light was a brush fire. Because if the luster on the inky horizon was fire at her place, it had to be one hungry blaze to be visible from miles away.
Thankfully, he’d left his cell phone on the passenger seat. Grabbing it, he dialed 911. When the efficient, no-nonsense voice came on the line, Lamont barked out Nadine’s name and address. “Better get a-move on,” he growled. “Looks bad, real bad.”
Lamont haphazardly tossed the phone aside and floored the gas pedal. If a Texas Ranger or a state trooper pulled him over, so much the better. The cop could provide a police escort, radio the fire department for more backup—
The breath caught in his throat as he finished the thought: and an ambulance.
Lamont tried to concentrate on the road, but the nearer he got, the more intensely the night sky above Nadine’s house glowed. Her house was clearly on fire, as evidenced by the cherry-red and icy blue flames that licked the coal-black Heavens.
He found himself wishing, as he bulleted up her driveway, that it had been the barn ablaze—any outbuilding—instead of the house she’d spent decades turning into a home. A spray of gravel spewed out behind him as he stomped on the brake. He leaped from the cab without bothering to slam the door. “Nadine!” he yelled, tearing across the lawn. “Nadine!”
He bellowed Amy’s name, and Adam and Julie’s, too, but all he heard in response was the hissing and popping of the hungry fire as it gnawed at the clapboard siding.
If God heard his prayers, Lamont would find her out back, cussing and kicking dirt while aiming a garden hose at the fiery beast. His heart sank as he rounded the corner, for she was nowhere in sight. She’d parked her car in the usual place, he’d noticed earlier, beside Adam’s seen-better-days pickup. The little truck was gone. Maybe no one had answered because they’d driven into town. Hadn’t he heard Amy asking for a chocolate shake earlier? The thought gave him hope.
But it was nearly midnight. Even if the family had gone to Amarillo, wouldn’t they be home by now? And then he remembered that Nadine had tucked Amy in, hours ago…
“Nadine!” he shouted, pounding on the door. “It’s Lamont!”
But in place of her familiar voice, he heard only the crackling and sizzling of the fire, the frenzied howl of herd dogs, the neighing of alarmed horses and the bleating of Nadine’s pygmy goats. Dread drummed inside him, because if she and her kids were in there…
The thought was too horrible to complete. He swallowed, hoped they’d gone to town. Anything—a flat, a stalled motor, a thrown rod—was better than the alternative.
Flames belched from the upstairs windows. Glass shattered and rained down on him like hail, each shard stinging his cheeks and forearms. The roar was deafening as fire gobbled at the shutters, folded over the eaves and climbed onto the roof.
Terror drove him, because if they were up there, they didn’t stand a chance. He climbed the flagstone steps of her back porch and, leaning back, kicked the door for all he was worth.
Arm bent to protect his eyes from the blinding light and skin-crisping heat, Lamont spotted the cake plate he’d put on the table hours before. Shiny red ceramic splinters lay scattered across charred floorboards that once gleamed like spun honey.
Then he saw what looked like a pair of size five tennis shoes on the floor beside the pantry. Nadine’s shoes.
And she was still in them.
Heart beating like a war drum, he plowed through the thick smoke, scooped her up and bolted toward the still-open door.
But the blast of air that followed him inside had built a hulking wall of scarlet flames between him and the exit, and raked the ceiling. To reach the safety of her yard, he’d have to break through it, carrying Nadine.
Soot ringed her nose and mouth. Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell, and there was no time to check. If he didn’t get her outside, pronto, only the Almighty knew what might happen.
Eyes squinted against the blinding brightness, he tucked her hands between his chest and hers, then pressed her face into the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath, Lamont gave a mighty cry and surged ahead.
As he plunged through the fiery barricade, the thunder of the blaze melted into searing heat. He felt its fury, biting at his forearms and knuckles, his earlobes. The foul-smelling scent of burning hair assaulted his nostrils as he ran for his life and Nadine’s. Legs churning, boots pounding—first over hardwood, then flagstone, and finally onto the welcoming softness of soft sod—he ran.
He’d gone halfway down her driveway before his legs gave out. Draping her across his lap, he gulped air and checked her pulse. Grateful tears brimmed in his eyes once he saw that she was breathing—raggedly, but breathing! “Hey,” he whispered. Finger-combing burned bangs from her forehead, he cleared his throat, hoping she hadn’t heard the hitch in his voice. Gently stroking her soot-streaked cheeks, he said again, “Hey, give me a sign you’re okay, will ya?”
Long lashes fluttered, then her lids lifted, exposing blue eyes made violet in the fire’s eerie orange light. “You kicked in my door,” she croaked. “Bet ya busted the lock.”
Blessed relief surged through him at the sound of her smoky voice. He hugged her tight. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” He heard her smack her lips, and wished he’d thought to grab the bottle of water standing in the cup holder of his truck. Then it struck him like a two-by-four to the head. “Where are Adam and Julie and Amy?”
“They…the kids took Amy…” She sputtered. “Drive-in movie,” she said, “in…somewhere off Route 27, I think…”
“Thank God,” he said, and as the welcome sound of sirens screamed closer, Nadine slid back into unconsciousness.
The ambulance was the last truck to screech to a halt. EMTs shoved him aside and lost no time hooking Nadine up to an IV, loading her onto a gurney and sliding her into the back of the vehicle. Lamont was telling a state trooper what little he knew about the situation when the rescue vehicle sped away, Nadine in tow.
Should he wait here for her kids or follow the ambulance?
A hand on his shoulder made him lurch.
“Sorry,” a paramedic drawled, “didn’t mean to startle you.” Then, “Don’t worry. I’ve seen smoke inhalation dozens of times and I know when it’s bad. She’ll pull through just fine. Besides,” he added, chuckling, “that’s no ordinary woman in the back of that truck. That’s Nadine Greene. Me ’n’ Nadine—we go way back.” He took off his helmet and gave a slow nod. “Why, that li’l gal is stronger’n most men I know. The docs’ll probably hafta tie her down, but mark my words, one night in the hospital, an’ she’ll be rarin’ t’get out.”
He’d meant to reassure, Lamont knew. And what he’d said was true—if anyone could rally from a thing like this fast, it was Nadine. But that thought was lost amid others: What kind of relationship did she have with this guy, and why hadn’t she told Lamont about it?
He ran both hands through
his hair as guilt churned in his gut. This was neither the time nor the place to be acting jealous that his steady girl might’ve flirted with the high school quarterback.
The firefighters all but had the blaze under control. Water from their hoses spat and hissed as it pounded down on the smoldering remains of the house. He wondered how much of this Nadine had seen. None of it, he hoped, because priority one was getting her back on her feet. And, knowing her, recuperation would be stalled if she got to fretting about how she’d rebuild.
Oh, how he wanted to be with her now!
But Lamont knew in his heart what she’d ask of him, if she could: Stay, and explain things to her son and his family, and assure them that she’d be fine, right as rain, fit as a fiddle.
He’d teasingly called her the Mistress of Clichés at Lily’s wedding reception. That memory conjured others, like the night they’d walked hand in hand around this very yard, and how she might have let him kiss her earlier, if Julie’s helpful question hadn’t interrupted, and—
“Here comes Nadine’s boy,” the EMT said, gesturing toward the pickup rolling up the driveway.
Lamont took a deep breath. Surely Adam had passed the ambulance, tearing the opposite way, as he headed for the farmhouse.
“Lamont,” her son said, hefting his daughter from the car, “where’s Mom?”
“She’s on her way to Amarillo General. Just a precaution, I’m sure.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Adam said, staring at the smoking remains of the house.
“Do they know how it happened?”
Lamont turned toward the voice, and saw Julie, still sitting in the passenger seat, holding a paper napkin to her lips. “Sorry,” he said, “but I can’t tell you how it happened. Saw the flames from my place, called 911 on the way over.” He didn’t tell them the condition Nadine had been in when he’d found her, how pale and vulnerable she’d looked as the EMTs loaded her into the ambulance. Instead, he echoed the paramedic’s words about her grit and stamina. With each syllable, Amy’s blue eyes grew larger.
