by Anita Higman
A young woman seated them at a booth inside a small indoor gazebo. A canning jar sat in the middle of the table, overflowing with yellow roses and miniature Texas flags. Trudie had been seated there a few times before, but always alone. She scooted in across from Mason, looking forward to getting to know him better.
Trudie fingered the velvety petals. Just as she was about to comment on the folk song “Yellow Rose of Texas,” she was interrupted by a chirpy waitress in overalls.
“Hi, I’m Cody.” She handed them menus and then told them about the special for the day. “So, what would you folks like to drink?”
The waitress scribbled down their beverage orders, let out a little sigh over Mason, and then sashayed toward the kitchen.
Mason leaned over the table. “Trudie?”
“Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you if you’d like to—” His attention seemed diverted for a second.
Trudie followed his gaze over to a small crowd of people ambling into the café. She sensed a twinge of uneasiness rising in him.
The same group of people spotted him, waved, and then rushed right over to their gazebo. A woman, a remarkably attractive one, appeared to be leading the pack. She bounced on her toes. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Wimberley. I mean, Mason. But I wanted you to meet some of my family.”
Mason rose. “I would be honored. But first let me introduce you to Trudie Abernathy. Trudie, this is my newly hired secretary, Lily Larson.”
Lily took hold of Trudie’s hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.” It was hard for Trudie not to notice how much Mason’s male clients would enjoy being greeted by Lily. But she hoped it was only a good business move on Mason’s part and nothing more.
Lily gathered her hands into a bouquet. “Well, and this is my mother, Dorothy Larson. And this is my older brother, Scotty Lee, and my little sister, Hillary Sue.”
The little party beamed with good wishes, and everyone took turns shaking hands.
After all the introductions and chatting had ceased and the happy group had migrated to the other side of the café, Mason sat back down again. He looked exhausted. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“It’s no problem. They seemed like very nice people.” But Trudie also had to admit it was the one time when she wished the beloved townspeople of Humble weren’t so warm and friendly.
“Well, I don’t really know them. I just met Lily and hired her this week.” Mason fiddled with his napkin. “And well, Lily has been out of work. I think she’s just grateful to have a job.”
“I can tell.” Trudie just hoped Lily wouldn’t be too grateful. It was impossible not to notice the way she radiated glamour at every turn. She was shapely and resplendent and, well, beauty pageant material. Trudie felt a tug of envy and immediately dismissed it. She hated wasting her worries on such a useless emotion, and she didn’t like to think of her fellow female sojourners as competition—even if they were. She supposed if anything were to blossom between Mason and herself, then it would just need to happen all on its own. With or without a ravishing beauty at work fetching him espresso and looking all pouty.
“Trudie?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” Mason reached out to her but didn’t touch her hand.
“Oh yeah. I’m fine. I just got a little lost inside my head there for a second.”
“Is that anything like getting discombobulated?”
Trudie smiled. “A little.”
Mason moved the cluster of roses to the side of the table. His jaw had a determined set to it. “Well, what I was trying to say earlier was, I wondered if you’d—”
Banjo music revved up so close to their gazebo, Trudie and Mason both startled. The owner of the café, Eddy “Banjo” Jones, had suddenly appeared, playing his instrument with an Earl Scruggs kind of sound.
As many times as she’d eaten there, she’d never heard Eddy’s music before. His finger picking was skillful and fast, and Trudie wondered if he also played in some of the local live music places.
Eddy stopped right in front of their table, and for a few minutes he played a patriotic tune just for them. After he moseyed up to the stage area, Cody arrived with two steaming plates of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and fried okra.
When the waitress had gone, Trudie grinned and once again turned to Mason. “I think you’ve been trying to ask me something.” She stirred her creamy mashed potatoes around with her fork and took a bite.
Mason looked at her, the gold in his eyes sparkling. “If you want to hold off on coffee and dessert tonight, I have some at my house. I bought us some gourmet coffee beans straight from the verdant hills of Jamaica, and dessert straight from the frozen food section at the grocery store.”
Trudie chuckled.
“No, I’m kidding, really.” Mason lifted his chicken to his mouth and then set it back down. “But I did make us homemade cinnamon rolls, if you’re interested.”
She thought that prospect sounded wonderful as well as romantic, but she couldn’t help but ask, “Were you that sure I’d say yes to dessert and coffee at your house?”
“No. But I was hoping. A lot. Sweated a little, too.” Mason grinned.
Trudie paused, trying to absorb the moment. The fact that Mason had gone to so much trouble on her behalf was quite a surprise. Maybe she should say yes quickly to put him out of his misery.
Chapter Seven
Mason slipped the house keys out of his pocket as he escorted Trudie up the cobblestone path toward his house. When they stepped out of the piney woods and the log cabin came into view, he heard Trudie gasp.
“Oh, wow, your house. It’s somehow grand and charming all at the same time. You must love living in a place like this.”
Mason smiled, pleased that she was so pleased. “I do.”
“You know, I’ve driven on Will Clayton Parkway a hundred times and never knew this was back here. You own all this land?”
“No, just some of the acreage around the house.” Mason let them in through the front door and then flipped on some lights.
“This is amazing.” Trudie walked along the walls in the entry hall, gazing at the framed photography and the sculptures. “Did you take any of these photos?”
“I wish I had. But sadly no. I’m only a collector.” Even though he had each piece of artwork memorized, he still studied them with her, grateful to see someone take an interest in the things he loved.
Trudie looked at him, surprise lighting her blue eyes. “You have some remarkable pieces here.”
’Thank you.” Mason looked down at his favorite statue, which was the figure of a woman carrying a basket of fruit and whose hands were folded in prayer. “Art helps to make life bearable.”
“Yes, it does.” Trudie reached out to the same statue and briefly touched the woman’s face. “It expresses what’s in our hearts when there are no words.”
“Now that sounds like the reflection of a true artist.”
“Oh?” A sadness washed over Trudie’s face, but then it quickly faded.
Mason watched her, wondering what memory could have given her such an expression.
Trudie turned from the statue and faced the living room. “Did you have this house built?” She ran her hand along the polished railing.
“Yes, several years ago.”
She stepped down into the sunken living room, her steps making tiny clattering noises on the wood floors. “It’s like a rustic but elegant hunting lodge…only without the dead animals on the walls.”
Mason chuckled. “Good description. That was kind of what I was going for. Only I’m afraid to say there are some dead animals on the walls in the den.”
“Oh.” She grinned.
He looked back at her, eating up her assortment of expressions. They held that pose, looking at each other for a second. “If you’ll follow me into the kitchen, I’ll turn on the
coffeepot.” Mason made his way through the living room and noticed his clothes were still strewn on the couch and the floor. When would he ever learn to pick up after himself instead of always relying on his housekeeper? Probably never.
Mason turned on the coffeemaker and then scooped two unburned buns out of the baking dish. He turned around to find Trudie folding the napkins.
“Where’s your flatware?”
“Middle drawer.” He grinned, thinking how much he enjoyed watching Trudie putter around in his kitchen. “Lane told me about your volunteer work at the children’s hospital in Houston. And that you’ve worked there for years.”
“I’m sure Lane bragged on me too much, but I have enjoyed working with the kids. They astonish me. I doubt I could ever give them as much love as they’ve showered on me.” She placed the forks on the napkins.
“When do you go to the hospital?”
Trudie came over to him. “I’m on a summer break right now, but I’ll be back there in the fall.” She leaned on the counter. “By the way, I’ve been wanting to say how sorry I am for Lane’s overzealousness…well, concerning us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love my sister, but just for the record, she was doing a little unauthorized matchmaking on my birthday.”
“Oh, you mean the lunch. It wasn’t a problem. Actually, I was concerned that you’d felt trapped that day.”
“Well, maybe a little at first. But I got over the feeling pretty quickly.”
Mason grinned. He loved Trudie’s honesty. So few women said things straight out. To him, they always did so much beating around the bush that he wondered how they ever got anything said. He put the plate of sticky buns in the microwave, nuked them for a few seconds, and then set them out on the kitchen table.
Trudie looked around. “Did you design this kitchen?”
“No, but I did make quite a few adjustments to their plan. I also added the slate floors and the granite countertops.” Mason poured them a couple of mugs of coffee and pulled out a chair for Trudie.
“Your house is well thought out. I can tell it came from an organized mind.”
Mason sat down across from her. “I guess I have to be organized, since my business is chaotic at times. Oh, and unpredictable.”
“Like a capricious woman?”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t come to mind.” He caught himself staring at Trudie. Mason liked looking at her face. She didn’t bother with a lot of makeup but always had a fresh-out-of-the-shower look. And besides enjoying her blue eyes, he especially liked her lips. They looked like the cherries he’d brought home from the grocery store.
Trudie took a bite of her cinnamon roll. “This is seriously good. You’re not afraid to use extra butter and cinnamon.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it.” He took a big bite as well, but it wasn’t as much fun as watching Trudie dig into her roll with gusto. She really did love it. She wasn’t just being polite. “You’ve got a little frosting on your mouth.”
Trudie licked her lips.
Once again, Mason realized his gaze was drifting to her mouth. The chimes on his clock went off in the kitchen, startling him.
“And so do you have a recipe for these babies?”
“Yes, but I never follow it.”
“I can’t follow recipes either. I always like to see what might happen if I make some changes. You never know when there’s a masterpiece waiting to happen.” She took another bite.
Mason wondered if that was her philosophy in life. “My sentiments exactly.” He took a sip of his coffee. It was strong but good. The caffeine would keep him up half the night, but then so would her beautiful eyes.
Trudie pointed to his guitar in the corner of the kitchen. “I assume you play.”
“Yes, I do. With the dexterity and speed of a one-toed sloth.”
She laughed. “I doubt that. I really would love to hear something.”
“Maybe when you know me better.” Mason rested his chin on his hands and looked at her. “Right now, I’m afraid I’ll scare you off permanently.”
Trudie smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Her long slender fingers wrapped themselves around the mug, embracing it. “Your Jamaican coffee was worth the money.”
“Thanks.” They continued to chat about light topics as they finished up their dessert and coffee. Mason was enjoying Trudie’s company. So much so that he hoped nothing would go wrong—that she wouldn’t ask too many questions about his family. At least not yet anyway.
“So, do you have an office in your home?”
“Office? I do.” Mason stiffened. Now why would she ask that?
“I was wondering if you bring your work home a lot, or if this place is like a retreat.”
“I do have a home office, but I only work here if I get really behind.”
She took a casual sip from her cup. “And are you usually behind?”
“Sometimes.” He smiled.
Trudie rested her neck on her palm as she gazed at him. “I’d love to see your office.”
Mason nearly choked on his coffee. “Really? Why?” He doubted he could refuse Trudie anything, and yet he knew showing her his office on their first date would be a bad idea.
“Because for some reason I think someone’s workplace might tell more about a person than where they relax.”
Trudie’s face looked so innocent. She meant well, but she was also a little too insightful. He felt himself squirm. It was too soon to let her into his life so profoundly. What if she disappeared as the other women had— the other women he’d grown to care about? “Well, I’d be happy to let you see it, but it’s not really a place I show people…very often…anymore.”
“I’m sorry.” Trudie shook her head. “I’m way too nosy.”
“No, you’re not.” He patted her hand, but the gesture felt awkward. There was a crease between her brows, and he was sorry to have been the one to put it there. The moment suddenly felt as uncomfortable as the one when his new secretary, Lily, had shown up at the café. Mason took a deep swig of his coffee and then another, hoping it would bolster his courage. “I’d like to show you my office right now. That is, if you’re finished with your dessert and coffee.”
“I’m all done, but are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing.” Mason knew it was only a matter of time before he’d have to show Trudie all the facts of his life. He might as well know sooner rather than later how she would perceive them.
“Well, okay, if you’re sure.” Trudie set her napkin down on the table.
“All right then.” Mason took one last sip of his coffee and then led Trudie through the kitchen, the dining room, and down the long hallway to his office. After a pause he opened the sliding oak doors, which revealed the other side of his world.
Chapter Eight
Mason followed Trudie into his office.
She walked over to the large aquarium and seemed transfixed on it, watching the array of saltwater fish dart and glide through the tank. “How wonderful to have this in your office.”
He stood next to her. “I enjoy it…very much.”
Trudie offered him another look of amazement as her attention was drawn to the opposite side of the room to his private atrium of tropical flowers and trees. “Oh, my. Palms and orchids.” She pointed upward on the glass. “And you’ve got tree frogs in there too. I love tree frogs.” An automatic mister came on and lightly sprayed the interior. Trudie turned back to him. “It’s like a little paradise. No wonder you don’t want to show this off. Your guests would never want to leave. It’s the most incredible office I’ve ever seen. How could you ever get any work done here?”
“Fortunately, it’s a secondary office.” Mason smiled, wishing the moment could stop right where it was, so the inevitable wouldn’t happen. But it did. He watched as Trudie strolled toward the wall of family photos.
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Th
ey all look so happy.”
“They are. A little crazy sometimes, but I love them.”
Trudie touched one of the pictures. “And this is your mother and father?”
Mason walked over to her. “Yes, that’s Emily and Edward.”
“Very handsome couple.” She then pointed to an old photo of his parents at the dedication ceremony of their new business. “Oh.” Trudie looked back at him. “So, it’s your parents who own Wimberley Funeral Home here in Humble.”
“Yes, that’s right.” He crossed his arms.
“I’ve driven by it a few times. It always looks so peaceful there nestled in the woods and the meadows. I like driving by it.”
Mason felt a measure of relief wash over him. “My father would be pleased to hear you say it. Not everyone responds with enthusiasm.”
“Really?”
“Well, as I’m sure you can imagine…people don’t always like being reminded…you know…that this life comes to an end.”
Trudie fingered the sleeve of her dress. “Dying is part of living.”
Mason smiled at her.
She turned her attention back to the photo. “But the sign in front reads WIMBERLEY AND SONS. So, you have brothers?”
Mason knew the progression of queries. He knew them all too well. “I had one brother, Nate Wimberley.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
Trudie pointed at another family photo. “Is this your brother next to you here?”
Mason nodded. “It is. But that photo is an old one. He died ten years ago in a hiking accident.”
“I’m so sorry.” Trudie touched his arm. “I shouldn’t have been so inquisitive and—”
“Trudie.”
“Yes?”
“It’s okay. I want you to feel free to ask me anything.” Mason closed his hand over hers briefly.
