by Arlene James
“Oh, she was all for it,” Wes informed Ann. “She, Deana and Dean Paul came to talk to me about it. Stuart Crowsen had offered him a loan, but I thought the terms were...dangerous.”
“You advised him to sell rather than borrow.”
“I did. But only after we prayed about it first.”
Ann felt her chin quiver at the thought of her father and Dean, who couldn’t have been more than twenty at the time, sitting down together to pray.
I never really prayed until Donovan came into my life...now sometimes I feel like that’s all I do.
“He’s younger than me,” Ann pointed out softly.
Wes chuckled. “If Dean Paul Pryor isn’t a man fully grown, I’d like to know what your definition for a real adult male is.”
Ann had to smile. “He’s stretched out on this bed here.”
“Aw, sugar.”
“I have to say,” Ann went on carefully, “Dean measures up pretty well. And I never thought I’d say that about any man, really.” She realized with a shock that she’d just accepted at some point that no man would ever measure up to her dad. She’d been wrong about that, and because she’d been wrong, she’d been willing to settle for less than she should have.
Wes’s eyes filled with tears. Reaching out, he caught his hand against the back of her head and pulled her to him for a hug that set off alarms all around the room.
Laughing and dashing away her own tears, Ann settled back into her chair to await the nurses about to burst into the room.
“Well,” Wes demanded, “what are you doing sitting around here? You should be back in War Bonnet.”
“You know that Meredith needs my help on the trip home,” Ann replied diplomatically.
“You aren’t needed until then, though,” Wes told her as a pair of nurses swept through the door. They fluttered around adjusting intravenous tubes and resetting machines while he argued. “The road runs both ways, you know. Go home. Come back to get us.”
“I can’t take Meri’s car and leave her stranded,” Ann protested, but she was already out of her chair and staring at the door.
“You never heard of car rental?”
Her heart beating swiftly, Ann dropped a kiss onto her father’s forehead. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too,” he rumbled, “and I’m pretty fond of that redheaded kid who keeps eating my cookies.”
Laughing, Ann practically flew from the room.
* * *
Getting out of Oklahoma City took considerably more time than Ann expected, so the hour was later than she’d have liked when she pulled her sister’s little car to a stop beneath the old tree behind the ranch house on Saturday evening. They’d arranged a rental for Meredith to drive, and then Ann had needed to repack, eat, find an ATM to make sure she had cash, fill up the gas tank, call Rex to let him know she was on her way home...
When she came through the back door, the house was quiet and dark except for the distant hum and flicker of the television in the living room. Aware that her little niece would be sleeping, Ann carried her suitcase through the mudroom, past the rear bath that opened into both the hall and her father’s room, through the kitchen and up the back stairs. A glimpse into the living room showed her two figures sitting close together on the leather sofa.
Ann considered calling out to let her brother and sister-in-law know that she was there, but she didn’t want to wake the baby. Instead, she slipped up the stairs and dropped her bags in her room then crept back down to the kitchen where she flipped on a light, went to the sink and ran a glass of water, clinking dishes and bumping into chairs. Basically, she did everything she could think of to signal her presence without waking baby Bodie.
When she walked into the living room, Rex and Callie looked over at her.
“How was your trip?” Rex asked.
“Boring,” she answered drily, plopping down into her father’s recliner. “I hate driving alone.”
“Then why did you?” Rex asked.
“I was in the way at the hospital,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “And Meri’s cat’s lousy company.”
He rolled his eyes. “I can’t stay at Meri’s apartment with that cat, either.”
“I thought maybe I could be of more use here.” She plucked at a knotted thread in the denim of her jeans. “How’s the sorghum going?”
“It’s done,” Rex told her easily, draping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Dean delivered the last of it yesterday evening.”
“That’s it?” she blurted, feeling stung. She’d known that it would be soon, but she’d thought it would happen Monday maybe.
Rex nodded, playing with a tendril of Callie’s short, wispy hair. “Good harvest. And he did a great job with the mixing station. He actually moved the footprint slightly, but it works better this way. He would know, of course, how best to place it so you can back a pickup bed right up to the mixing pan.”
Ann hummed in agreement, but all she could think was that Dean wouldn’t be coming back to the ranch, not until planting time, anyway. Callie laid her head on Rex’s shoulder, and he bent his head to whisper into her ear. She nodded, and they began rising from the sofa. A shaft of envy speared straight through Ann.
“Guess we’ll call it a night, sis. Glad you made it home safe. See you in the morning.”
Nodding, she reminded herself that they were deliriously in love and basically still honeymooning, but it did no good. As they left the room, arm in arm, she knew with sudden, shocking clarity that she wanted exactly what they had, that calm, sure, complimentary partnership underpinned with a deep abiding love, an unmistakable physical attraction and a shared, unshakeable faith. It seemed so simple, really—and all-encompassing.
Everything. It was everything.
Suddenly what she’d had—even what she’d thought she’d had—with Jordan seemed small, shabby and artificial. She couldn’t believe that she’d been willing to settle for what he’d offered, what she’d actually thought she wanted. For the first time she realized how truly great a fool she had been.
Jordan, she realized, could not be blamed for her shallow foolishness, only for taking advantage of it. No, this was all on her. She’d let her insecurities drive her away from what was most dear in her life and had clung to her career and intellectual abilities for redemption, rather than her faith. Perhaps she’d even been angry with God for making her less than what she’d imagined she should be, when that had never been the case. She’d allowed one unimportant person’s opinion to color her entire life and determine her future, even her career path, and she’d almost let it lead her to commit a great folly in marrying the wrong man.
Well, no more.
She told God how sorry she was, and then, as she turned off the TV and the lights and climbed the stairs, she began to pray for courage.
Chapter Twelve
Dean knew the moment that Ann Billings entered the sanctuary. He’d have known even if heads hadn’t turned, which had prompted his to turn, as well. Something in the air changed when Ann came around. He’d felt it long, long ago, a specific electrical charge as unique to Ann as the smell of her skin, the color of her hair, the taste of her lips. That electricity shimmered through him even as his head turned and his torso twisted, his gaze unerringly targeting the tall, elegantly beautiful woman strutting down the aisle in lemon-yellow shoes with ridiculously tall heels.
The shoes matched the tank top that she wore beneath the slender, charcoal-gray suit that screamed money and class to everyone in the room. The straight skirt stopped demurely at her knees, and the neatly tailored jacket nipped in at the waist in a decidedly feminine fashion. She’d caught her long, vibrant hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, allowing long tendrils to frame a face made up with the barest touch of rosy lipstick and dark mascara.
She looked like a queen, certainly not a farmer’s wife. Most especially not the wife of a farmer without a farm of his own.
He didn’t have the courage to approach her, but he didn’t have the strength to ignore her, either. Feeling beaten by the sheer, unreachable beauty of her, Dean turned away, pierced to the core, and prayed that she’d keep her distance. He didn’t think he could bear being around her; he didn’t think he could resist if she pressed.
Not a word of the service stuck in his mind. It all flowed right through his thoughts like so much flotsam in a stream. He tried to seize on the theme of the sermon, to lose himself in worship, to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit as he had so often in the past, but all he could feel, all he could think about, all he could focus upon was Ann and the deep, yawning sense of loss that he felt.
Beside him, his grandmother shifted uneasily. She had sensed that all was not well with him. He’d blamed the pending start of the school year in just three days’ time, but he wasn’t sure that Betty bought it. Even Donovan had felt his father’s disquiet. The boy had climbed onto Dean’s lap the previous evening for tickles and hugs, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. He was such a big boy that he had outgrown Dean’s lap, and his laughter, while bright and warming, had seemed just a little forced. Dean had felt grateful but not comforted.
He missed her. He would always miss her, but everything—including that dazzling suit she wore today—said that she didn’t belong with him. Agonizing internally, he opened his Bible to Romans, his favorite book, and thumbed through the pages until his gaze fell on the second verse of the twelfth chapter.
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will.
The pattern of the world. Did that mean Dean should disregard all these signs he thought he saw, everything that seemed to tell him that he and Ann couldn’t work? Or was that so much wishful thinking on his part? He shook his head, knowing that he couldn’t trust himself to divine anything correctly. His desire got in the way. So much for renewing his mind.
He flipped a few pages over and came to the eighth chapter. Verse twenty-seven said, And He Who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.
Dean closed his eyes and simply thought, Intercede for me, Lord. I don’t know what to say or do except...thank You.
After the service he went straight out the side door to get Donovan. As usual, the boy bubbled over with what he’d learned that morning, waving around his coloring papers and story folder. Dean nodded and listened, half hearing as he shepherded his son back to the sanctuary. There he found his grandmother and Ann cozily chatting amongst a knot of three or four other women.
Ann’s gaze zipped unerringly to meet his. Then suddenly Donovan ran across the emptying sanctuary to throw himself at her.
“Ann! You’re back!”
She went down on her knees to greet him, accepting his hug with a wide smile. “Hello, Donovan!”
“You can come, then,” he declared. “Dad said you might not be back in time, but you are, so you can come for the first day of school!”
Ann glanced up at Dean then smiled apologetically at his son. “I can’t promise, Donovan. I’m sorry. I may have to go back before Wednesday.”
“Awwww.” Donovan stepped away, slapping his hands against his thighs in disappointment.
“My father will be very ill when he gets out of the hospital,” Ann explained gently. “My sister can’t drive and take care of him, too. I have to go help. But it may not be on Wednesday. I just don’t know yet.”
“The hospital is in Oklahoma City,” Dean said, gathering Donovan against him. He knew just how the boy felt, but nothing could be done about this. “You’ve been to the city. You remember, don’t you?”
Donovan nodded. “It’s a long way,” he whispered huskily.
“Perhaps Ann would like to join us for Sunday dinner,” Betty suggested, “just in case she’s not able to be here on Wednesday.”
Dean felt as if he’d received a blow to the gut, but Donovan looked up with a grin. “Okay! We got kittens in the barn.”
Ann’s eyebrows jumped. “Kittens?”
“Yeah, four of them,” Donovan reported happily, “but we can’t keep ’em all.”
Ann groaned and looked at Dean. “You won’t tell Meri, will you? She’s insane for cats.”
He couldn’t help but smile. His heart was cracking into pieces, but she could still make him smile. “Not a word,” he solemnly pledged.
“I have to go home and change,” Ann said, cupping Donovan’s chin in her hand.
Betty chuckled. “We’ll see you shortly.”
“Yes, and thank you.”
She looked Dean straight in the eye then, as if willing him to repeat his grandmother’s invitation—or rescind it. He could do nothing more than nod and usher his son up the aisle after his rapidly retreating grandmother.
He didn’t have the courage to welcome Ann or the strength to rebuff her.
Intercede for me. Intercede for me. Oh, please, Lord, intercede for me...
* * *
Dean hadn’t exactly welcomed her at church that morning. Ann had to wonder if he regretted the kisses they’d shared. Maybe he feared that she had developed expectations. She had not—unless wishes were expectations.
After changing her clothes, Ann thought about calling the Pryors to cancel, using the excuse that Callie had prepared a special dinner without her knowledge, which was true. But then every meal Callie prepared seemed to be special, and both Callie and Rex encouraged her to go. Because Rex happened to be on the phone with their father at the time, Wes got in on the act, asking to speak to Ann himself.
“So, Sunday dinner with the Pryors, huh? Well, that’s a tonic to a sick man.”
Now, how could she argue with that, especially as he sounded sick? She brightened her chatter, mentioning that Donovan was campaigning to get her to accompany him and his father to his first day of kindergarten on Wednesday.
“Sounds like a fine idea,” Wes said. “You should go.”
“I’m just not sure about the timing,” Ann countered. “I want to get back to the city before you need me.”
“Kindergarten’s only half-day. Right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I see no problem,” Wes said. “Take the boy to school. Pick him up again afterward. Then head up here. We can be home before bedtime. Unless that’s too much driving for you in one day.”
“No, no,” Ann hastened to assure him. “That’s fine. If you’re sure.”
“Works for me,” Wes told her. “Now I need a nap.”
Praying for her father’s recovery and thanking God for his wisdom and generosity, Ann got in the truck and drove over to the Pryor place.
The old clapboard house, with its crisp white paint and unusual rounded porch that wrapped two sides of the first floor, seemed in pristine condition. Its pale green metal roof lent an air of gentility to the place, and the guttering, railings, flower beds and brick steps and walkways showed that a great deal of time and attention had been showered on the place over the decades. Easily a hundred years old, the inner windows still bore the wavy glass of the original era. Ann saw no chimney, only a smokestack. Three black rocking chairs, painted to match the trim around the many tall, narrow windows and doors, took pride of place on the porch, pots of colorful flowers spilling over around them.
A screen door at the end of the porch banged open, and Donovan and Digger came running out to greet her. She brought the truck to a stop on a neat patch of gravel hemmed in by railroad ties next to a large, white metal barn with three garage bays and several smaller doors. At the o
ther end of the property she saw a white chicken coop with the same pale green metal roof as the house and barn. The whole tableau made a very sweet picture, especially given the tire swing and tree house in the big hickory shading the porch.
Dean came out of a door in the barn and lifted a hand in what seemed a halfhearted greeting. Ann slid out of the truck and smiled at him.
“Good news,” he announced. “The cat’s moved her kittens to some unknown location.”
Ann chuckled. “You’ll find them.”
“I’m afraid so. Just not today.”
“What a lovely place,” she said then, glancing around. “Neat as a pin.”
“Grandma’s a great believer in orderliness,” he divulged, ducking his head. “There’s iced tea on the porch.”
“Sounds nice.”
Donovan hit her with a hug just as they rounded the rear end of the truck. “Come see my tree house!”
“I saw it when I drove up. Looks cool.”
“Dad and me built it. Watch how you get up.”
He ran to the tree and pulled on a rope. A ramp with rails slid down, braces dropping into place to keep it steady. Donovan half crawled, half ran up it, the dog on his heels.
Ann turned a delighted smile on Dean. “Wow! Did you do that?”
“He was pretty small when we built that,” Dean said. “Too small to climb a ladder. We had to come up with some other way for him to get up there.”
Donovan peeked over the wall of the tree house, calling, “Come on up!”
“Is it all right?”
“Sure. Go on.”
She went up the ramp, finding it solid and steady, and crept through the open doorway on her hands and knees. Standing was possible in the center of the platform, but Dean had put a sloping roof on the thing so that it was sheltered from rain, and the outer walls were only tall enough for her if she stayed on her knees. She sat with her legs folded while Digger lolled in one corner and Donovan showed her his treasures: a huge acorn, a collection of cat-eye marbles in a tin box, several tiny cars, the skull of a squirrel and a trio of “super power” rings.
