by Liz Talley
“Welcome, Shelby,” Abigail drawled, going back to buttering the huge popover rolls.
The other woman lifted her gaze to Shelby. “Hi, I’m Mary Jane, Matt’s wife. We’re glad you’re here. It’s good for John.”
Shelby didn’t know what to say. “Oh, well, I thank you all for letting me tag along.”
Fancy waved a hand. “Enough chitchat, we gotta finish up this dinner. I’m hungry as a bear in spring. Shelby, dear, you come over here and help me with this gravy. Birdie, run out and see if Uncle Matt is done with the turkey.”
Birdie gave an elaborate sigh, but rose and headed toward the back door. The dog followed, tongue lolling, eyes adoring. The cat coldly assessed those gathered, licked its paw and turned, dismissing everyone. Shelby had never had a single pet her entire life and the thought of having them as a part of a family seemed weird...and somewhat unsanitary.
For the next thirty minutes, Shelby, clad in a spare apron, learned how to make gravy from drippings while chatting companionably with the others about the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade and the fact the forecast predicted rain for the upcoming Candy Cane Festival. Shelby didn’t contribute much, just savored being part of a process she’d never experienced before—holiday dinner preparation.
In her family, they gathered in the evening around lit candles to eat the dinner Mosa created with Cornish hen, oyster dressing, a few gourmet side dishes and a sparkling champagne and/or Washington Riesling. It was all so very elegant and civil.
Not so this meal with its macaroni salad, candied yams and green bean casserole made with soup. One-word description—Southern.
John popped his head inside the kitchen. “Shelby, can you break away?”
She had been filling cups with ice and stared at the job half-done.
“Birdie, take over for Shelby,” Abigail said, oven mitts on both hands.
Requisite huff sounded, Birdie took the stack of cups from Shelby.
“Wash your hands first.” Abigail nodded at the farm sink.
Shelby surrendered her task and followed John out the back door where several men stood staring at a huge pot. A golden turkey hung from a nearby hook, permeating the air with deliciousness. Her stomach growled in response even though she didn’t eat meat.
“You’ve already met my father. This is my brother Matt,” John said, indicating the man who stood an inch taller and several inches wider than him. He looked like a football player or a prison guard. Rough, no-nonsense, more similar to John than not. The other man seemed nothing like John or Matt.
“And this is the baby of the family—Jake.”
Jake was shorter, but very put-together. Auburn strands caught in the sunlight and his blue eyes swept down her body with appreciation and thoroughness. Chiseled pretty face, crinkled blue eyes and white smile. He reminded Shelby of a crocodile, seemingly placid, but ready to gobble at the slightest provocation. His body language screamed “I’m here to serve you but don’t think you’ll catch me.”
“Hi,” Shelby said, donning a smile. “I appreciate your family having me for lunch.”
Jake arched an eyebrow, his eyes amused. “Thanks for sacrificing yourself. We’ll try to make it painless.”
John frowned.
Jake grinned bigger. “What? She just said we can have her for lunch, and you know how I love blondes.”
“See what I deal with?” John said.
Car doors slammed around front.
“Ding dong, the witch is here,” Jake cracked.
“Stop calling your aunt a witch,” Reverend Beauchamp said, scooping up a huge aluminum pan, heading toward the bird.
“If the broom fits...”
John jerked his head toward a path winding toward a small garden. “Walk with me?”
Matt and Jake exchanged knowing looks.
Shelby fell into step with John, and as soon as they were out of earshot, he said, “I’m sorry about what happened with Carla. Mom didn’t say anything about inviting her.”
“You can’t help Mrs. Stanton feeling the way she does.”
“No, but I could have talked to her beforehand. Or we could have skipped coming.”
Shelby caressed the blossom of a yellow rose arching over the path. “I wouldn’t want you to miss this. Your family’s nice.”
“They’re a little too much at times.”
“I like them,” she said, lifting her gaze to his.
“You said you’d stay.”
She nodded. “The devil made me do it. I felt a little defensive and judged by Carla.”
“She’s always been so reasonable,” he murmured, shifting his gaze to the trees swaying behind the house. A small creek ran the length of the backyard, an oddity in the middle of a town.
“Grief changes people...as you are well aware.”
“She wants to stay damaged,” he murmured. “I don’t.”
His words brushed against the reservation she felt at blurting out she’d stay. John wanted to heal...and maybe she could be part of that. He had a good reason for wanting to move into the sunshine of life.
“Maybe so,” she said, “but I understand the way she feels. Breezy Hill was her home and now it’s not. Her daughter was your wife and now she’s not. Bitterness grows like a weed over something like that.”
He nodded. “And now there’ll be a baby. Not going to be easy for her.”
“I’m pretty sure she’ll hate my guts.”
“She wouldn’t go that far.”
Shelby didn’t say anything. How could she? She didn’t know Carla, didn’t know anything about her grief...or even her daughter. But something told her Carla would definitely go that far and maybe further. Hadn’t she said something about the trust? Could Carla force John out of the house? Take away the farm?
Maybe her staying wasn’t such a good idea. John shouldn’t have to choose between her and what he loved.
“Thank you, Shelby.”
“For?”
“Staying. I can’t make any promise other than I will be there for you.”
“I never asked for anything, John,” she said, meeting his gaze straight on. She might be down, but she wasn’t out. Shelby didn’t need him. She’d learned over the years how to take care of herself—physically and emotionally. No one had to pick up pieces for her.
“No, you didn’t, and I admire you for your independence as much as I admire you for taking a chance and staying in Magnolia Bend. We’ll have to feel our way around this thing, but I want to do it.”
“Define it.”
His forehead crinkled. “Having a baby.”
“That’s already happening,” she said.
“Living with me?”
“You sound confused. And we are talking about a platonic relationship, aren’t we?”
He nodded. “I don’t know if I’m ready for anything beyond friendship.”
“You were ready for something more a night almost three months ago.”
“That was different,” he said.
“Define that.” Shelby crossed her arms.
He gave her a hard smile. “Busting my balls today, aren’t you?”
“No,” Shelby said. “I’m setting my parameters. Start with the night we began.”
“I drowned myself in Jack Daniel’s so I didn’t remember. I wanted numbness, but then you walked into Boots and I felt something more than I thought I could feel. I wanted to feel you against me, have someone touch me with something other than compassion.”
His honest words made her stomach flip and her heart ache. She couldn’t fool herself—John Beauchamp still loved his wife. He was as inaccessible as every other man she’d ever been with. This wasn’t anything other than two people making their way through something they’d never thought could happen�
�parenthood. Love wasn’t part of the equation.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?” he repeated, moving them farther away from the house. “What does that mean?”
“I’ll move into Breezy Hill and give us a chance to know each other, to become a team for our child.”
Relief combined with something she couldn’t pin down reflected in his eyes.
“I have an appointment with Dr. French tomorrow morning. Afterward I’ll arrange to move some things from Seattle.”
“Do I need to take you to the doctor?”
“No, you need to work,” she said with a smile. “I looked up sugarcane farming, and you’ve been generous in taking so much time away. I’m a big girl, used to taking care of myself. No need to put yourself out.”
“Actually it’s been nice to have someone to share my evenings after a long day in the field.”
Shelby smiled at his admission. Oddly enough, she knew what he meant. Living in Spain, she’d dreaded going home. In her classroom, energy hummed, students joked and she had purpose. In her small flat, she’d rambled around lonely as a coot on a winter’s lake. Perhaps that’s why she’d attached herself so firmly to the handsome, warm Darby Dufrene. He’d made her feel not so alone, and he seemed just the sort of man her parents would approve of. Maybe her feelings for Darby hadn’t been love. Maybe she didn’t know what love was. What she did know, however, is things with Darby hadn’t worked out, and she’d looked for comfort elsewhere and ended up pregnant.
She had to deal...and now she had someone to help her.
“Thanks for being my friend and giving me a place to stay until I figure things out.”
John’s gaze lightened. “Not sure I’m being a good friend if I have a selfish motive in wanting you to stay.”
“I know. I understand your motive,” Shelby said, placing a hand on her belly.
John took her hand. “Still, thanks for staying.”
“Let’s see if you say that in a few months when I’m bloated, gassy and cranky.”
His eyes widened.
Shelby withdrew her hand in case she got too used to his touch and wanted more. “Well, that’s what it says in my pregnancy book.”
For a moment, he looked horrified then shrugged. “Red beans do that to me and I survive.”
“Oh, Lord, I’ll make sure we don’t eat those,” Shelby said.
“I’ll stay away,” he said, moving back toward the big house where kith and kin awaited the carving of the turkey. “Would you mind letting me borrow the pregnancy book? Or giving me the name of a good one? I’d like to know what I’m up against.”
“I have several. You can take your pick.”
“So we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing this.”
John broke into a smile, and Shelby was reminded of the man in the photo sitting in the guest bathroom at Breezy Hill. “Together.”
“Together,” she agreed.
* * *
USUALLY THE FRIDAY after Thanksgiving, John took a break from harvesting and went duck hunting with his father and brothers, but since he had missed so much time with his crew, he stayed at Breezy Hill, rising with the sun to make up for lost time.
Of course it was move-in day for Shelby, too. Not that that was any reason to miss hunting with his dad. Or at least that’s what he told himself.
He’d stayed up late the night before, cleaning out the guest bedroom Rebecca had decorated with her old college bedding. They had rarely used the room, saying it would make the perfect nursery when the time came. But that time never came, of course, so it had gone largely ignored. He’d found soft sheets and washed the towels so they’d smell fresh. He’d scrounged around and found some flowery-scented soap in the back of his bathroom cabinet and some nice-smelling wood chips. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but the scent reminded him of a summer day. He’d poured it in a bowl and set it on the nightstand, but then he thought it looked stupid and dumped it out.
Basically, he felt nervous as a kid on prom night, and for a guy who’d already scored with his date, that felt silly. But he wanted her to like his house, wanted her to stay and not go back to Seattle, taking the child with her. Even though it had been less than a week since he’d learned his baby grew in her belly, he didn’t think he could bear that loss.
Perhaps many would think it strange to feel so strongly about the baby in so short a time, but it didn’t change the fact something moved inside him every time he thought about a child in his life.
Shelby said she would wait until his day was over before she came, so he’d left the fields early to shower, shave and grill a few steaks. He’d picked up some potatoes and a bagged salad. If she wanted dessert, he had Blue Bell ice cream in the freezer.
At seven o’clock, a car pulled into the drive. He peeked out between blinds that—he ran a finger over them—needed dusting. A silver Lexus?
Seconds later, Shelby climbed out of the luxury sedan. She wore jeans, a long-sleeved Henley shirt and running shoes. Her hair was secured in a ponytail which swung as she took in his house. He didn’t want her to know he stood there spying on her like some creep, so he stepped away from the window, but he didn’t miss the expression on her face—doubt reflected in the orange glow of his porch light.
He moved back, nearly tripping over Bart, who sprawled at his feet.
“Damn it, Bart,” he muttered, righting himself and heading for the door just as she knocked.
Bart barked, lunging toward the door. John caught him, shoving the big brute back as he pulled open the door. Through the screen, he saw her tentative smile.
“Hey,” she said, pushing back an escaping chunk of hair, “I’m here...to live with you and stir up tons of rumors and cause your former mother-in-law to make a voodoo doll of us both.”
“Well, in that case, come on in,” he joked, stepping back and kneeing Bart. The dumb dog panted a welcome, his brown eyes happy to have another human to give him a crumb of attention. “Where’d you get the car?”
“It’s a lease. I returned the rental.”
“Been busy, huh?”
“I can get things done. Something smells good. Did you fix dinner?” She craned her head around his shoulder, toward the kitchen.
“Real men don’t cook. They grill,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable. Or maybe it was merely nerves.
Shelby dumped her purse on the hall table. “Hello, Bart,” she said, petting the dog sitting at her feet. He looked as if he’d found a new reason for living.
For a moment, standing with his hand flat against the closed door, John disassociated, his mind scrabbling, fixating on the fact this couldn’t be his life. His mind zoomed away, dissecting the scene before him: a beautiful woman, a dopey dog, dinner on the table and John teetering on the cusp of a future he’d never, ever thought could happen. Then he zoomed back into himself, snapping into the thought that his life was what it was. He couldn’t stay on the perimeter anymore. Time to move forward.
“Come in the kitchen and wash up.”
She trailed behind him and he sensed she took in his home in a new way...as someone who would live here rather than making a onetime stop. “I stayed stuffed from dinner yesterday so I haven’t had much to eat. Suddenly I’m starving.”
“Yeah, about my family yesterday—”
“Don’t you dare apologize. They were wonderful. I felt like I was in a movie.”
“National Lampoon?”
Shelby laughed. He decided he loved her throaty laugh. Made him hungry for more of her.
But he wasn’t supposed to feel that way.
“Well, they were funny.”
“And you ended up next to Aunt Lucy.” He faked a shudder. “She can’t hear dynamite and thinks discussing her health issues counts as conversation.
”
“But it was educational. I now know how difficult it is to mix up the swishy medicine for the thrush she got from the strong antibiotic her doctor gave her for the infected boil on her butt...and how turnip greens, whatever they are, affect your aunt the next day. She ate quite a few servings of that dish your neighbor brought, so I feel pretty bad for her Home Health nurse today.”
John snorted, pulling out the plates he and Rebecca had picked out at Dillards twelve years ago. The irony he’d be sharing his first meal as a—God he could barely think it—single man hit him between the eyes. But he ignored it, swallowing the pain of moving on, determined to put one foot in front of the other.
After refocusing himself, he loaded the plates and took them to the breakfast table where on Monday he’d first shared tea with Shelby. Setting the plate in front of her, he sank into the chair he’d always sat in. Then thought better of it and switched to the one next to Shelby. New perspective needed.
“This looks good,” Shelby said, eyeing the steak, “but I think you should know I don’t eat meat. Uh, some fish and shellfish on occasion, but—”
“You don’t eat meat?”
Shelby’s cheeks bloomed pink. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, trying to comprehend why someone would refuse meat. He wasn’t sure he knew anyone who didn’t love a good cheeseburger or a perfectly grilled filet. “I noticed you didn’t eat turkey yesterday, but it never crossed my mind.”
“John, it doesn’t offend me. I don’t expect you to know everything about me...yet. This is all new.”
No shit.
“You want me to take it off your plate?”
She shook her head. “How about I slide it onto yours? I bet you worked hard today and can handle some extra protein.” She smiled and the pink faded.
For the next few minutes, they ate, silently chewing. John’s mind flipped through how hard it was to start dating again, and Shelby’s mind flipped through God only knew.
Wait. He wasn’t dating. This was dinner essentially between two roommates. Roommates who’d had sex. But drunken sex didn’t really count, did it? So why did it feel like a date?
