A Man's Heart

by Lori Copeland

Over the years Crystal had written letters, childish, girlish ramblings that more often upset Jules than drew her closer. She rarely wrote back. Other than parents, the two shared nothing in common. Their nature and personalities mixed like sugar and vinegar. As they grew older, Crystal once confided that she’d like nothing better than to share a bottle of wine and talk all night. Wine gave Jules a headache, and she was dead on her feet by 10:00 p.m. Running a shell shop in Florida was less taxing than working ten hours in a potato field.

  Face it, Jules. You consider yourself more dependable. You have never tiptoed through the tulips of life. Crystal’s laid-back tendencies irked her, and she didn’t know if she was judgmental or envious of her naiveté.

  Jules’s boot encountered an unpopped kernel. She couldn’t live in this pig sty! And yet, in her own screwy way, she loved her sister.

  How schizophrenic was she?

  Reaching for a broom, she allowed her temper to cool. Once she finished cleaning up, she’d take Crystal a cup of that flowery smelling tea she drank. And apologize.

  Yes, apologize, Jules.

  It seemed that was all she knew how to do.

  Chapter 15

  Haute Peterson was a “catch” by any woman’s standards. Not only did he own the biggest farm in the area, but he was easy on the eyes. He stood just under six feet, had a stocky frame that carried nothing but hard muscle. No fancy gyms for Haute. Handling a hundred bales of hay a day took care of his physical needs. Cap that with feline green eyes, and blond hair — not to mention an outgoing personality and a perpetual friendly grin — and most women found the farmer irresistible. The puzzle was why he’d managed to stay single for thirty-four years. Haute’s diesel sat at the gasoline pumps when Jules pulled her Tracker into the convenience store to fill up.

  Haute flashed a grin when he spotted her, and walked over. Uncapping her fuel tank, he winked. “How’s it going, babe?”

  “Good. Sorry I didn’t get an opportunity to speak to you at the funeral.”

  “You were a little preoccupied.” He stuck the hose in the tank, flipped the lever and gasoline ran into the tank. Leaning against the truck, he boldly assessed her. “You get prettier by the day.”

  Heat flooded Jules’s cheeks. Pretty wasn’t exactly how she’d describe her boyish looks, short cropped hair and freckles. “You have me confused with Crystal.”

  “Hey, heard your sister was back. How is she?”

  Jules shrugged. “Different.”

  “How so?”

  “When she left here she was a little girl. Now she’s turned into a nurturer. You know the kind, driven to help people, generous to a fault.” Jules’s face turned hot. Those were wonderful traits, so why did she resent them?

  Haute chuckled. “I saw her briefly going into the grocery store a couple of days ago. She’s a looker.”

  “That she is.”

  “Hear Sophie’s coming along.”

  Jules beamed. “She’s having a few complications from the surgery but the doctors hope to clear those up soon. I’m on my way to the store to buy spelt flour. She’s requested some of my banana nut bread.”

  “She’s eating already?”

  “Not yet—she still has a feeding tube but that will come out any day.”

  “Think she’s going to beat this?”

  “Absolutely. As soon as the complications clear up, she’ll have chemo and radiation, and hopefully she’ll be home for that.”

  The pump cut off and Haute topped off the tank before he replaced the hose in the pump stand. He screwed the cap back on. “You up to doing dinner one of these nights? I thought we’d drive to Pasco, have dinner, take in a movie. Is Saturday night good for you?”

  “Saturday’s great. Thanks.” She and Haute had always gotten along well. Over the years, they’d gone out when she was back to see Pop. Haute was great company, and she could talk to him as easily as she could Cruz. In fact she had, many times, trying to explain her side of the troubled relationship. Haute knew about the two broken engagements and the fact that Jules was still in love with Delgado; that’s why she enjoyed Haute’s company. There was no pretense. No explaining sudden mood changes when they bumped into Cruz. Just comfortable companionship. Jules wasn’t looking for anything more.

  Later she pulled out of the convenience store and headed for the only large grocer in the area. She parked, grabbed a cart and wheeled into the store, intent on purchasing the flour and then heading home. If they didn’t have it, she’d have to drive to Pasco to a health food store. As she rounded the cookie aisle she heard a child’s scream. Olivia. She’d recognize that high-pitched squeal any day.

  Cruz and the two-year-old were in gridlock over a package of cookies. Livvy clutched a package of those marshmallow chocolate things to her chest, holding on for dear life. Every attempt to take them from her proved useless. The more Cruz pulled, the louder Livvy screamed. Fellow shoppers paused to watch the growing fracas.

  Pushing her cart up to the pair, Jules reached over and took the cookies out of the child’s unsuspecting hands. Olivia looked up with wide-eye astonishment. “Sneak attack,” Jules told Cruz. “The only way to deal with her when she gets in this mood.”

  “Thanks.” He set the slightly dented cookies back on the shelf and reached for ginger snaps. Jules shook her head. He touched chocolate chip.

  No.

  Oatmeal.

  No.

  Lemon.

  Absolutely not.

  Vanilla wafers.

  Jules nodded.

  He dumped the box in the cart, along with a package of oatmeal cookies, which he carefully settled in the basket beside Livvy. She supposed the treat was for him. Jules’s eyes accessed the cart contents and she felt faint. Ice cream bars. Bite size Snickers. Potato chips. White bread. Four boxes of sugary cold cereal. Some cheap brand of lunch meat she wouldn’t feed her animals. Ranch dip. Microwave popcorn. Two cans of pork and beans, and chocolate milk. “Is this what you feed her?”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s what she’ll eat.”

  “Have you thought about throwing in a few carrots? Maybe some broccoli —”

  “Neither she nor Ethan will eat broccoli.”

  “They do, and they love it.”

  Livvy lifted her palms and wiggled her fingers.

  “See.” Jules turned to the two-year-old. “You like broccoli, don’t you?”

  The little girl wiggled her fingers more enthusiastically.

  Jules bent to give her a kiss as she pushed her cart past.

  “Hey. Hold on.”

  She turned to face Cruz. “What.”

  “What does she eat that isn’t so messy?”

  Jules shook her head. “She likes to feed herself, and she is messy.”

  “With everything?”

  Jules nodded. “What can I say?”

  “Will she eat scrambled eggs instead of oatmeal? She spits oatmeal on me and the walls.”

  “Sure, eggs, fruit. Have you tried yogurt?”

  “She spits that too.” He pushed his cart in line with Jules and they continued down the aisle. Occasionally Jules reached for something in more solid form for Livvy’s meals, but the child was a spitter. Jules reached for a jar of peanut butter.

  “Oh, that’ll be great,” Cruz said.

  “She can’t spit peanut butter and jelly as far.”

  She added a can of ravioli and spaghetti.

  “Nothing messy about those.”

  Jules paused. “Look. You asked for things she couldn’t spit as far. Messy you’ll have to deal with. It’s known as ‘kids.’”

  “I’ve raised hogs that were cleaner.”

  She picked up a sack of spelt flour.

  He observed her purchase. “Are you going all ‘earthy’ like Crystal?”

  “I’m baking banana nut bread for your sister, if you must know.”

  “Oh, I must know. Your every move fascinates me. And Sophie can’t eat banana nut bread through a tube.”

  Jule
s shoved the cart faster down the aisle, tossing over her shoulder, “I thought we agreed to keep this civil for Sophie’s sake.”

  “You agreed. I listened. Sophie can’t have banana nut bread.”

  “You agreed.”

  “Whatever.”

  Biting her lower lip, Jules paused. Turning, she marched back over to his cart, lifted her fist and smacked his package of oatmeal cookies.

  He stared at the carnage. “Well that’s real adult.”

  Her lips firmed and she reached for the milk. His hand blocked her. Their eyes met and dueled. “Don’t you dare,” he warned.

  “That’s right. You detest messes.”

  “That’s right. I do.” His dark stare said they were no longer talking about smashed cookies.

  She set the milk back in the cart, in doubt about whether she would have followed through on the visual threat. If she was trying to retain harmony with him, she wasn’t scoring any points today. Olivia sat in the cart, blinking her eyes during the exchange.

  Lifting her chin, Jules regally grabbed the cart handle and wheeled off. When she left the store she heard Olivia’s high-pitched wails. Undoubtedly, they had reached the candy aisle.

  Real adult, Jules. Now he will go home and celebrate the day you broke the second engagement.

  Chapter 16

  Adan spotted smoke mid-morning. Stepping out of his truck, he studied the rising black fumes, deciding it was somewhere near the Matias place. Getting back in the cab, he spun off.

  When he pulled into the farm lot, smoke poured out of the tool shed. He grabbed a hose and raced to the outbuilding, shooting water on flames creeping up the side wall. Another ten minutes, and the whole shed would have been up in flames.

  Crystal moseyed out of the house, carrying Olivia on her hip. When she spotted the flames, she squealed.

  “It’s okay! I’ve got it under control!” Adan drenched the building, hitting every ember twice. Dragging the hose back to the well house, he frowned. “Did you call for help?”

  “I wasn’t aware anything was wrong.” Her features sobered. “Jules’s potato plants — are they okay?”

  Adan stepped in the shed to check. A moment later he returned. “No harm done. Just smoked up the walls a little.”

  “How did it start?”

  Adan focused on Ethan, who was standing next to Crystal holding a box of stick matches in his hand. “Know anything about that, buddy?”

  Ethan shifted the matches behind his back. “No.”

  “Ethan?”

  “No.”

  Crystal reached for the matchbox. “I’ve taken these away from him twice this morning.”

  Rolling up the hose, Adan grinned and winked at Crystal. “Reminds me of the time I tried to burn off a potato field without Dad’s supervision. My backsides stung for a week.” He glanced at the smoldering shed. “Why is Jules growing potatoes in the shed? Isn’t two hundred acres enough for her?”

  “They’re another one of her experiments.” Crystal fell into step as Adan prepared to leave. “She’s out here piddling into the wee hours of the morning. I’ve never known anyone so fascinated with a tuber.”

  His eyes skimmed her. “You’re looking great.”

  “Thanks. So are you.” Color tinged her tan features. He’d forgotten just how pretty she was. When she’d left she’d been a kid, one he liked to tease. This woman barely resembled the young girl he’d known. She’d cornered the market on looks, but she had a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Guess you’re anxious to get back to Florida.”

  “Not really.” She took a messy cookie away from Olivia and pitched it to the dogs. The little girl set up a wail and reached out for Adan. He took her and carried her to the truck.

  “Thought you hated potato farming.”

  She flashed a grin. “I don’t like potatoes, but I’m enjoying my stay. I miss the beach, but it feels rather nice to be home.” She said the word “home” with a possessive emphasis, but Adan knew Fred had left her out of the will. Pretty rotten deal in his opinion. Why would Matias want to split the girls further?

  Reaching the truck, he playfully tossed Olivia above his head, eliciting giggles. “Time for me to go, Cricket.”

  The little girl shook her head. “Stay.”

  “Nope, have to go.” He lowered her, ruffled her hair, and then handed her back to Crystal. Meeting the blonde’s eyes, he grinned. “See if you can keep from burning the place down.”

  Flushed cheeks darkened. “I will. Thanks for coming to the rescue.”

  Climbing into the cab, he rolled down the window. “No. Thanks to you. What you’re doing for Sophie is real nice.”

  “It’s nothing, really. The shell shop is doing fine without me, and with the economy in recession, I don’t expect a big season.” Olivia reached out to grab him around the neck for another hug. He returned the sticky sentiment.

  “Sorry.” Crystal drew the child back. “Livvy, your hands are sticky from cookie.”

  As he backed up, Adan focused on the two. Crystal might be a throw back from a love child, but she was going to make some lucky kid a good mom one of these days.

  He adjusted the side mirrors, keeping an eye on the young woman and child as he drove off.

  Darn straight, she would.

  Sophie wasn’t in high spirits for someone who was beating cancer. When Jules took the banana bread to her late that afternoon, the young mother was resting. She wasn’t wearing the scarf around her hair today. When Sophie didn’t care about her appearance, she was mighty sick. The stagnant situation hit Jules like a baseball bat. In spite of her family and friends’ optimism, Sophie was still fighting a grave battle. Swallowing a knot in her throat, Jules sat the bread on the bedside table. “This will keep for a while. When you feel better and the tube comes out it will be waiting for you.”

  With a wan smile, Sophie closed her eyes. “That might be awhile.”

  Jules’s eyes traveled her body, outlined by the sheet. Her small frame had withered to nothing. Sophie was never heavy, but this stage worried Jules. She’d have to fatten her up with fried chicken and hot fudge sundaes when she got home.

  Pulling the chair closer to the bed, Jules reached for Sophie’s hand, paper thin now. “Has the doctor been in today?”

  Sophie nodded. “Early this morning.”

  “And?”

  “He says stay the course. I need to be patient—sometimes complications happen.”

  Relieved, Jules patted her hand. “I saw Cruz and Livvy at the store earlier.”

  Sophie shook her head. “I bet that was a riot.”

  “They were in hand-to-hand combat over a package of marshmallow cookies.”

  Another smile broke across Sophie’s pale features. “And Livvy won.”

  “Nope. Aunt Jube rode to the rescue.”

  “My hero,” Sophie teased, then sobered. “How are you and Cruz getting along?”

  “We’re not. We’re on speaking terms, but barely.” After a moment she added, “How I wish I could turn back time.”

  Sophie’s voice caught. “Yeah, I’ve been wishing the same thing. What would you do differently?”

  “Hire a good psychiatrist, one that could help me figure out why I walked away from Cruz, not once, but twice.”

  “No need to hire a professional. I could tell you that.”

  “Then why haven’t you. You know what? The other night at the rodeo, I think God spoke to me.”

  “Literally?”

  “In my head. All of a sudden, I knew what I wanted, Soph. I want your brother and his children.”

  “You’ve thought that twice before.”

  “I’ve always loved him; but that night, it hit home how much and how my life will never be complete without him. Heck of a spot to be in — especially when he runs from me like I’m a rabid skunk.”

  Sophie struggled with the nose tube. “God and I have had a few moments together like that. And I didn’t say anythi
ng because Cruz warned me to stay out of his business.”

  “I didn’t warn you to stay out of mine.” Jules scooted onto the bed and held her. “So, Doctor, why do you think I am clueless to know why I do the things I do when supposedly I’m quite bright for my age?”

  “You’ve got commitment issues.”

  “No kidding. The Amazing Doctor Freud.”

  “Serious commitment issues. I, on the other hand, have committed twice to two losers, so that makes me what?”

  “Certainly without commitment issues.”

  “True.”

  Jules released her and slid off the bed. “I suppose you’ll use the same tired excuse for my behavior. Pop and Mom instilled the fear of failed marriage into me.”

  “See. You know more than you let on.”

  “I refuse to blame my parents for my problems. I’m a grown woman, capable of making choices. Admittedly, I doubt myself more than I should, but honestly, Sophie, I have no idea why I’ve backed out on Cruz twice. I love the man —” She caught her admission, then figured Sophie knew anyway. “Idolize the man. Why would I fear him?”

  “You don’t fear him, you fear yourself. You think love will fall by the wayside if you marry him—or worse that he would cheat on you like your mom did on Pop. But that wouldn’t happen, Jules. I know Cruz. He’s solid as they come, and he has a deep love and respect for God’s teachings.”

  “I couldn’t stand to marry Cruz and then lose him.” The admission slipped out in a whisper.

  “There you go, doubting yourself. You’re not your mom or your pop. And who knows the issues they had between them that caused the continual battles.”

  Oh, she knew the issue; Mom had cheated on Pop once and Pop wouldn’t let her forget it. Everything set them off. Arguments and accusations were a way of life. It is said there’s a fine line between love and hate, and that line was even narrower between the Matiases. The only reason they stayed together as long as they did was for the kids. “Regardless, I pray that Cruz will find someone and be happy.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do — sometimes.”

  “Then forget the shrink. You’re nuts. He might be my brother, but he’s one good-looking hombre, plus the fact that he has values and morals, Jules. Do you know how hard that is to find these days?”