It put a damper on the conversation, of course. Just as he didn’t want to hear how happily married Patricia and George had been, Avi didn’t want to think about the family they’d broken up in order to be together. She loved Patricia; clearly, she’d loved and admired George. She didn’t want to tarnish their images. Ben understood that. It was the reason he’d never asked Patricia what had gone wrong between her and his dad. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow anything to tarnish Rick’s image.
After a moment, she changed the subject. “What’s the best thing about being an orthopedic surgeon?”
He didn’t need to think about his answer. “Helping people return to a normal life without—or at least with less—pain. What’s the best thing about being a soldier?”
She didn’t hesitate, either. “All the cool equipment. You should see my vehicle in Afghanistan. If you’ve got even the tiniest bit of a tech geek hiding inside you, you’d be super impressed. It’s the age of the geek, baby.”
Her smile was charming. She should be required to wear it all the time. Just seeing her smile, he was pretty sure, could brighten anyone’s day, regardless of how chaotic or tedious that day was.
“Do you have a subspecialty?” she asked.
“I do ankles, knees, and hips, with an occasional wrist or shoulder thrown in. Only for my regular patients and only if the injuries are minor enough. Serious ones get referred to one of our hand or shoulder guys.”
The sun through the window gleamed on her hair as she ruefully shook her head. “I find it amazing that medicine has gotten to the point where a surgeon can specialize in one specific, small body part.”
“And prosper.” He thought of the house the clinic’s top hand surgeon had just bought: big enough for the entire Noble family, a half dozen relatives, and occasional guests without sacrificing anyone’s privacy.
Though Ben chose to live in a loft in downtown Tulsa, ankles, knees, and hips were pretty prosperous, too. When he eventually had a family of his own, money would never be a problem.
“Are you good at what you do?”
He took his last bite, put his fork down, and pushed the plate a few inches away. “Very.” No modesty, no apologies. He was at the top of his specialty, with more prospective patients than he could possibly handle. He could do knee and hip replacements in his sleep, had a high success rate and a very low complication rate, and drew patients from all over the States as well as outside the country.
“Confidence is a good thing in a surgeon.” She eyed his plate, then reached across, cut off a quarter of his waffle, and transferred it to her own plate.
“Help yourself,” he said dryly, nudging his leftover packets of butter her way.
“Thanks.” She flashed the smile again. “I can live on MREs—the packaged food—but I really do love carbs for breakfast.” After adding the butter plus more syrup, she said, “Tell me about your sisters.”
“Sara’s twenty-nine, married, and has three kids. She was fortunate enough to be able to quit her job when the first one was born. Now she keeps a schedule that makes me tired—swim lessons, ballet, gymnastics, soccer, baseball, art classes, pottery lessons, church activities. It works for them, though I can’t help but wonder when the kids get to just be kids.” The comment surprised him as soon as it was out. He couldn’t say the thought had ever actually crossed his mind, but it must have been there in his subconscious.
Avi nodded. “My mom told me when I was about seven that I could take part in two activities, no more. She grew up here in Tallgrass, and she loved telling stories about playing in the sprinklers and climbing trees and finding a shady spot to read books from the library. She and her friends used to tear around town on their bikes, take picnic lunches to City Park, and go to the movies, and she didn’t want me to miss out on that same kind of freedom.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “Now that I think about it, she probably didn’t want to spend all that time in the car, running me here and there.”
Patricia had done a lot of running around with his sisters. He hadn’t been involved in activities outside school—his favorite thing had been hanging out with his buddies in the neighborhood—but both girls had. It had ended, though, when Patricia left. Until he’d gotten his driver’s license, there had been no one to chauffeur them, and by the time he got the license, they’d lost interest.
“What about the other one?” Avi prompted, drawing him out of the past.
“Brianne is thirty-one. She’s the runner. She works in oil, she’s single, and she’s the nicest woman you’ll ever meet. Sara always saw herself as the protector; Bree’s the peacemaker. She can’t hold a grudge worth a damn.”
“Can you?”
An image of Patricia flashed into his mind: on her front porch, the first time he’d seen her since his father’s funeral; she’d stepped toward him, arms open wide, and he’d flinched. The hurt in her eyes, and the resignation…
“I’ve had reasonable success at it,” he replied, hearing the self-censure in his voice. After holding a grudge for twenty years, it was hard to let go. Especially when he wasn’t sure exactly how much of it he wanted to let go of. He’d learned to be satisfied with life without Patricia. He’d been anything but satisfied since she’d come back into it.
Avi polished off the last bite of waffle, eyed the remaining piece on his plate, then laid her fork on her plate and, for good measure, tossed her paper napkin on top.
“There’s still food on the table,” he teased. “Are you surrendering?”
“I am.” A sly grin lit her face. “But only because I’m taking a couple pieces of pie home with me. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a really good meringue pie? Or even a bad one, as far as that goes.”
“I take it you can’t get that in an MRE.”
“Sadly, no.”
“Patricia makes a killer meringue pie. I’ll ask her to make you one.” He hadn’t thought of his mother’s pies in years. She’d baked them for special occasions and just-because-it’s-Saturday. Her lemon meringue had always been his father’s birthday choice, rather than a cake, and the pies had filled the sideboard at Thanksgiving and Christmas, the meringue standing six inches high, swept into curlicues, and baked golden brown. Between him and his sisters, those delicate curlicues had never lasted to the start of the meal.
Unlike most people Ben knew, Avi didn’t demur. Aw, you don’t need to do that wasn’t about to cross her lips. “That would be wonderful.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Lemon. Banana cream. Chocolate. Any kind, really.”
The waitress cleared the table and left the check. With a glance at the half dozen people waiting for a seat, Avi sighed. “What do you think? Could we auction off our table to the hungriest ones?”
He laughed. “I bet those two cowboys would pitch in at least five bucks toward our tab.”
They both reached for the check at the same time, their fingers brushing, hers small and fine, his long and nowhere near as graceful. She didn’t argue over the check, regretfully. He would have liked to extend the touch a moment longer, but when he tugged, she let go and smiled. “Thank you. Next time will be my treat.”
Nope, he thought. Because next time would be a date, and he always paid for dates.
Chapter 4
They walked along Main Street after leaving the restaurant, Avi carrying the small white bag that held a piece of pecan pie and another of carrot cake. She glanced in store windows, and Ben pointed out a few other restaurants: CaraCakes, located down a side street; Luca’s, an Italian place also on a side street; and Rosemary, a trendy little sandwich shop in an old sandstone storefront. A pale green-and-white awning shaded the south-facing building from the sun, and mismatched tables and chairs in pastel shades filled the dining room. It was charming and adorable and reminded her of nothing so much as a pile of delicately hued Easter eggs.
“The same people who own Rosemary also own Tallgrass’s priciest restaurant,” he s
aid as they passed to the next business. “It’s the kind you’re not fond of, though they do spell the name properly. It’s called Sage.”
She wrinkled her nose. “The place that was here when I was a kid was named Diner and was always busy. No fancy name needed.”
“Did you spend a lot of time in Tallgrass when you were a kid?” Ben asked.
“As much as I could. I loved staying with GrandMir and Popi and going to work at the nursery.”
“Where was your favorite shady spot to read?”
She smiled at the memory. “Under the weeping willow. It was my cave, my castle, my underwater kingdom.” Her sigh was long and wistful. “I love that tree. When I finally get a house of my own, the first thing I’m going to do is plant one for my own kids.”
Ben bent to pick up a piece of newspaper on the sidewalk, then tossed it into the garbage can a few steps ahead. “You know Tallgrass isn’t the same place where your mother grew up.”
With a twinge of wistfulness, she said, “I know. But it beats hell out of where I’ve been. There’s plenty of food, running water, health care, schools. Kids don’t have to worry about IEDs or missiles or gunfire. They don’t go to bed wondering if they’ll wake up in the morning or fear every time their parent leaves the house that they won’t come back. They know they can do almost anything they want to do. They have hope and opportunity and a future to look forward to.”
When Ben didn’t say anything right away, she gave him a sidelong glance. His expression was thoughtful, his gaze distant. She had no clue his opinion about the war, and frankly, she didn’t care a whole lot. Her conscience was clear, and, given her job, that was the most important thing to her.
After a moment, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “It’s easy to forget about the kids sometimes,” he said quietly. “It’s so far away. When I think of the war, I think in personal terms—Patricia’s husband, Lucy’s, Carly’s, all the other margarita sisters. I don’t consider that there are kids and families who are just trying to survive.”
“It’s what they do there. It’s what they’ve done for centuries. Try to survive. We’re not making it easy for them. No one ever has.”
Sweat trickled down her spine, making her wiggle her shoulders to stop the tickle. Pushing the grim thoughts to the back of her mind, she forced a smile. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’m melting. Want to head back to the car?”
He swiped his arm across the sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Air conditioning sounds good.”
Shifting her dessert bag to her other hand, she took his hand and tugged him to the curb. Sweet feelings tumbled in her stomach, pure happiness at the contact, and her palms turned damp—if that couldn’t be blamed on the weather. As they waited for a car to pass, her shoulder bumped his, and a faint shiver passed through her. “How much time do you spend in Tallgrass?”
They crossed the street at a lazy pace, and on the opposite side, she released his hand. He didn’t let go, though, but instead laced his fingers through hers. “How long will you be here?”
“Four weeks.”
His gaze locked with hers, his eyes dark and seriously intense. “I suspect I’ll be here a lot more this month than I was last month.”
Another shiver went through Avi, girlish and silly and sending quivery sensations all the way to the tips of her toes. It was always nice to know that an attraction wasn’t one-sided, especially with a man as sexy and likable as Ben. The length of her leave limited whatever might happen between them, but short-term relationships could be wonderful, too. She’d had some that she would remember fondly until the day she died.
They reached the rental car too soon. She was debating inviting him back to the house, debating whether it was entirely too soon to invite him to get intimate, when he spoke.
“How about giving me a tour of the town?”
Vague relief fluttered in her stomach. She had plenty of time to get to know Ben before she worried about getting naked and sweaty with him.
She beeped the door locks, then opened her door to a rush of hot Oklahoma summer air. It made her breath catch and added a new layer of perspiration to her face. “This is my first visit in fifteen years. I’m sure you know it better than I do.”
“Your Tallgrass,” he clarified as they both slid into their seats. “The one you remember with GrandMir and Popi.”
Hearing him say their names made her smile. She loved it when a person paid attention to what she said, remembering details that meant little to him but an awful lot to her. “Okay. How about directions to Sonic first? I haven’t had a cherry limeade in years.”
Once they both had icy giant cherry limeades, she headed east on Main. “You’ve already seen their house. They owned the nursery forever. I came to work with them every day I was here. With GrandMir, that actually meant work, but Popi was always sneaking me off to have fun.” The nursery didn’t open until noon on Sundays, so she stopped in the shade of the sign.
“They loved growing things—flowers, vegetables, trees, kids. They wanted a half dozen kids but were only blessed with the one, so they doted on everyone else’s kids, too. They taught Sunday school and gave jobs to anyone who needed one and helped put more than a few kids besides their own through college.”
“They were good people,” he said quietly.
Avi swallowed over the lump that had formed in her throat. “They were very good people.”
“Where did your names for them come from?”
A few blinks cleared the moisture from her eyes. “They chose them. GrandMir’s name was Mirabelle, and Popi’s own dad was Pops, so he wanted something close but not the same.” She swung the car in a wide U and turned back onto Main. “When I spent weekends with them in the spring, they gave me flowers to plant at home. I had no sense of what went together so our beds always looked like a blind person planted them. Man, some of those colors found in nature can clash.”
He laughed. “So you didn’t inherit the landscaping gene.”
“No, but if you want someone to dig holes in the dirt, I’m your girl.”
“Makes me wish I had dirt to dig in.”
She gave him a look as she turned onto a side street that was a straight shot into the countryside, wondering where he lived. Not in an apartment, not even a luxury one. He seemed more settled than that, but not enough for a house. Maybe a condo that overlooked the river. More likely one in south Tulsa, near the endless restaurants and shopping. Done speculating, she asked, “Where do you live?”
“I have a loft downtown. Near the new baseball stadium. Do you like baseball?”
“Not even as much as I like soccer, which is about this much.” She pressed the tip of her forefinger flat against her thumb. “That was one of my activities when I was seven. The first practice I went to, a kid kicked the ball in my face and broke my nose. I’ve hated it ever since.”
“We grew up loving baseball. My dad played two years in college, and he intended to raise his own team, but Mom put a stop to that after spending a miserable twenty-three hours delivering Sara. It wasn’t a Noble family reunion without baseball, not even at Christmas with snow on the ground.”
Avi wondered if he realized he’d referred to Patricia as Mom. It was the first time she’d heard it. “Is that why you bought the loft near the baseball field?”
He grinned as they drove past the last house on the right and the road took a sharp curve through a stand of trees. “It’s a great place—tall ceilings, hardwood floors, nice views, convenient to work.”
“And the baseball field.”
“Okay, yeah, the fact that I can walk to the games in two minutes might have influenced me a bit.”
His grin was boyish and charming and made her feel younger and prettier and freer.
“I don’t like baseball,” she said, “but I could be persuaded to attend a game with a hot dog, a cold beer, and something fun to do afterward.”
His smile was sly. “I’ll check the schedule and let you k
now.” After taking a long drink of limeade, he gestured to the farmland they were passing, broken up by occasional slashes of woods. “Did your grandparents raise their own stock for the nursery?”
“Don’t I wish. I could have been driving a tractor by the time I was ten. They bought from some small producers, but most of their suppliers were big commercial farms. Nope, this is where we’re headed.” Flipping on the blinker, she slowed and turned into a dusty long driveway that led between two pastures to a clearing a quarter-mile back.
Though it was barely eleven thirty, Avi was surprised to see that the gravel parking lot was empty. She parked a few yards from the church sign that had stood for decades between two metal poles. Though the glass that had protected the letters lay shattered on the ground, their message was still visible: Jordan Bible Church. Sun School 9:30. Church 10:15. Sun Night: 6. Wed night: 7. Rev. Tom Brady.
Climbing out of the car, she closed the door with a thud that sounded extra hollow. “It never occurred to me that the church had closed,” she murmured. “The people who came here were so dedicated.”
Her gaze swept across what had once been neatly manicured yard. Now the entire area had been claimed by Johnson grass, six feet tall with stems thicker than her index finger. Popi had considered Johnson grass a scourge, but once it got its roots in, he’d said, There’s no going back. The war has begun.
Her heart hurt as she looked at the church itself. The white paint that had once gleamed was faded and dirty. The screens over the windows were rusted, a few hanging crookedly, and only the hardiest of perennials survived in the old flower beds.
Avi walked toward the church, kicking up dust in the gravel lot with every step. When Ben joined her, she gestured toward the small, sad building. “GrandMir and Popi brought me here every Wednesday night and twice on Sundays. They opened the windows and handed out little paper fans to help keep the air stirring, and they sang and prayed like nobody’s business.”
They were at the sidewalk before the path became visible, four feet wide and winding through weeds tall enough to hide them both. Stumps of mowed-down stems poked through the soles of her shoes as they walked to the cemetery.
A Promise of Forever Page 6
