“I think so.” He gingerly wiggled his jaw. Surprisingly, it still worked.
“I can’t believe he did that!”
“I can. I kept trying to tell you he was jealous.”
“I know, but… Why hit you? That’s not fair. We’ve never given him any reason to…” She took a ragged breath. “Somebody must have seen you kiss me!”
“News travels that fast? I doubt it. Not even around here.” Sean glanced up and down the narrow road. “I have an idea he was watching us himself.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Shaking her head she studied Sean’s face. “Move your hand and let me see your chin.”
“I’m not sure I should let go of it until I decide if I’m still in one piece,” he quipped, wincing. “Your boyfriend packs quite a wallop.”
“I told you…”
“I know, I know. He’s not your boyfriend. He means nothing to you. Maybe you should tell him instead of me. I don’t think ole Craig has figured it out on his own.”
“He should have. We had a big enough argument the night we broke up.”
“Then, it’s probably an ego thing. Most men are like that. We aren’t exactly rational where our women are concerned.” His eyes met Rachel’s and darkened. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Of course.” She looped her arm through his. “Come on. You and I are going into the house to put some ice on your face. Otherwise, you’re liable to look like you were in a fight.”
“I was,” Sean gibed. “I just didn’t find out about it in time to participate.”
Looking up at him with a smile she said, “Oh, I think you participated plenty.”
Seated at Rachel’s kitchen table, Sean held a cold pack to his jaw as he watched her preparing fresh lemonade. She’d kicked off her shoes and was standing with her back to him, giving him the opportunity to enjoy looking at her without embarrassment.
He’d always thought of petite women as delicate, which she was, in a way. Yet she was also strong. Any lack of size was more than made up for by her spunky attitude and obvious intelligence.
When he started to grin, the pain in his cheek muted his good humor. If he was going to convince Rachel he was fine, it was apparently going to have to be done straight-faced.
“I could squeeze those lemons for you,” Sean said. “The guy didn’t cripple me, you know.”
Rachel turned, pitcher in hand. “I know. But there’s no need. I’m all done. If we finish this batch, you can squeeze the lemons for the next one, okay?”
“Sure.” Sean tried a lopsided smile and was happy to find it didn’t cause undue pain.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are. The way you say things sometimes. I know you don’t mean to, but it comes out sounding like you’re talking to little kids.”
“It doesn’t!”
“Oh yes, it does. There’s a kind of cajoling tone you use that reminds me of the way you deal with Samantha when she’s pitching a fit.”
“Oh dear.”
Rachel placed the pitcher on the table, went to the cupboard to get tall glasses, then filled them with ice from the freezer before returning. She stood till she’d poured them each a glassful of lemonade, then sat down across from him.
“I think it’s kind of cute,” Sean told her.
“And I think I’ve been spending too much time exclusively with children.”
“Possibly. You’ve definitely found your niche, though. I admire that. You know what you want to do and you do it. There are times when that can take a lot of courage.”
“No kidding.” She smiled over at him. “Speaking of courage, how’s your face?”
Sean chuckled. “I hardly notice it.” In order to drink he’d had to lay aside the towel they’d wrapped around the ice cubes to pad them. Now, he canted his chin toward her. “How does it look?”
“Kind of red. Could be from the cold instead of a bruise. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Suppose it’s too late for me to grow a beard to cover it?”
“Probably. Although I did notice a little stubble when—” She broke off, suddenly all too aware of the intimate way she’d caressed his cheek when she’d been so worried about his welfare.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his hand over the unhurt side of his face. “I guess I do need a shave. Too bad my hair isn’t darker, like my brother Paul’s. He can go from clean-shaven to looking like a bum in a day.”
Rachel had noticed a definite stiffening of her companion’s posture as soon as he mentioned his brother. That was the second time. Whatever had distanced Sean from his family clearly had left hard feelings that he had yet to deal with.
“I like the color of your hair,” Rachel said. “It’s kind of brown and kind of red at the same time. Very unusual.”
“My genealogy is part Irish and part German with some unknown ancestors thrown in for interest. Guess you could say I’m a mutt.”
“We all are.” She took a slow sip of her lemonade and licked her lips before continuing. “According to family legend, one of my great-great-great-grandmothers escaped from the Trail of Tears.”
“When the Cherokees were marched across to Oklahoma?”
“That’s the time. There were actually several different trails. The one that came through northern Arkansas was called Benge’s Route, named after the army officer who was in charge of that detachment.”
“How interesting.”
“I thought so. There were supposedly about twelve-hundred Cherokees in that particular group, although nobody kept very accurate records of the tribes back then.”
“So, what makes you think your grandmother escaped?”
“Family legend. In those days, folks didn’t talk openly about things like that, so there’s really no way I can prove it—but I’d like to believe the story is true.”
“Can’t you trace the genealogy somehow?”
“Not without more details. I don’t even know her original name. I’m assuming she anglicized it. Supposedly, she hid out on a local farm till the army gave up looking for her. Later, she married a boy from around here and they lived way back in the hills where nobody bothered them.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I always thought so. And she wasn’t the only one to break away from the band. Folks around here say that’s why there are so many dark-haired, blue-eyed natives. There were a lot of blue-eyed Cherokee.”
“Really?” Studying her face he noted—not for the first time—the striking effect of dark lashes shadowing the vivid blue of her eyes. “I had wondered why your eyes aren’t brown like your hair.”
He’d paid that much attention? Oh!
Rather than admit to herself that she was flattered, she continued with their discussion of history. “I just wish the Native Americans hadn’t been forced to hide their origins in order to live away from the reservation. Think of the stories they could have told.”
“They probably did pass on their oral history to some extent. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have known anything about your ancestor.”
“That’s true. So, tell me more about your family.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“No skeletons in the closet? No big secrets?”
Sean huffed, gave her a derisive look. “The skeletons in my family are more likely to be found in a bar than in a closet.”
To Rachel’s dismay he abruptly got to his feet and carried his half-empty glass to the sink.
“I’d better be going.”
“You should keep ice on that bruise,” she cautioned.
“I have ice at home.”
“I know. But you still have to get from here to there. Where do you live, anyway?”
“East Serenity, in the new apartments. That’s why I was eating at Linden’s when we ran into each other. It’s close to home.”
“I see.” Rachel rolled the kitchen towel more tightly around what was left of the ice cubes she’d given him and held it out. “Here. Take this with
you.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Humor me.” She was following him to the back door, towel in hand.
“Since when do you need humoring? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you mad at anybody.”
“I was plenty mad at Craig Slocum about half an hour ago.”
Sean managed another crooked smile. “I wasn’t too crazy about him, either. Next time, remind me to duck.”
“If I have to remind you,” Rachel said with a soft laugh, “maybe he hit you harder than we thought.”
“It wasn’t bad. I’ve taken lots worse.”
The comment hadn’t been specific, yet she couldn’t help assuming he was still referring to his family. Though she hadn’t grown up with siblings, she had had friends with brothers and sisters. They’d never admitted that rivalry within the family had led to physical clashes, but she knew that kind of thing happened. It was certainly more likely among boys.
And, as the youngest, Sean might have been cast as the scapegoat. That unfortunate tendency was one she’d dealt with before in her students. It wasn’t all that rare for one child to be singled out to bear the brunt of an angry parent’s outbursts, which often led siblings to behave in a similar fashion and produced an atmosphere of ongoing abuse.
Rachel laid her hand on his arm to stop him as he started through the open door. When he looked down at her, whatever she’d intended to say fled from her mind and was replaced by “There’s only one place to find unconditional love and acceptance, Sean.”
She hadn’t meant for her concern to be so evident or for her words to be so bold. In truth, she’d had no forewarning that she was going to say anything that alluded to God’s perfect love. Which was just as well. If she had planned to present a plea for her Christian faith she’d probably have gotten so uptight she’d have stammered something unintelligible and ruined the whole thing.
His frown wasn’t as puzzled as it was off-putting.
“If you mean church, you can forget it. I already told you that.”
“No, not church.” Smiling benevolently, Rachel shook her head. “You don’t have to be in a special building to open yourself to the possibilities God offers. Jesus said that all the time. I know it seems farfetched to think that a Heavenly Father can love you just the way you are, but I happen to know from experience that He can and does.”
“Right. I suppose you believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, too.”
“I used to. Then I grew up and searched for the truth myself. Faith isn’t a gift I can just hand you, or I would. It’s an inside job. Like love. You can’t see that, either, but you believe it exists, don’t you?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” He pushed through the door. Before turning to head for his car he said, “Thanks for the lemonade. I know you were risking your reputation by taking me in to doctor me. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. The next time you get clobbered you’ll know where to come for first aid.” To her relief, that quip brought his crooked smile back.
“I don’t intend to stand still and be Craig’s punching bag again,” Sean said firmly. “There aren’t any more unhappy guys waiting to deck me, are there? I hate surprises like that.”
“Nope. He’s it. One’s enough, don’t you think?”
“One is plenty.” Sean backed away toward his waiting car.
Schatzy followed, barking bravely and nipping at the air by Sean’s ankles, as if his ridiculous efforts were the real reason the man was leaving.
When Rachel caught up to the little dachshund she scooped him into her arms for safekeeping and held him close while he wiggled, stretched and licked at her earlobe in pure adoration.
“I’m glad he’s not a mastiff,” Sean said as he started the car.
“Me, too. He’d be awfully hard to cuddle if he was.”
“Right.”
Watching Sean back out of the driveway, she wondered if the redness on his cheeks was from the blow he’d received or if he was blushing again, simply because she’d mentioned cuddling.
Either way, she was the cause, Rachel reasoned.
To her chagrin, that concept didn’t bother her nearly as much as she thought it should.
Chapter Nine
By the following morning, Sean’s face showed little sign that he’d been punched. He did notice a few school staff members whispering and sneaking peeks at him, but he figured that was normal, given his newcomer status. Moving to any strange area would have been the same. Serenity might be a tight-knit community, but there wasn’t anyplace that didn’t have its cliques. Here, they just didn’t make any bones about it.
Sean chuckled to himself. He’d only been in town for a week or so, yet he’d long ago lost count of the number of times someone had looked him up and down and drawled, “You aren’t from around here, are you?” It was as if he’d had “Outsider” tattooed across his forehead!
Well, at least he finally had an office—of sorts. Vanbruger had had maintenance clear out a large storage closet directly behind the main offices and had fit it with a desk, chair and single upright filing cabinet. It was certainly not much, but he couldn’t fault the school district for that. He’d known when he applied for the counselor’s job that it was a part-time position, which was why he’d suggested he become their standby bus driver. Chances were good he’d been hired partly because of his versatility.
He’d removed his jacket and was trying to decide how best to arrange the cramped room, when a knock on the door startled him. “Yes?”
Rachel opened the door, stuck her head through, looked around and grinned. “Hey, cozy.”
“You could call it that.” He dusted off his hands. “Come on in. I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour.”
She obliged, laughing softly. “I don’t think it should cost more than a dime at the most.” Crossing to his desk in three steps, she ran her hand over the scarred surface. “Nice furniture. I love antiques. Where did they get this one?”
“From storage, I assume,” Sean said. “I’ve already cleaned a mouse nest out of the bottom drawer.” The memory of all the dust made his nose itch again and he sneezed.
Rachel had circled the desk and was pretending to admire it. “How lovely. It came with its own science project. Just like my refrigerator.”
“You have mice in your refrigerator?”
“No, silly. Science projects. You know, moldy things I can’t identify that have gotten shoved to the back of a shelf and been overlooked.”
“Whew.” Sean made a face and pretended to wipe his brow. “I’m glad you explained. I ate something you fixed from that refrigerator and I was getting worried.”
“You didn’t eat, you drank,” Rachel said.
“Lemonade,” he added. “I drank lemonade. When you just say I drank, it sounds like you mean something else.”
“Sorry.” She studied him out of the corner of her eye while she made a point of looking elsewhere. “You have a nice view from here, too.”
To her delight, that ridiculous observation made Sean laugh. “I think you have to work here longer than I have to rate a window. I thought I might get one of those fake ones. You know, the frame is real and then you put an outdoor scene behind it so it looks like you do have a view.”
“Well, don’t buy one,” Rachel said quickly. “When I remodeled my house I stacked all the old wooden window sashes out behind the toolshed. You can come pick out whatever you want from the pile and we can rig it to hang.” She rapped on the paneling. “This sounds hollow. Maybe you should screw the frame right to the wall for support.”
“Uh-huh.” He sighed pensively. “Too bad I don’t have access to power tools the way I used to at the store. It would be much easier to drill holes for the screws.”
“I have lots of tools at home. You’re welcome to borrow anything you need.”
“You do?”
She found his amazement amusing. “Yes, I do. Why? Did you think men were the only ones allowed to own tools?”
“Not
exactly. It’s just hard for me to picture you with a framer’s hammer in your hand, banging in sixteen-penny nails.” Pausing, he added, “Sixteen-penny is a size, not the cost per nail.”
“I know that.” Rachel made a face at him. “You have a lot to learn about country girls, mister. Some of us even drive tractors and help with the haying before we’re out of grade school.”
“Did you do that?”
“Well, no. But I have friends who did. The closest my folks got to farming was to keep some beef cows and raise a few calves every year. We either traded for what little hay we needed or bought it. Most of the time there’s plenty of grass for grazing, as long as you don’t run too many head on a small plot of land.”
Sean offered her his only chair. When she chose to remain standing, he perched on the edge of the battered desk. “I can see I have a lot to learn. The kids won’t respect my advice in other areas if I come across as ignorant about things like farming.”
“Don’t worry. You’re bright. You’ll catch on,” Rachel assured him. “And you’ll be able to give them pointers about someday surviving in a big city.”
“I suppose a lot of them do leave here once they’re grown.”
“Not as many as you’d think. Some go away to college, of course. I’ve found that the majority of the families who’ve lived in the Ozarks for generations try to talk their kids into staying fairly close by. Kind of like your father did when he involved you and your brothers in his business. What made you pull away, anyway?”
Sean got to his feet and circled the desk. When he was on the opposite side he turned and faced her. His jaw was set, his gaze penetrating. “You might as well stop bringing up my family, Rachel. I never should have mentioned the store or my brothers in the first place. I don’t intend to discuss anything about them—or my past. Period.”
Flustered, she said, “Don’t be shy, Doc. Speak right up. Tell me what you really think.”
“I just did.”
“No kidding? Well, enough chitchat. It’s almost eight. I’ll have a passel of five-year-olds looking for me any minute.” Backing toward the open door she felt behind her with one hand till she made solid contact with the jamb.
Samantha's Gift Page 9
