He opened the door and a cool blast of morning air nearly took his breath away.
Nate Jenkins met him and slapped his large hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Now’s the time to find out what you’re really made of, boy.”
Wes’s cool and controlled attempts at reserve were no match for the jovial directness infecting almost every person in this home. Why should he be surprised? It was Eisley’s family.
The thought tugged a broader smile. He shoved his hands into his pockets and wore the silly grin all the way to Nate’s truck door. He didn’t have to pretend here. He merely needed to survive the next hour or two without shooting Nate or being shot by him, right? However, trying to be a knight with the dragon-sized fury of an overprotective father stalking him might be the death of him.
***
“Where did Lizzie go after church?” Eisley wiped some mustard from Emily’s chin and tossed a look across the table to her mom.
“We dropped her off at Joe’s. She couldn’t wait one more minute to meet him, and he was nearly as excited. The two of them were cooing like a set of long-lost lovebirds when we left.” Mom shook her golden head. “If God had given Joe a little more time, there’s no doubt he’d have crossed the ocean to meet her. Aren’t you headed over there with Wes after lunch?”
“That’s right.” Eisley exchanged a smile with Wes. He sat directly across from her, with Sophie to one side and her father at the head of the table to his left.
Pastor Rhodes probably didn’t appreciate Wes’s presence at church today, as he’d proven to be a tempting distraction to the well-planned sermon. Eisley stifled a chuckle, knowing there probably wasn’t a woman in attendance, single or otherwise, who could recall a word the pastor said. Who was she to blame them? Forgive me, Lord, for you’ve seen my thoughts.
“Uncle Joe is going to love you, Wes.”
“What makes you think everybody’s going to love this city boy of yours? I’m still not too sure about him.” Dad slid Wes a scowl, at which her knight in a snug turtleneck merely grinned. Was the guy bulletproof?
“Dad. Be nice.”
He ignored her. It really was a weak threat anyway. She needed something stronger. Like a chair. Or an anvil.
“He’s eating french fries with a fork,” Rachel whispered.
Eisley looked across the table at Wes, who was completely unaware of the effect his social graces were having on her uncultured family. She rested her chin on her hand. “Yeah, he’s so great.”
Rachel tilted her head to one side and surveyed her sister with a long-suffering eye. “Who eats their french fries with a fork?”
“British people do.” Eisley picked up her fork and shot her dad a grin. “I heard Wes showed you up at shooting this morning, Dad.” She pointed her fork at her father again, needling the victory a little deeper.
“Who went and told some big story like that?” Nate patted his belly and shook his head. “I figured it was a fair tie.”
Everyone froze. Rachel spoke first, gaze locked on Wes. “You tied Dad with rifle shooting?”
Wes gave a one shoulder shrug. “And pistols.”
“And pistols?” Greg slammed his palm to the table.
“Come on now, we don’t need to make such a big fuss about it. I was being easy on him.”
Eisley slapped the table with her laugh. “You just can’t admit he’s as good as you.”
“Braggin’ on the boy won’t help him none.” Nate took a large bite of his hot dog and then pushed at Wes’s plate. “And what’s this here ‘bout eating your fries with a fork? Afraid you’ll get your pretty fingers dirty?”
“Dad, don’t change the subject to save face.”
“Oh, Eisley.” Kay shook her head and shared a comforting smile. “The two of them have been at it all morning long. You should have heard them during breakfast, one insult after another.” She tossed Wes a grin. “Seems Wes can dish it out as well as he can take it.”
“If I was afraid of getting my fingers dirty, I wouldn’t have allowed you to slam me into the ground outside during football, would I?” Wes picked up his fork again and lifted a fry into his mouth with a defiant tilt of his chin. “And I think nudging me in the back as I made a shot was no accident. Were you getting nervous, old chap?”
Nate nearly spewed his orange juice out. “Nervous? You don’t have the stuff in you to make me nervous, boy.”
“Are you the ones over there who wear skirts?” The glint in Greg’s eyes betrayed his otherwise serious expression. Most likely, her sneaky brother was trying to rescue their Dad’s pride with distraction.
Wes coughed through his swallow. “Skirts?”
“You know, and play those pipes or something?”
Wes’s confusion cleared. Poor guy. Couldn’t everybody just leave him alone? “Oh, you mean the Scots, my northern neighbors. Those skirts are called kilts.” He took a sip of his water and stared Greg directly in the eyes, face awash with sincerity. “I only wear a skirt when I dance ballet.”
An audible gasp filled the shocked silence. Silverware clattered to the table. Oh great! Eisley squeezed her eyes closed. He did not say that out loud to her family. She could almost hear the testosterone in the room screaming in protest.
Wes chewed another bite of fries as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb to rock her family into fasting, and then lifted his gaze. “I was teasing. Since you’ve been taking the mickey out of me all morning, I thought I’d have my turn.”
Nate sighed. “I don’t know about no Mickey, but I can tell you one thing. I like you a whole lot better now that you cleared up the confusion.” He shook his head slowly and groaned. “A man in skirts and a ballerina too. That’s just wrong.”
Wes winked at Eisley, and she grinned back. Yeah, he did fit in, and the longer he stayed, the more she didn’t want him to leave.
***
“We’ve talked for nearly four hours without a break, haven’t we, Joseph?” Lizzie turned to Eisley’s Uncle Joe and touched his arm. “It’s been delightful.”
“Best visit I’ve had in a long time. And the undivided attention of a beautiful woman? I can check it off my bucket list.” Joe adjusted himself on the couch and gave Lizzie one of the most tender looks Eisley had ever seen. An expression so heartfelt and appreciative, she couldn’t watch for long without getting teary-eyed.
A sweet blush swept over Lizzie’s face and she shifted her attention to the floor. Wes reached over and took Eisley’s hand, the gentle pressure telling her he recognized the bittersweetness of the moment too.
“It’s been long overdue.” Lizzie cleared her throat, and her smile returned. “It’s quite pleasant to share conversations in person with the man I’ve engaged in chats with online.”
They shared another look, one that made Eisley feel as if she was intruding on something fragile and intimate. If she didn’t know better, she’d question God’s timing.
Lizzie blinked from her stare and turned to Eisley. “Now, dear, I can share with you my delightful findings. Discoveries of such magnitude, I could only show you in person.”
Eisley leaned forward. “Did you find another painting? Another letter?”
Lizzie drew a small bundle into her lap, her amber eyes lit with contained excitement. “Much better.”
“Better?”
Lizzie unwrapped her precious package of paper and string to reveal a tattered stack of papers bound by twine. “There are three letters, and one of them is exactly what you’ve been waiting for.” Lizzie slanted a glance toward Joe. “I’ve become quite fond of letters over the past year.”
His grin creased his eyes, and the old twinkle burned to precancer brightness. Well, this looked like some good old-fashioned medicine.
“You mean Uncle Joe?”
Joe sat up straight, her question hitting him right in his defensive streak. “Now, Pippy, with the right motivation I can write a lot more than adventure stories.” His fond gaze rested back on Lizzie. “And I’ve certainly had the right mo
tivation.”
Lizzie placed one thick stack of papers into Eisley’s waiting hands. “This is the letter Julia wrote to her great-granddaughter. It's a concise account of her life.”
Joe nodded. “I’ve already examined it, honey, and it’s gonna crack the pages of your novel wide open.”
“Oh my.” Eisley peeled back a page, afraid to tear the fragile cloth-like pages. The first line revealed a long-awaited answer.
Sylvia,
As thou awaitest the birth of thy first child, I will give thee something for which to help pass the long hours. These pages fulfill the promise I made to thee upon thy last visit. Thou hast only known me as a woman long in years, but the tales of my past are true and God’s good grace hast brought me thus. Mine own beloved Geoffrey took my barren life and pierced it with a love as fierce as steel, yet gentle as the touch of snow. Many trials led us thus, yet I praise God for the harsh sword of suffering, for as He bound my wounds, He fashioned me stronger.
I will write to thee of mine own scars and the sheerest delights of human love, but these words are all bound within the grace of God. He makes the impossible possible and the crooked path straight. Mine eyes, though old and failing, look to an unseen world with clearer vision each day—a world God allowed me the opportunity to experience in mere glimpses from mine early years until now. May these words fulfill their purpose to display God’s handiwork to thy child and other children to come.
Eisley’s vision blurred. “I think my fellow sleuth and I have an assignment after the kids go to bed tonight.” She nudged Wes with her shoulder. “Letters, and more inspiration for the novel.”
“And to think you’d given up on writing,” Joe added.
Wes looked to Eisley. “Given up?”
“It’s a long story.” She leveled Uncle Joe a warning look. “Not worth a recap.”
Joe folded his hands together and leaned forward, completely ignoring her. “She let her brother steal her love for writing. Ain’t written a story since high school.” He stared at her, an I-told-you-so smirk lighting his dark eyes. “Until this one. She has a gift and somebody needed to force her to see it.”
She rolled her eyes as warmth fused to her cheeks.
“What kept you from writing?” Wes asked. “The chapters I read were brilliant.”
“Betrayal of the worst kind.” Joe released a low whistle. “Her brother.”
Eisley growled at Uncle Joe and turned her attention to Wes. “Literature was my thing in school. Some people had sports, others popularity. I was a lit geek, and writing came naturally.” She stared down at her and Wes’s twined fingers. “I was good at it; the best in the class. So, when my senior Advanced Literature teacher announced a statewide contest where the winner received an all-expense-paid trip to Great Britain, I thought someone had handed me my dream. Writing and England?”
Even now the memory ached a little, which seemed petty after all this time. “I worked two months on my short story—a modern day retelling of Northanger Abbey with some Nancy Drew twists thrown in for good measure. My teacher raved about it, and I could almost taste the British tea of success.” Eisley tossed Wes a grin to douse some of the residual pain.
“Then Brice swooped in.” Joe interjected. “Wrote his paper overnight and turned it in an hour before deadline.”
“And he won,” Wes stated, wincing for her.
“It’s silly, really. Such a long time ago, but I lost some of the desire; or maybe it was plain old fear of another failure.” She waved the thoughts away. “Besides, it’s ancient history.”
“It took a dying man, a beautiful Englishwoman, and a new opportunity”—Joe nodded to Wes—“to find her dream again.” His grin spread. “My editor is optimistic about taking it to pub board. For a new author, this is gold.”
“Well, my dear sleuthing partner.” Wes squeezed her hand. “This evening, you work on your novel while I see to the children.”
Okay, he needs another closet reward, for certain. “You’d do that for me?”
“Tsk, that’s a small thing, pet.” He quirked a brow. “I know what it’s like to try and create words on a page.” His brows wiggled. “And I’ll use whatever excuse necessary to spend extra time with you and your children. What do you say?”
“You don’t need an excuse to spend time with me. If you haven’t figured it out by now, this Jenkins family is a stubborn lot. Don’t say you haven’t been warned, Wes Harrison.”
She was determined to keep him.
Twenty-four
The boy followed every instruction without complaint, even though the wind chilled the hair on Nate’s moustache and the steep pitch of the roof wasn’t easy for an amateur to balance on. Wes was a good fella. Nate didn’t have to admit it out loud, though.
He felt like a prosecuting attorney, peltin’ the boy with questions as quickly as Wes could pound nails into the thick asphalt of the cold shingles, but he already knew he didn’t need to nurture worries about this one. Except for getting a black eye from bumping into Nate’s elbow as they moved an eighty-pound bag of shingles, Wes had managed well. He’d talked about his childhood in the country, spent a heap o’ time on his daddy and mama, and even opened up to Nate about some of his weaknesses as a Christian. Nate felt that warming feeling he always got when he connected with a new dog, so it must be good.
Daggone it! He liked the boy.
He stifled a sigh. He reckoned he’d have to overlook Wes’s accent. Of course, the boy couldn’t help it none. The gentlemanly behavior wasn’t so bad, and it seemed to make Eisley happy. He could even ignore the boy’s ignorance about football. Nate covered his grin with his hand. Nothing a few more lessons couldn’t teach him.
Wes had what mattered most: an honest faith, a teachable spirit, and a sense of humor. But it was as clear as the nose on Uncle Herman’s face that Wes struggled with his past.
“You mentioned bein’ out in the world for a while before you made things right with God. Any young’uns from your past?”
At the exact moment Wes brought the hammer down, he lifted shocked eyes to Nate—and slammed the hammer onto his thumb. “Ahh,” he grabbed his hand, jerked off the glove and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Nate felt his brows skyrocket. Smart boy. He’d have done the same thing.
“Well, you passed the cussin’ test, and I wasn’t even testing you.” Nate laughed and patted Wes on the back. “Here let me see.”
He grabbed Wes’s hand and inspected the discolored thumb. “Oh, that’s a good one.” He grabbed a handful of snow from a nearby eave and slathered it onto Wes’s skin. “Not as good as the time I poked a screw through my finger, but you might lose your nail over it.”
Wes swallowed, working hard to control his anger, and with the same speed at which it came, it was gone. “No. No children.”
The boy lifted sad eyes and Nate knew he still carried around guilt, a feeling he understood all too well. He’d accepted God’s forgiveness for his past sins, but it had taken a long time and a lot of love from Kay to convince him God loved him anyway…and always. His youngest son, Greg, lived the life Nate used to know, and the sun never set on a day he didn’t pray for his boy.
Wes heaved a sigh that must have cost a hundred bucks and met Nate’s gaze head-on. “Nate, I love your daughter, and I have every intention to marry her someday. Apart from the grace of God, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t change who I was, but God has changed who I have become.”
Nate’s chest deflated. This boy was serious. Guilt prickled through Nate’s veins and finally gave his heart a tight squeeze. He examined this man as he would have one of his own sons. Wes’s swollen left eye was the color of a Granny Smith apple, a bright red mark on his chin reflected a blow from the back of the hammer, and his thumb was beginning to bleed a little around the nail bed. He’d been teased, tackled, nearly poisoned by chili, introduced to a bunch of crazy people, and somehow, to beat it all, he still talked proper and never lost
his temper. If that ain’t love...
“Listen, Wes,” Nate murmured.
Wes’s eyes lifted at quick attention.
“Next to God, family is the most important thing to me. Watchin’ Eisley’s heart get broken was one of the hardest things I’d ever been through. She’s always been the happy-go-lucky one, always looking on the bright side of things and helping others see it, too. I saw a part of her shrivel up and couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”
Wes’s jaw hardened. “Marshall was an idiot.”
“And a load of other words I’m not gonna say.” Nate growled.
They sat in silence for a few moments—nothing but the sound of tinkling icicles dropping off the eaves of the shed or chiming through the forest trees.
“Do you think she’ll forgive me when I tell her the worst?”
Nate studied him and saw a reflection of himself thirty-four years earlier. To his disgust, a strange, warm mist filled his eyes. Good grief. “Eisley’s got her mama’s heart. She’s the most forgivingest young’un I’ve ever seen.” Nate dusted off his jeans. “And she cares a whole lot for you, so you got that in your favor too.”
“I’m going to need it.”
Nate placed a palm to Wes’s shoulder. “We all do, and she knows it, Wes.”
Wes released a big sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time. He draped his arm across his bent knee, and the tension on his face softened. “You called me Wes.”
Nate leaned back on his hands and nodded. “I reckon I did, but everybody has a weak moment time and again.”
They started back to work, and Nate cleared his throat. “So, Wes, tell me about this rugby.”
***
Wes slung the towel over his shoulder and turned a thousand-watt grin on Nathan. “You’re an expert at washing up, aren’t you, mate?”
Just the Way You Are (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 1) Page 27
