Daddy's Little Matchmaker

by Roz Denny Fox

  Louemma’s eyes were shining. “I did. I did it by myself. Well,” she admitted, “Dog helped. I dropped the shuttle a million times maybe. He picked it up and gave it back to me each time, didn’t you, boy?”

  Laurel was surprised to see tears glinting in Alan’s eyes. Or perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, given his great love for his child. The sight touched her more than she was prepared for, however.

  Alan found it hard to control the range of emotions he felt just then. Louemma’s bright smile felled him. Closing his eyes, he sank to his knees and enfolded her and the dog in a hug that had both recipients struggling for release. “I can’t help it,” he mumbled time and again as Louemma said he was squishing her. “Damn, but this calls for a celebration.” Scrambling up, he checked his watch, and ignored the fact that Louemma scolded him for swearing.

  Laurel tried to discreetly wipe away her own joyous tears. But when she noticed the moisture gathering in Louemma’s eyes, she gave up, knelt opposite where Alan stood, and cried with the little girl. “It’s a start,” she murmured. “Sweetie, your back and arms will ache tonight. You used muscles you haven’t used in quite a while. Alan,” she instructed, gazing into his still-stunned face, “do you understand what I’m saying? She may be wakeful. May need her muscles rubbed.”

  He reached for Laurel’s hands, rose with her and danced her around the room. “Come home with us. We’ll have Birdie prepare a proper feast. And you can take a gander in our medicine cabinet to see what lotions and potions will work on Louemma’s muscles.”

  “It’s Birdie’s night off,” Louemma reminded her dad. “And Mrs. Honeycutt’s taking Nana to the Hill’n Holler planning meeting tonight. It’s a potluck at the Methodist church. You were supposed to ask Laurel if she’d donate a scarf, remember? Nana knew you’d forget.”

  “What’s this about a donation?”

  “A local festival. Something town patrons came up with to get in on the tourist trade that descends on our area during the fall foliage tour. It’s not until late September. We’ve got the rest of spring and summer to go before they need your donation. I just assumed I had plenty of time to work up to asking you.”

  “I’ll be glad to donate a scarf. See how easy that was, Alan?”

  “Okay, but that still doesn’t solve our celebration problem. Come home with us anyway. I’ll cook. Birdie will have left something for us to pop in the oven.”

  “Alan, I know you’re bound and determined to get me to visit Windridge. I will. I’m…just not ready yet. But if you two are really on your own tonight, why not let me feed you? We’ll share that great-smelling cake. Unless you gobbled it up as you threatened.”

  Alan seemed unsure now that the offer had been made. “How does eating here sound to you, Louemma?” He hesitated because she hated to eat in front of strangers. Lunchtime at school had been one of the deciding reasons for home-schooling her.

  “Does Dog get to be at your table, Laurel? Oh, Daddy, she said I could call her that.”

  “He doesn’t as a rule, Louemma. I suppose I could make an exception tonight in honor of your accomplishment.”

  “Okay. Can we have chicken’n dumplings? Birdie fixes that when it’s my birthday.”

  “Louemma,” Alan cautioned. “When someone’s nice enough to invite you to dinner, you don’t put in a request. Laurel’s not running a restaurant.”

  “Well…I may just be able to manage chicken and dumplings. I roasted a chicken the day before yesterday. It won’t take any time at all to prepare everything else. Although I’m sure Birdie probably makes fluffier biscuits. I never quite got the hang of making light biscuit dough.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you cooked at all,” Alan said as he helped her close the windows and lock up.

  “How did you suppose I ate?”

  “That didn’t come out right,” he said. “I just meant you’re busier than any woman I know.” Their eyes connected briefly over Louemma’s head, his brimming with admiration, hers unreadable.

  She led the way down the path, but turned to walk backward to check the others’ progress.

  More relaxed than he’d felt in longer than he could remember, Alan playfully grabbed Laurel and held her so she wouldn’t trip and fall. The path was engulfed in shadows, making the light unpredictable. He discovered enough to worry about her. Now, if he could figure out a way to steal a kiss…

  Laurel chatted easily with Louemma once they went inside, less so with Alan.

  He sat back at first, apparently content to listen. But on more than one occasion he chimed in, and the conversation grew increasingly amicable—and interesting. Laurel was impressed that he was so well versed on a such wide range of subjects. Plus, he seemed genuinely interested in what she said. Dennis, even when he was sober, usually wanted absolute silence during meals so he could watch sports.

  Only after Louemma yawned loudly, and Laurel and Alan turned to see her nodding off, were they ready to end the evening.

  Laurel sprang out of her chair and began gathering up leftovers. “Would you look at the time? Nearly nine. I can’t think what’s gotten into me. I haven’t offered to cut your grandmother’s cake, nor made a move to fix you coffee.”

  Alan studied Louemma with an appraising eye. “Save the cake for our next visit. Freeze it. Or go ahead and eat it. We’ll ask Vestal and Birdie to make another, won’t we, Louemma?” He’d already risen out of deference to his hostess.

  His ingrained manners were also something Laurel needed to get used to. The more time she spent around Alan Ridge, the more she realized had been missing in her marriage. Now she wondered how she’d let herself be so blind as to fall in love with Dennis Shaw.

  “I should offer to help wash dishes,” Alan said, casting a worried glance between Laurel and Louemma.

  “Don’t be silly. Louemma’s had a tiring afternoon. I hope you and your grandmother appreciate how much effort it took her to make the progress she has.”

  “I do, and she will. Vestal always had the faith I lacked. How can I ever thank you, Laurel?”

  “It’s a tiny beginning, Alan.” She picked up an empty plate and the soup tureen, and from motions she made with her head, he got the message that she wanted a word with him alone.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told Louemma. He stacked the remaining bowls and hurried after Laurel.

  “You have something to say that Louemma shouldn’t hear?”

  “Yes. I want to prepare you for the possibility that her next lesson could be a setback. At the hospital, patients don’t all keep making strides forward. Sometimes it’s one step forward and three steps back.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” As Laurel gestured with her hands, Alan found it easy to capture them and kiss her knuckles.

  She snatched them back. “Why did you do that?”

  “I felt like it. Your hands wrought magic with my daughter. A kiss expresses something words can’t convey. I saw the engineering you did on the loom. You gave Louemma a positive experience today.” He ran his palms lightly up and down her arms. “I’m truly and profoundly grateful, Laurel.”

  A shivery joy seemed to spring from his fingertips and settle warmly in Laurel’s abdomen, stirring desire—something she’d assumed was long dead. Because it felt so natural, she edged closer to Alan and placed her hands flat against his chest. “You’re more than welcome. Louemma’s a wonderful child. Keep fighting, Alan.”

  He couldn’t deny the tug on his senses, which urged his head closer to Laurel’s inviting lips. It was more than gratitude he felt. And he was a millimeter away from an honest-to-God kiss when Louemma’s plaintive call made them spring apart.

  “I have to go,” he said reluctantly. “Please, though—tomorrow night, join us for dinner. Six o’clock?”

  “Yes,” Laurel murmured.

  It wasn’t until her guests had gone that she wondered how Alan had persuaded her to agree. Still, she couldn’t be too upset. Not when they’d shared something so precious with
Louemma. Not when Alan had almost kissed her. She’d wanted his kiss, and that shocked her most of all. She felt an urge to see him in his own surroundings. An urge to discover whether these feelings were only a spell cast by a big Kentucky moon.

  Chapter Ten

  LAUREL MADE IT A HABIT to be on time. Dennis’s drinking had caused them to be late a lot, or to cancel at the last minute. Tonight, ten minutes before the appointed dinner hour at Windridge Estates, she sat at the end of their winding lane, pondering whether to stay, or leave and make up an excuse. She’d gotten good at fashioning excuses while she was married. Now her sweaty palms felt slippery on the steering wheel. Was she dressed okay? Would the woman she’d met at the hospital see at a glance that Lucy Bell’s daughter didn’t fit in here?

  The stone structure on the hill must have come straight from Laurel’s childhood fantasies. White pillars supported a full balcony. Three cupolas added old-world charm. Growing up, she’d whiled away hours imagining her adult self as a wife and mother in a fairy-tale house like the one her mom had described in maudlin moments. It resembled exactly the home Laurel faced, telling her that her mother had probably longed for Kentucky.

  Laurel sat there so long remembering that when she glanced up, she saw Alan Ridge charging downhill on foot. He wasn’t wearing a suit as she’d expected. In fact, he looked the same as he did on days he brought Louemma for lessons. Now Laurel worried she might be overdressed.

  Chest heaving, he jogged up to her pickup and knocked on the window. “Did you run out of gas?” he asked as she cranked down the window.

  “I ran out of nerve.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. Move over. I’ll drive from here.”

  “No, I will.” She latched on to the door he’d opened, and tugged it shut. “I need to stop being—well, I’m okay now, Alan.”

  “Cold feet gone?”

  “Let’s say they’re warmer.”

  “Good. I’m still hitching a ride. I hate to admit it, but I’m getting too old to do hundred-yard sprints.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “My mama lectured me about never picking up strange men.”

  He stepped up on her running board. “Drive. If I walk around to the passenger side it’d be just like you to leave me here.”

  “I wouldn’t. Only…how will this look to—to your grandmother?”

  “She’s used to me, Laurel. Take off, before I lose my grip.”

  She did, creeping up the hill. What if his grandmother watched this sideshow from one of those massive, mullioned windows? What would she think?

  Apparently Vestal Ridge had better things to do. The couple entered a house that might well have been empty.

  “We’re here!” Alan’s booming voice ricocheted around the vast marble entry.

  Laurel gaped up at a glittering chandelier that cast a prism of rainbows on gilt-edge mirrors flanking a polished, antique pedestal table. She tripped on the threshold and almost fell flat.

  Alan caught her elbow in time. “Don’t let the foyer intimidate you,” he murmured with a grin. “The Ridge who built this house greeted business clients here before he hustled them on up to the distillery. This, and the old office up there, are the estate’s grandest rooms.”

  Louemma peeked around a corner. “Where’s Dog?”

  “Oh, hi, honey. He’s at home.”

  The girl disappeared, but Laurel wished she’d stayed. She was guilty of gawking as Alan ushered her down the hall. She admired what she saw of polished cherry floors and wainscoting in what probably was the living room. They crossed into an impressive dining room with high ceilings, filled with French provincial antiques of the type Laurel coveted.

  Suddenly, the woman she’d met at the hospital appeared, pushing through an adjacent French door. Perfectly set white hair softened the lines of her face. “Forever more, Alan, dinner’s ready. Why were you lollygagging? And where’s Louemma?”

  “I’ll fetch her,” Alan said.

  He left, and Laurel wanted to snatch him back, but Vestal was extending an age-spotted hand, its slenderness set off by a sparkling dinner ring. “Welcome to Windridge. Honestly, men have so little common sense at times. Oh, what a pretty suit. Red becomes you, my dear. Your grandmother was partial to red, too. Come to think of it, you remind me of her as a girl.” Her voice cracked.

  Laurel saw a vulnerability in the faded eyes she hadn’t expected. Before she had time to think about it much, Alan returned, Louemma at his side. Laurel realized she’d never seen Louemma take more than a step on her own.

  “I wanted you to bring Dog,” she said, eyebrows lowered, lips pouting.

  Laurel smiled. “Honey, he’s home doing his duty as a guard dog. You’ll see him Monday at your lesson.”

  “But I want to see him now. He’ll be lonesome. You and Daddy go get him.” The child kicked a foot against the table leg.

  Not knowing what to say, Laurel deferred to Alan. He spoke rationally to Louemma, reinforcing Laurel’s words, but was interrupted by a woman wearing a ruffled apron backing into the room through a swinging door. She set a steaming roast on the table, along with a dish of creamed peas. “What’s all this fuss, missy-lou? Birdie can’t have you feeding her crown roast to no dog.”

  Alan introduced Laurel to the short, plump woman of indeterminate age.

  Before Birdie bustled out again, Laurel felt thoroughly vetted. No one seemed bothered by the fact that the housekeeper shook salt over her shoulder and set the shaker back on the table. Or that she engineered the seating to suit herself, which included moving a pedestal holding a vase of flowers from the corner between Alan’s and Laurel’s chairs to the other side of the room. Already shaken by Louemma’s sulking, Laurel was glad when Alan carved slices of meat and laid one on her plate.

  Vestal passed her the peas, followed by a bowl of red potatoes. “Thank you,” Laurel murmured. “I trust Alan’s told you how excited we all were yesterday to see Louemma weave several rows without my help.”

  Alan dished up peas for his daughter and mashed her potatoes. “A fork handle is shaped like the shuttle Laurel fashioned for you, honeybee. Show Nana how you can close your fingers around something solid.”

  The girl flatly refused. She tightened her lips against a spoonful of peas Alan lifted to her mouth. She balked at everything and began crying for Dog.

  The more Alan tried, the louder and more uncooperative Louemma became. Finally, he slid back his chair. “Please excuse us. I think Louemma will be happier in a time-out.”

  Laurel felt bad for both Alan and Louemma. She hoped her visit wasn’t the cause.

  The whole time Alan was gone, Vestal fussed and fretted about the medical profession’s failure to cure Louemma. The old woman seemed frailer than Laurel had judged her to be at the hospital.

  Even after Alan returned and took his seat as if this there wasn’t a problem, Laurel thought the meal was a disaster.

  At one point he leaned over and whispered, “Relax. Kids are quick to explode and as quick to make up. Louemma will ask for something when she gets hungry.”

  Laurel smiled feebly.

  Vestal, who hadn’t eaten much, placed her silverware on her plate and turned to Laurel. “I suppose Alan told you I didn’t know Hazel exhibited her crafts over in Berea. Not until her funeral. As girls, she and I were inseparable. And during our early married years. Then we…took different paths. I regret that. I hope you’ll consider our home yours while you’re visiting Kentucky.”

  “Oh, that’s kind of you, Mrs. Ridge, but…I’m not visiting.”

  “Please, call me Vestal.” She fixed her attention on a napkin she’d begun to pleat and fold. “I’ll never understand why Hazel felt the need to go behind our backs and file for that land. My door was always open to her.”

  “File for what land?” Laurel asked politely.

  “Grandmother.” Alan reached across the table and stilled Vestal’s nervous fingers. “I promised Laurel a stress-free evening. Why don’t you tell her about so
me of the great times you and Hazel did share? Laurel never met her grandmother, remember?”

  Laurel sent a questioning glance between the two, sensing an undercurrent of tension. A moment passed in silence.

  Alan probably didn’t want her to hear anything negative about Hazel, as she had so few memories as it was. Undoubtedly the women’s falling out made it hard for Vestal to talk about their happier days. Laurel watched her tug her thin hand from under Alan’s. Her eyes cleared and she launched into stories Laurel had difficulty concentrating on.

  Nevertheless, she forced a smile, and picked at the food remaining on her plate. As the evening wound down, so did Vestal. In a last-ditch attempt to salvage the night, the old woman turned to Alan. “It’s a shame Birdie’s meal went begging. So Laurel’s trip isn’t a total waste of her time, Alan, take her on a tour of the distillery. People are always hounding us for private tours,” she said to Laurel, then rose with visible stiffness, adding, “I’ll go check on Louemma.” Unhooking a cane from the back of her chair, she patted Laurel’s shoulder in passing. “We must get together soon, my dear.”

  Alan had risen from his chair, but as he prepared to sit again, he noticed Laurel folding her napkin. He tossed his haphazardly onto his plate. “I guarantee you’ll find a tour of the distillery more stimulating than tonight’s meal,” he said, trying to break the tension.

  Laurel jumped up. “No, thank you. I can’t. You know that, Alan. Please tell Birdie my poor appetite had nothing to do with her cooking.”

  “At least stay for coffee.”

  “It’s better if I leave. Maybe Louemma will come out and eat.” Without further ado, Laurel all but ran from the house.

  Not sure how the evening had fallen apart so fast, Alan heard her engine start. Hurrying to the front door, he threw it open in time to see the pickup disappear into a low fog that had rolled in. Swearing, he dawdled on the porch until he heard Birdie demanding to know where everyone had gone. Sighing, he went back to explain.

  Emily had been prone to outbursts. Even as a grown woman she’d thrown tantrums at the least provocation. He could still effect a change in Louemma through consistent discipline. But did he want another volatile woman in his life?