When he and Mouse reached Main Street, he slowed to a walk. The pup loved to run, but she wasn’t as used to it as he was, and she still needed some weight on her. They were waiting to cross Main at First when Lucy called his name. He turned to find her and her fiancé, Joe Cadore, whom he’d met at The Three Amigos, approaching from the north.
“What are you doing up at this unholy hour?” Lucy’s hair was pulled back, and her cheeks were pink with exertion. She wore snug shorts and a snugger top, revealing muscles he wouldn’t have guessed at in her regular clothes. In jeans, a T-shirt, and a Prairie Harts apron, she looked soft and motherly, not a bad impression to give when she was selling the homiest of foods.
“I got a couple hours’ extra sleep, but Mouse needed some exercise.” He nodded hello to Joe, then asked, “If it’s an unholy hour, what are you doing up?”
She rolled her eyes at Joe, who defended himself so automatically, it was clearly a conversation they’d had a few times before. “Hey, when we started this, it fit both our schedules, and a person’s more likely to work out if it’s part of their daily routine.” Then his grin turned sly. “Besides, you know I’m perfectly willing to ditch the walks in favor of other activity.”
Lucy slugged his shoulder, then blushed even more. Laughing, Joe hugged her close and smacked a big kiss on her forehead. They reminded Elliot of Emily and Bill—not only partners in life and love but best friends, too. According to the stories he’d been regaled with, Lucy had treated Joe like a pesky little brother while he’d waited years for her to realize there was nothing brotherly about his feelings for her.
That heart attack must have helped her along. Elliot hoped he’d never need so drastic a wake-up call.
Ha! How many times have you been in love? Emily taunted. You need something to slow you down, not wake you up.
An image of Fia popped into his head, along with one dead-certain fact: He didn’t want to slow down this time. He wanted to take only the amount of time he needed and not one second more.
“Want to join us?” Lucy gestured west. “We’re heading to the fire station to turn around, then back home, where I’ll fix something healthy for breakfast.”
“No, thanks. Too early for food.” Besides, he had a bowl of buttermilk sponge on the kitchen counter, just waiting to be mixed with egg and flour and butter for Grandma’s sourdough pancakes.
They traded good-byes and headed on. Double-checking traffic, Elliot and Mouse trotted across the street, then walked the half-dozen blocks to the apartment. Mouse, who’d recognized the scent of Fia’s house, tried to walk on past as if the building meant nothing to her—he was sure the park just visible down the street contributed to that cluelessness—before reluctantly following him in.
He’d just gotten out of the shower when his mom made a video call. He swiped a towel over his body, pulled on a T-shirt and gym shorts, and sat on the kitchen counter to answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“I told you I wouldn’t wake him, Mitchell. Don’t you think I know his habits by now?” Vicky Ross turned to the computer in time to catch Elliot rolling his eyes. “Oh, no, you do not roll your eyes at me. I’ll smack you until they stay that way.”
“And good morning to you, too, Mom. How are you and Dad?”
“Finer than fine,” his father said from the background, probably at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee and the latest edition of American Cattlemen. At the same time, Vicky said, “Oh, you know how it goes…Kids move out of state and take the grandkids with ’em. The only thing I hear about one comes from the other. Guess he’s too busy with this new job and girlfriend of his to bother picking up the phone himself.”
Dad snorted loudly, and Elliot joined in. “So far I’ve worked ten to twelve hours every day but today. I would have called you later.” After lunch, if he didn’t persuade Fia to spend the afternoon with him. After dinner, if they didn’t wind up sharing that, too. Definitely before bed unless…Nope, his brain couldn’t handle thoughts of Fia in bed and his mom at the same time, so he just stopped right there.
“So this is your apartment. I’m glad you’re not sleeping in your truck anymore. Really, didn’t you outgrow sleeping in the pickup on those camping trips we took all those years ago?”
“Nope. I like being outside under the stars, and so did you. Hey, I know you and Dad sneaked off every weekend for the first year of your marriage with a cooler of food and a bedroll,” Elliot teased.
His father appeared on the screen, snuggling up to her. “That’s probably where Emily was conceived.”
Vicky shrieked and hid her red face behind a kitchen towel. “He doesn’t need to know that, Mitchell.”
Elliot leaned against the wall, then readjusted the phone. “Mom, I found out you and Dad had sex when I was, oh, about five years old. Remember? When you started locking the bedroom door?”
His dad topped off his coffee, then returned to the table, and Vicky straightened and dropped the towel, trying to regain her dignity. “I’m gonna pray for both your souls in church this morning,” she informed them primly. “Now give me a tour of your new apartment, Elliot.”
Slowly he panned the camera around the room, ending up in the kitchen with his feet on the counter. “Get your feet off the counter,” she said. She’d spent his entire life at home telling him to get his feet off something. “You should make your bed and fold it up out of the way.”
“Then Mouse wouldn’t have any place to sleep.”
“She’s a dog, sweetheart. She can sleep on the ground like God intended her to.” Without breathing in between, she changed the subject. “What’s her name?”
“Mouse? Oh, no. Fia. Short for Sofia.”
“Lovely name. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl. All your girls are lovely.”
He made a face at her. “Are you implying that I’m so shallow I only date pretty girls?”
“No, I’m saying you date girls you find lovely by your standards, not just in body and face but in character and personality—”
“With one notable exception,” his father put in. “Five years later, we were still finding pieces of glass in the driveway.”
“So I’m sure Fia is that kind of girl, too. How old is she?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Oh, that young, huh?”
He laughed as Vicky wrinkled her nose. She looked a lot like him and Emily, olive skinned and brown haired, while they got their blue eyes—and Em’s height—from their dad. “I’m only twenty-eight.”
“Yes, but you’re…you. What is she like?”
“You know, what, Mom? I’ll make you a deal. Give me a week or so, and I’ll call you—”
“Aw, promises, promises.”
“And let you see her. Meet her for yourself.”
Vicky’s face lit up. “Before you let Em meet her?”
“Cross my heart.”
“You know, Emily has met every single one of your girlfriends before me. Every one.” She tilted her head to one side and tapped her index finger against her lips. “It’s only fair that I get to meet the serious one first.”
The serious one. That idea must have come from his sister. They were all serious in the beginning, but it hadn’t taken long for some of them to become even more serious. Hadn’t taken long for Fia to become the serious one.
“So I’ll call you next week, right?”
“Right.” Vicky beamed. “Any chance you’ll get a haircut before then, too?”
Elliot winced even as Mitchell said, “Leave the boy’s hair alone, Vick. He’s grown up, ridden bulls, fought in two wars, and takes care of himself. If he wants long hair, he’s earned the right to it.”
“Thank you, Dad. Love you both.”
“Love you, too,” his mom said. More quietly, she murmured, “And I’m still gonna pray for your soul.”
She said it partly as a challenge, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t attended church on a regular basis since leaving home, but he was an expert at saying his own prayers. Even if
he hadn’t learned it as a kid, it was a skill a man picked up easily in the middle of a battle with people trying to kill him. And given that he’d come back unharmed from three combat tours, he was grateful for all the prayers anyone wanted to say.
Chapter 8
When Elliot had asked Fia to pick a restaurant for Sunday dinner, it had taken longer than she’d expected. Zeke’s was the most popular destination, a steakhouse buffet, and also where they were most likely to run into all her church-going friends. Serena’s Sweets was another popular place where her non-church-going friends were liable to be. It wasn’t that she wanted to avoid them; she just wanted to be selfish and keep Elliot to herself.
There were lots of other restaurants in town, but she settled at last on Sweet Baby Greens, a soul food place Bennie had introduced her to. It was family-run and served the kind of comfort food that made everything else all right. Add to that Elliot’s company, and she would be in seventh heaven.
It was a few minutes before twelve when they arrived, and an elderly man seated them at a table in the farthest corner. “The most private table in the place,” Elliot commented. “Did you slip him a twenty for this?”
“No, but I’ll remember that for next time.” She settled into her chair, those last words echoing. It was nice knowing there would be a next time. It had been so very long since she’d had a good next time to look forward to. Things like doctor’s appointments, muscle spasms, and double vision just weren’t worth anticipating.
But she could have new first kisses and new first dates and next kisses and next dinners with Elliot. She could make new memories. For a few weeks? A few months? The rest of her life? At this point, she would settle for what she got. She wasn’t greedy.
Elliot touched his hand lightly to hers. “You okay?”
Startled, she met his gaze and smiled. “Yeah. I was just thinking…”
“About Scott?”
“Actually, about you. And wondering what that incredible smell is coming from the kitchen.”
He lifted his head and scented the air much the way Mouse would. “I smell ham and beans. Barbecue. Greens with vinegar and some pretty strong peppers. Corn bread. Cobbler.” He sniffed again. “Cherry.” After a moment of looking smug, he pointed behind her to a chalkboard on the wall that showed the day’s specials.
“And here I thought your nose was so much more refined than mine.”
He tried looking at his nose, making his eyes cross. “It is a pretty good nose, isn’t it? But pretty much the only thing refined about me is the sugar I use when I bake.”
Fia removed the silverware from the rolled napkin, then shook the linen over her lap. They studied the menu, ordered enough for three, then found themselves alone again, an expanse of distance separating them from the next nearest diners.
“Okay,” Elliot said after a moment, “you don’t always get to sit there and look pretty. Sometimes you have to be in charge of the conversation.”
“So you can sit and look pretty?”
“I’m too tough to be pretty.”
“Shows what you know.” When he started to protest, she raised one hand. “You’re tough enough. I’m not arguing that. You single-handedly rescued Mouse from a gang of rotten punk thugs. But you’re still awfully pretty, too.”
His slow smile transformed his face into sheer beauty, with a fair bit of false modesty. “Aw, there were just four of them, and they were only teenagers.”
“Oh, so they were all bigger than you.”
“Hey, no short jokes.”
She murmured a thank-you as the waitress delivered their iced teas. Glancing around the filling room, she slid the paper from the straw, then dipped the straw into the glass, giving the tea a quick stir. It felt so good to be out. There were times she thought being confined to her apartment was cruel and unusual punishment.
But this…wonderful smells, friendly staff, happy people talking, and Elliot…This was her reward for enduring all that punishment.
“Okay,” she said, mimicking Elliot from a moment ago. “The other night you said that you have had a girl or two who were crazy in love with you. Tell me about the first one. Did you love her back?”
He took a moment to resettle in his chair, leaning back, smoothing his ponytail where it had caught on the collar of his shirt. “More than I loved my horse. Her name was Cali—short for California. She had us all so intimidated about using her full name that when one of our friends moved to L.A., we could only say out West. She had long red hair and freckles, and she broke my heart. It was years before I could bear to look at a redhead again.” With a regretful shake of his head, he went on. “So that takes care of second grade. In third grade—”
Wadding the paper from the straw, she threw it at him, laughing in a way she hadn’t in ages. “You’re a mess, Elliot Ross. Your mother and grandmother must have been saints to put up with you.”
“Nah, I was an angel. I shoveled manure, helped herd and castrate and doctor the cattle, took my turn at baking, cooking, and cleaning, kept a B average, never got arrested, and never got anyone pregnant. The only time I got drunk in high school, I was gut-puking sick the next day so I learned to do all things in moderation.”
“Wow. I never had any chores, knew nothing about baking, cooking, or cleaning, was lucky to make a C once in a while, got arrested a time or two, and got drunk more than a time or two. But—” She flashed a smile. “I never got pregnant.”
“Arrested for what?”
“Vandalism. We broke out some windows in an empty building. The other time I pulled a handful of hair from a girl who was flirting hard with my boyfriend. Because she gave me a black eye, they ended up dropping the charges against both of us.” She smiled slyly. “She never did that again.”
They quieted while the waitress delivered plates of ribs and greens, fried okra and corn bread and corn on the cob. Elliot tasted the greens and the okra, then pointed his fork at her. “You know, I can see you pulling someone’s hair out. You were a tough kid. You probably would have scared the snot out of me.”
The idea of him being scared of her when they were teenagers made her feel warm inside. Being strong had gotten her through the years before Scott. It was the only thing that had helped her survive losing him. She wouldn’t have the same response to an interloping woman today— She looked at Elliot and caught that thought. She wouldn’t do it without being seriously provoked, but she was proud she’d been capable back then. “I was tough,” she agreed. “I didn’t have much, and damned if I was going to lose it.”
Just like she didn’t have much now. She was thankful every day, especially since having to give up her regular job, that Scott’s insurance and death benefits gave her financial security and twice a day for her margarita girls, who gave her emotional security. But as far as a life, a future, she was running on fumes. It was time to slog back into the medical fray, to tell the doctor he’d had his chance at treating the symptoms; now he needed to find the cause.
Because she wanted something more than just her old life, her old future back. She had a chance at love and sharing and caring and family and all the things she’d lost, first with Scott, then with the onset of her illness.
She had a chance with Elliot.
And damned if she wanted to lose it.
* * *
After finishing the outstanding meal by sharing a bowl of warm cherry cobbler with sweet vanilla ice cream, Elliot reached for the ticket, but Fia picked it up first. When he opened his mouth to speak, she silenced him with one warning finger. “You’ve paid the tab for every meal we’ve had. I appreciate it, but I get to contribute, too. I can afford it, and I like to do it.”
He waited until she nodded emphatically, then he said, “I was about to tell you thank you.”
An abashed look came across her face. “Oh. Good. You’re welcome.”
It was a fib on his part. He knew it was old-fashioned, but a lot about him was. He’d just been raised that on dates, guys paid. It was som
ething he’d always done. But he liked the idea of being able to let her do it. It meant that this wasn’t just a date. It wasn’t a passing fling. They were sharing: time, meals, company, expenses. It was a step into a level of emotional commitment that he’d never taken before.
“We pay at the register on the way out.” Fia stood, holding on to the back of her chair, stretching a moment and heaving a satisfied sigh. He followed her through the now-full dining room, weaving around tables and guests, to the register near the door, saying hello to a few familiar faces along the way.
“Who is that?” she asked curiously.
“Miz Watkins is a retired schoolteacher who meets with her friends every other day at Prairie Harts for coffee and Danishes. Miz Dauterive used to work at the bank. She was Jessy’s boss, and I suspect she lit Jessy’s hair on fire so many times it just turned red. She has a totally unhealthy love for Lucy’s two-bite cupcakes.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of her. The old hag.”
He gave her a chastening look. “That’s not nice.” Then, after a beat…“But I’d have to agree.” He’d rarely met a woman he couldn’t charm, but Mrs. Dauterive was one.
When it was their turn at the register, Fia swiped her card, then added a generous tip. “I waited tables for a while. You get some good customers, but there are others…”
“You want to snatch their hair out?”
She smiled sweetly.
“I never had that problem when I waited tables.” He held the door for a family coming in, then walked out with Fia, automatically reaching for her hand. “I usually got good tips, too.”
“How many of those tips included phone numbers?”
He shrugged innocently. “A few.”
“How many times did you call those numbers?”
A repeat of the shrug. “A few.”
“You’re a wicked man, Elliot.”
“Nah, remember, I’m an angel.” He breathed deeply as they crossed the parking lot. The sun had disappeared while they were inside, and the air smelled heavy and damp. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees, and the wind was blowing in fits and starts. “Looks like we’re gonna get some rain.”
A Summer to Remember Page 16
