No, if she were honest, she had to admit that her reasons for seclusion were purely selfish. She’d had enough humiliation and reproach to last a lifetime. She shook her head as if to refute the two nodders flanking her, but in reality, she was trying to shake away the memory of the humiliation and reproach Jesus had suffered for His purpose.
Tears obscured her vision, and she searched discreetly in her purse for a tissue. Agreeing to go to lunch with Holt had been a mistake. Except for loving Sarah and Aunt Irene, she’d effectively closed the door on her feelings three years ago. Now that he’d convinced her to open it, even a crack, she was a bundle of emotion.
❧
Megan was coming around. Holt had noticed her tears in church this morning, and he knew God was softening her heart. Now, if He would thicken Holt’s skin so that he could be the protector she so obviously needed. As strong as his growing feelings for her had become, he thought he could face down a fire-breathing dragon on her behalf, but how could he be sure?
Meeting Aunt Irene had proven to be pure fun. The elderly woman cracked jokes and teased in a way that made Holt feel right at home. He reached to pull her chair out for her as they gathered around the table at the restaurant.
“Megan, your young man is trying to pull my chair out from under me. Can’t you control him?”
Megan colored to a rosy pink. “ ’Fraid not.”
Holt leaned in toward her as he helped her get seated. “Does that mean I am your young man?” he whispered.
She tossed her hair down over her shoulder so that it hung like a curtain blocking her face from his view. She picked up the menu and appeared to be studying the choices intently.
When the waitress brought a booster chair, Sarah clapped her hands together in delight.
“Do you get this excited every time you use a booster chair?” Holt teased.
“I’ve never used a. . .um. . .rooster chair,” Sarah proclaimed.
“Look, Honey.” Megan directed Sarah’s attention to the kid’s menu. “Let’s look at the pictures and pick out what you want to eat.”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “You mean they’ll fix whatever I want?”
Suddenly, it hit Holt. He teased Megan about being a hermit, but she truly was. If he were a betting man, he’d bet her daughter had never been inside a restaurant before. Getting Megan to come out of her shell might be harder than he’d thought.
“Senator McFadden! How have you been?”
Holt looked up at Josiah Barclay, then rose to his feet.
“I’m fine, Josiah. How are you?” He couldn’t believe the Barclays were here. He was seeing them more often than he was his own mom and dad lately.
“Fine, fine.” The big man nodded repeatedly and peered at Holt’s dining companions. Holt noticed Josiah’s wife had joined him and was following his curious gaze with one of her own.
“Hello, Barbara.”
She nodded. “Senator.” The woman gave her husband a barely perceptible nudge with her elbow.
“So, Senator, is this some of your family?” He motioned toward Megan who was as white as the tablecloth.
Holt wanted to guard Megan from any speculation, but if he didn’t introduce her, he was afraid she’d think it was because of his concern about public opinion.
He indicated Aunt Irene with his hand, smiling at the woman who looked like she’d do anything to help Megan. “You probably know Mrs. Irene Hanley. Beside her are Megan Watson and her daughter, Sarah. They’re all three neighbors of mine.
“Ladies, this is Josiah and Barbara Barclay. You may know them. They own Barclay’s Hardware here in town.”
“Mrs. Irene, it’s been awhile since we’ve seen you.”
“I don’t get out much these days. Just to buy groceries mostly.” Aunt Irene’s voice seemed stilted, and Holt knew she was nervous on Megan’s behalf. No doubt she knew the Barclays’ reputation for gossip.
Instead of responding to Aunt Irene, Barbara narrowed her eyes. “Of course. Megan Watson. Lola’s granddaughter.”
❧
Why had she let Holt talk her into coming out into public? Megan nodded politely as if she thought Barbara’s accusation was a greeting, and as if she weren’t about to pass out from terror. If she’d had any doubts about her life choices, the gleam in Barbara Barclay’s eyes had washed them away.
“Let’s see, Megan, you’re living in Lola’s house now, aren’t you?”
Megan nodded again.
Barbara turned to Holt as if just struck by a sudden thought. “That’s not far at all from where you live, is it, Senator?”
If Megan hadn’t come to know Holt so well in the past month, she wouldn’t have recognized the flicker of extreme distaste and irritation that passed across his face. “No, Ma’am, it isn’t. That’s why I said they were my ‘neighbors.’ ”
In spite of her terror, Megan giggled at his unexpected subtle sarcasm. She tried to turn it into a cough, but in spite of her best efforts, it remained a renegade giggle. She covered her mouth with the large white napkin. “Excuse me.”
Since this unacceptable behavior showed no sign of stopping, she rose to her feet and hurried to the rest room. As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned against the counter, helpless to stop the laughter. Stress. Before Barry, she’d always giggled when the stress got to be too much. She never giggled at any other time, but give her a big dose of stress and her tickle box just automatically turned over.
She perched on the edge of the marble top double vanity. After a few minutes, the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had started. Just as quickly, tears filled her eyes. She snagged a tissue from the handy slot between the sinks.
Why was she here? She’d come mostly to prove to Holt that she wasn’t a “hermit.” But she was. She grabbed another tissue. She belonged at the farm with her quilting machine and Sarah and. . .Holt. Only he didn’t belong at the farm at all. He belonged here. . .where the people were.
She didn’t know how long she stayed in the bathroom. She had been in such a hurry to get away from the table that she hadn’t brought her purse, so she had no way to freshen up. All she could do was splash some cold water on her puffy eyes and red face and hope for the best.
When she reached the table, the Barclays were no longer around and everyone pretended things were normal. Quite a stretch, thought Megan, to pretend I’m normal.
“We told them what we wanted to drink, Mama. I told them you drink tea.” Sarah bounced up and down in her booster chair. “Look she’s bringing it on a tray.”
“Neat, isn’t it?” Megan was immeasurably grateful for Sarah’s distraction.
The waitress set the tray full of drinks down and sorted them out. When she flipped open her order pad, Sarah gasped. “Just like on TV.”
“What would you like to eat, Little Lady?” the waitress asked Sarah.
“I’ll take this.” She pointed at the picture of the child’s fish plate. “And this. And this. And this.” Her little finger flew from one food picture to the other.
Megan felt Holt’s grin, but she just couldn’t look him in the eye. He must think she was a terrible mother on top of being a blithering idiot. “Sarah. You can’t have one of everything. Let’s try the catfish.”
Sarah considered her for a moment, then grinned. “Okay. And some French-fries. And a chocolate shake.”
Megan stared at the tiny girl. “You’ll never eat all of that, Honey.”
“Please.” Sarah offered Megan the pleading look she saved for special requests.
Why not? This may be the only time she gets to eat out until she’s old enough to go on her own. I’m certainly not leaving the farm again any time soon. “Okay.” Megan nodded to the waitress. “Fish plate and a chocolate shake for her, and I’ll have the same.”
When the waitress had gone with their orders, Holt smiled. “They’re gone.” He spoke softly.
“There are more where they came from,” she muttered. She finally met his gaze. “You have no idea
.”
“I do have an idea. I’ve had my share of dealing with people like that.” Holt’s voice was gentle. “When I was campaigning, I’d hear so many rumors about myself, I considered voting for the other guy.”
Aunt Irene snickered, and Megan couldn’t keep from smiling.
“But then, when the polls were closed, it turned out the large majority of the public recognized the big talkers for what they were. It’s that way in real life too.”
Megan stared at him. Did he know her secret? Or was this just a generic reassurance for a hermit? She’d always known there was the possibility he would remember Barry’s case from the media coverage and connect it with her. She’d even tried to prepare her heart for the eventuality. But she’d always assumed as soon as he found out about her past, he’d stop coming around.
❧
On the trip back home after lunch, Megan insisted Aunt Irene ride in the front seat with Holt while she kept Sarah company in the back. The more distance she could put between herself and Holt, the better off she’d be. Just by agreeing to lunch, she knew she’d been asking for trouble.
She had to end their relationship today. If he did know about her past, which she couldn’t believe, he was not reacting rationally. Why would he have pushed her to be seen with him in public?
If he didn’t know, then she was taking the chance of causing irreparable harm to his career just by allowing him to be seen with her. Either way, she wouldn’t be going out again, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with that for long, no matter how much he gently teased her about being a hermit.
She dreaded facing his persuasiveness. Barry had oozed it, and if she hadn’t been so naïve that would have been a warning. Holt was even smoother than Barry was, but she found herself believing his charm was genuine.
Apparently, Aunt Irene did too. Though she’d never said much, she hadn’t liked Barry, but it was obvious from the looks she was giving Megan that Holt had her total approval.
“Do you play dominoes?” Aunt Irene’s abrupt question affirmed Megan’s thoughts.
“I used to play with my brothers when we were growing up. But I haven’t in years.” Holt smiled, but puzzlement was evident on his face.
“Let’s go back to my house and play dominoes. It’s what we do after lunch on Sundays. You can take us to church services tonight, and Megan can pick up her van then.” The older lady’s inclusion of him in the family was obvious, not to mention her desire for him to stay around. Megan felt the heat creep up her cheeks again. She was going to have to have a talk with Aunt Irene.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” He paused and turned his attention to Megan. “Is that okay with you?” As his gaze met hers in the rearview mirror, she felt as if he could read her thoughts. Instead of the normal teasing glint in his eyes, there was sympathy. Somehow, he understood she was reluctant and hated for her to be pushed into spending time with him.
“Sure, that would be fun.” Her heart constricted as the smile lit up his face. She’d meant to say no, but the kindness in his expression had been her undoing.
Two hours later, even though Megan was enjoying herself, she wished she’d gone with her first instinct. After a game of friendly dominoes, Aunt Irene commandeered Sarah to help her make cookies.
“Oh, Megan,” the elderly woman called as she walked into the kitchen, “do you think Holt would help you hang those blinds we’ve been meaning to get up in the living room?”
Megan bit back the urge to follow her neighbor into the kitchen and leave Holt to his own devices. She was definitely going to have a talk with Aunt Irene. Matchmaking had always been a hobby for the older woman, but she knew Megan wasn’t in the market for a man, especially not Holt.
After the kitchen door slammed behind the cookie makers, silence stretched out in the living room like a heavy rug. Holt’s gaze bore into her, and she felt again as if he were examining her inner thoughts. She was growing used to his mixture of serious observation and silly humor, so it didn’t surprise her when he spoke.
“Well, Private Watson, you heard the General. Let’s get that blind hung. We’ve got church in two hours.” He pushed to his feet, shoulders back and feet together. “Ten-hut!”
Megan couldn’t resist. She stood quickly and tilting her head back to where he still towered above her, she offered a sharp salute. “Yes, SIR!”
They laughed, and she retrieved the blind from the front closet, along with a small toolbox.
“Do you take care of her maintenance by yourself usually?”
“We do it together. She may want to appear helpless today because it suits her purpose.” Megan grinned. “But she’s still pretty handy with a screwdriver or even a paintbrush.”
“Her purpose?” The teasing note in Holt’s voice proved he had no doubt what Megan was referring to. “What would that be?”
Megan offered an unladylike snort. “Are you going to stand on the stool? Or do you want me to?”
“Are you sure you’d be tall enough, even if you did climb up on the stool?” He held his hand out in the air as if measuring her height and finding her definitely lacking. “I think I’d better do it.”
Megan glared at his mischievous grin. How dare he insinuate she was short, just because he was a first cousin to the Jolly Green Giant? “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You probably took that class about winning friends and influencing people before you ran for the senate, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so smooth.”
“So. . . ,” Holt climbed up on the stool. He looked down at her and arched one eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m very good at winning friends? I can’t be all bad. You’ve been spending time with me this summer.” Suddenly, he shook the stool with his feet, and she grabbed it. He grinned. “And you were willing to catch me if I fell just then, weren’t you?”
Megan stared into his sparkling eyes. In spite of her sarcastic comment, Holt McFadden was undoubtedly good at winning friends, but he was a champion at winning hearts, if hers was any indication. “I would have done that for anybody.”
“Ouch.” Holt flinched as if she’d hit him, but she noticed a grin edged at the corners of his mouth as he turned back to the job at hand. He soon had the blind neatly covering the previously bare window. He stepped down off the stool and stumbled as his feet hit the hardwood floor. Teasingly, he flung his arms around Megan. “Whew. Thanks for saving me.”
“Yeah, right.” She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering against her ribcage. She knew he was joking, but he hadn’t released her.
“Megan.” His face was only inches from hers.
Their gazes locked, and she braced herself for the kiss she knew was coming. It felt so hard to catch her breath.
She was falling in love with Holt McFadden.
“No!” With both hands, she shoved his chest and disentangled herself from his embrace. “No.” Her legs trembled, but she stomped quickly to the front door and hurried outside.
❧
Holt sank down on the stool he’d been standing on minutes before. How did she do it? How did she drive him absolutely crazy? Every time they seemed to be growing close, she pulled back as if he was a nightmare suddenly come to life. The horror on her face just now had been palpable.
“Hi, Mr. Holt!” Sarah trotted into the room. In spite of his churning emotions, Holt smiled at the tiny sprite in the oversized apron. Her face was liberally sprinkled with flour. A few suspicious brown smudges suggested she’d been sampling the chocolate chips. She held up her arms, and he automatically lifted her onto his lap. “Where’s Mama?”
“She’s outside.” Holt didn’t have a clue what explanation to offer, but apparently none was necessary.
Sarah slid to the floor. “She’s probably playing with the puppies then.” She quickly disappeared out the door.
Holt tried to decide whether his presence outside would be a help or a hindrance when Sarah burst back in.
“Aunt Irene! Mama’s crying!” Tears were evident in the little girl�
�s eyes, and her excited voice brought the elderly woman running from the kitchen.
“What is it, Sarah?”
“Mama’s—”
The front door opened, and Megan entered the room. “Sarah.” Her eyes were red, but there were no tears. She held her arms out to the little girl. “Come here.” Sarah’s troubled expression cleared. She hurried to be enfolded in her mother’s hug.
While the mother and daughter embraced, Holt met Aunt Irene’s gaze. The woman was shaking her head.
“Who wants a cookie?” Aunt Irene asked.
“I do!” Sarah grabbed Megan by the hand. “Come on, Mama. I made them myself!”
“Holt, won’t you join us for a cookie?” Though Megan didn’t look at him, her voice held an unspoken apology he heard loud and clear.
Holt nodded. Whatever was going on between them would have to be addressed, but now was not the time. As they trooped into the kitchen, he knew it would take more than a cookie to work things out between them.
❧
Megan closed her van door, then glanced back to where Holt’s truck had just pulled in behind her. It looked like she’d get the chance to have that talk with him tonight, after all. They hadn’t spoken privately anymore at Aunt Irene’s, and she’d left him talking to some men after church.
She had assumed he’d head back to his house after they’d said good-bye. If she’d known he was going to follow her home, she’d have kept Sarah with her instead of letting her stay at Aunt Irene’s for awhile when she dropped the older woman off.
It was probably just as well, Megan thought. Especially after Sarah saw her tears this afternoon, she would undoubtedly be more upset if she overheard Megan telling Holt not to come over anymore.
“Hey.” He’d covered the distance between their vehicles with a few long strides.
“I thought you were going home.”
He nodded toward the rockers on the porch. “Can we sit?”
“Sure.” She followed him up to the porch where he stood hesitantly waiting for her to sit first. “What?! You’re not going to pull my rocker out for me?”
Patchwork and Politics Page 7
