by Mae Nunn
“Would you let me help out?”
Her head shake was emphatic.
“I’ve got it covered. The little ones are still easy to please and Carrie’s recently gone green, so the only place she wants to shop is the Goodwill store.”
Sarah gathered her purse and keys.
“Recycled clothes have been the trend for college students, too, for a while now. I hear a girl can do a lot of damage at Goodwill with a twenty-dollar bill.”
“And when she only wears black it’s fairly simple to mix and match.”
Monochromatic dress and dark-rimmed eyes had been a common sight on campus for years, but on a thirteen-year-old it was worrisome. He knew from experience how quickly a kid could morph from confused to troubled, from sad to desperate. But Sarah didn’t seem concerned.
“How long has Carrie had the Goth thing going on?” Cullen tried to keep the question casual as he walked Sarah to her car.
“Since she started middle school. I’m hoping she’ll break out of vampire mode when she goes to high school, but for now I tolerate it as there’s no harm in the way she looks. It sure drives my folks nuts that I agreed to let her keep the purple hair and wear eye makeup this summer.”
“Will she be able to keep doing that when school starts?”
“No way.” Sarah gave him a conspiratorial grin. “But the two of us negotiated an arrangement. I let her do her thing for the summer and over Labor Day weekend she returns Wednesday Addams to the closet and gets Carrie Eason ready for eighth grade. We even put it in writing and taped it to her door so she can’t play dumb when the time comes to do her part.”
“You’re one clever cookie.” Cullen admired her approach to what could have been a summer-long argument.
“It helps that I work at a law firm that specializes in arbitration.”
Cullen opened Sarah’s door but blocked the way as a bid for one more hug. She stepped so easily into his arms, wrapping him in her warmth, that his heart ached for all the years he’d convinced himself he could make it on his own.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LET THE CHILD set the pace as you do things together—games, sports, activities. Every child is different but given enough time, patience and interest most will come around.
Cullen slipped his 1974 Hank Aaron baseball card into the book, settled it on the nightstand beside the guest bed—that was really too short for his comfort—and flipped off the light. He rolled on his side, scooped Rocket close and considered the wisdom of what he’d just read.
Was he taking things too fast? Had it really only been weeks and not months since they’d knocked his world off its axis and spun him in another direction?
Was it possible to switch his focus so quickly and completely from a life of study to a life of family? His daddy had been a surgeon, spending long hours at the hospital instead of with his sons. What would his father have changed if he’d known his days on earth would be cut short, that his boys would grow older with only his memory instead of his presence? And hadn’t that very question been what drove his daddy to go in search of the place where his own father was buried? Pap Temple had set into motion the cycle of loss that his son and grandsons had suffered. And his brothers would likely carry it into their old age if each of them didn’t do something to interrupt the pattern.
Joiner and McCarthy were still content as they were, alone, seemingly not knowing any better. But Hunt had found his joy in Gillian. Given the choice, Cullen would follow his twin’s lead. A month ago he’d never have guessed that would be the case, but the pages of the calendar couldn’t be turned back, and he wouldn’t want that, anyway.
Rocket struggled out from under the weight of Cullen’s arm, stood on wobbly legs and looked toward the door.
“You wanna go out, buddy?”
Rocket’s tail wagged.
Cullen pulled on his T-shirt, slipped his iPhone into the pocket of his pajama pants and the two headed for the door. Cullen settled into the wooden swing while Rocket began his ritual of sniffing every bush in the yard before deciding where to leave his mark. He was more pokey than usual and only halfway around the fence when Cullen pulled out his phone and began surfing the day’s scores. Tomorrow Los Angeles would be in town and the rivalry between the Angels and the Rangers would take another turn at bat. There was nothing quite the same as witnessing a major league game in person. The view, even from the nosebleed seats, was like no other.
Cullen’s chin popped up from the glow of the small screen. A smile split his face as his bent his head again and tapped in search instructions. Before he could complete his transaction the phone buzzed with a call.
Sarah. The woman who loved him.
The web of scars on his biceps shimmered white in the moonlight. Would she love him, warts and all?
“Hello, beautiful.” He meant the greeting with all his heart.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she apologized.
“Nope, just sittin’ outside again waiting on Rocket to do his business. Is everything okay?”
“That’s what I called to ask you. I can come get my little ones if they wake up and want to go home.”
“I peeked in on them not too long ago and, as I suspected, nobody’s moved a muscle since they climbed on the bed a few hours ago.”
“Probably because their muscles are tired and sore from all you had them doing today.”
“They were troopers. Gave it their all at the park and in the batting cages.”
“Even Carrie?”
“Especially Carrie. She’s a natural leader, just needs a good coach. There could be a team mom position in your future.”
“That’ll be a challenge since you could put what all four of us know about baseball in a thimble.”
“Well, they learned a lot today, and if you don’t mind a change of plans for tomorrow I believe a major league lesson is in order.”
The chuckle in his ear came from deep in Sarah’s throat, causing his insides to stir, his pulse to quicken.
“Cullen, what have you got up your sleeve?”
“I believe I mentioned earlier that the Angels are in town for a double header and there are still seats available for the first game. On the drive over I can give the girls the history of the sport and the basic rules of play so that when we get there they’ll be hard-core Rangers fans.”
“Shouldn’t you be working on your lecture notes for this week instead of converting kids into supporters for your team?”
“I’m not concerned about the class. Now that I have half the summer term under my belt I’ve realized Blair was right. Teaching this class is a natural fit for me. I know my subject, and it’s just a matter of carving it into small bites so I don’t choke the students by ramming it down their throats.”
“Does that mean you’re going to accept a full-time position in the history department for the fall?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I may move in a different direction, but it’s too soon to say. At the very least I’ll continue to cover Blair’s schedule, but I might develop new classes of my own before I accept a contract.”
“You’re wise to take it slow. If you don’t have to rush into a decision, then don’t.”
“How about you? Are you comfortable enough with this summer’s experience that you’ll register for a full load in the fall?”
He heard Sarah draw in a deep breath and blow out a resigned sigh.
“I don’t have much choice. If I’m going to finish my degree I have to hunker down and get it over with sooner than later. It’ll be a juggling act for a couple of years, but the reward at the end of the effort is a better life for my family.”
“Very well put. I’ve never heard of anybody who looked back on their education and said, ‘I wish I hadn’t bothered with
college so I’d have been less qualified for my job and not earned so much money.’”
“You should probably have that printed on a plaque.”
“Somebody beat me to it. Miss Nancy sells those plaques in the campus bookstore.”
“She works in the bookstore, too?”
“During finals weeks when the student employees need to study.”
“Speaking of Miss Nancy, you remember that her wedding’s a week from tonight, don’t you?” Sarah reminded him.
Cullen never dreamed he’d be excited about a wedding or a campus function, but the opportunity to show Sarah off to his geeky colleagues held an excitement he hadn’t experienced in years.
“It’s on my hectic social calendar,” he teased. “Alma’s all set to keep the girls overnight so what do you say we drop by the Reo afterward and take a two-step turn around the dance floor?”
“I’m willing to give it a whirl as long as you’re patient with me. I’ll stop by my folks’ house this week and dig out my favorite old pair of Tony Lamas from the closet and have Dad shine them up.”
“Bring your boots to me and I’ll handle that for you.”
“Cullen, you’re handling plenty for me already.”
“Darlin’, learning to take care of ladies has recently become my new field of study and I only just got started. Once I get my OCD on, there’s no turning back.”
* * *
TWELVE MILES AWAY from Cullen’s house, Sarah was propped up on her bed pillows smiling at his comment and the pedicure she’d indulged in at the salon. But something about his words and the bright red polish on her toenails was bothersome. Without Cullen’s reassuring presence, her doubts crept in again. Was this all too good to be true?
Her daddy said it was. According to her mama, he’d grumbled about what a scoundrel Pap Temple had been and that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Mama had reminded Daddy that Pap’s son had done well for himself; he’d been a blessing to the folks of Kilgore and raised four fine boys. But Daddy insisted chickens come home to roost and sooner or later another of the Temple men would show their grandfather’s true colors.
Sarah respected her daddy’s intuition but in this case she was sure she simply knew better.
Yes, the situation seemed like a dream come true. But she and her girls had already suffered unspeakable loss and major upheaval so it was about time their fortunes changed.
By the grace of God, that change had come in the form of a good-lookin’ man who was an open book, hiding nothing, giving much more than he got in return. He was the right partner to help her teach her girls about trust and honesty.
“Does that work for you?” Cullen’s voice buzzed in her ear. “Sarah, honey, have you fallen asleep over there?”
“I’m still here.” She blinked away her daddy’s concerns.
“You okay with our new plans for tomorrow? The baseball game? I have to know right now so I can buy the tickets.”
“Sure, we’d love to go to the Rangers game with you. But would you mind bringing the girls home tomorrow morning to let them choose their own clothes for the day? If you think Carrie’s picky about what she wears, you should see the withering glare I get from Hope when I buy her an outfit where everything matches. She says, ‘Mama, things don’t match anymore, they ‘go.’”
“Now that you mention it, I was under constant criticism today about my favorite old flannel shirt. Carrie said the Brawny paper towel guy had called and he wanted his wardrobe back. Meg warned me that wearing flannel in the summer could prevent my body from cooling properly and it could cause me to have a heatstroke.”
“Oh, Cullen, I’m sorry.” Sarah snickered into the phone.
“Oh, there’s more! Your little fashionistas have threatened to nominate me for some makeover television show where they fly you to New York City just to throw your whole wardrobe in a trash can.”
She smiled to herself. She knew the show well and actually had to agree that Cullen would be a great candidate. But she’d keep that opinion to herself, for now, anyway
“So, you understand why they ought to come to the house to get dressed?”
“It’ll probably get the day off to a better start,” he agreed. “Shall I stop by the kolache bakery on the way?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got a sausage and egg casserole in the freezer and a can of cinnamon rolls in the fridge. I can pop those into the oven and have a hot breakfast ready when you get here.”
“You’re gonna spoil me with your home cookin’.”
Sarah had to laugh out loud since she’d never shown much promise in the kitchen. Thankfully, her mother kept their freezer stocked with quick meals.
“I’ve eaten Alma’s secret recipes and your twin is a celebrity chef. I’m fairly sure your palate is refined far beyond my abilities. You might even ban me from your kitchen the first time you witness the mess I can make of an omelet.”
“Don’t worry your pretty red head about it, my love. I’m certain nobody will go hungry in our home.”
Our home?
Her heart raced beneath her ribs, and she glanced down, certain she’d see evidence of the erratic fluttering. But her summer-weight yellow nightie rose and fell in normal cadence with her breathing that was as sure and steady as the man himself.
Our home.
Well, if Cullen was prepared to go down that emotional road with Sarah and her girls, they were packed and ready to make the journey with him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“WOULD YOU LIKE fries with your hot dog?” The guy behind the Rangers ballpark concessions counter smiled down at his pint-size customer.
Hope looked to Cullen, who read the cost of French fries and mumbled “Freakin’ highway robbery.” But he smiled and nodded his approval.
“Yes, please.” She practiced the manners her mama had insisted on during the drive over from Kilgore.
“While the Rangers are up by five you should supersize your order and take advantage of your daddy’s good mood.”
“He’s not my daddy,” she informed the man as her bottom lip poked out and began to quiver.
The guy slanted Cullen a suspicious glance.
“We’d like three more chili cheese dogs and fries for her mama and sisters who are waiting at our seats,” he pointedly explained as he handed over four twenties.
“Coming right up, sir.”
Cullen gave his attention to Hope, who stood quietly with her gaze downcast and her big foam finger drooping toward the concrete floor. He squatted so he could be eyeball to eyeball with her but she refused to lift her face.
“What is it, baby girl?”
“I don’t feel so good anymore.”
“Too many peanuts?”
She shook her head.
Cullen touched a finger below her chin and tipped her head up. As Hope’s eyes met his, fat tears splashed over her lower lashes and trickled down freckled cheeks.
“I want my daddy back,” she blubbered.
Cullen’s heart was already over easy where this little one was concerned and at her words it turned to scrambled eggs quicker than he could say “seventh inning stretch.” He opened his arms expecting her to rush into his hug. Instead, she inched away, shrinking from his touch as if he were a stranger.
Cullen shivered beneath his flannel shirt at Hope’s reaction. In a moment she’d gone from gregarious to wounded, and he was clueless as to how to react. Had he behaved the same in his own teenage way when he’d been orphaned? His mind drew a blank, which was a positive thing since he’d spent a lot of hours in therapy trying to put those painful memories to rest.
When a parent has died, the remarriage of the remaining parent may trigger unfinished grieving in children. Give them space and time to grieve.
He dared to reach f
orward cautiously and touch her thin shoulder.
“I understand how much it hurts, sweetie. Let’s get back to your mama.”
“Here ya go, buddy.”
Cullen stood as the concessions guy pushed an overloaded cardboard to-go tray across the stainless-steel countertop toward him. Then the man reached over the mound of chili dogs and handed back a few singles and some coins.
“Keep the change,” Cullen muttered. Seventy-six bucks for mystery meat and potatoes, for cryin’ out loud. Might as well tip the rest.
He struggled to gather up the flimsy carton of overprice food and led Hope to their seats. As the crowd sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” he kept a close eye on his sad little shadow as she followed him down the aisle sniffling all the way. When they reached their row she dashed past him and threw herself into Sarah’s lap.
“What’s wrong with her?” Carrie demanded as the song ended and the crowd waited for the players to return to the field.
Hope blubbered a response but the only discernible word was Daddy.
“What about Daddy?” Worry creased Meg’s face as she patted her sister’s shoulder.
“I want my daddy,” she wailed.
“Me, too, Hope. Me, too.” Meg’s lips twisted to fight the inclination to join in her sister’s cries.
“We all want Daddy back,” Carrie agreed, sorrow in her words.
Unspoken apology and understanding were communicated in the blue eyes Sarah focused on Cullen.
“The guy behind the counter mistook me for her father,” Cullen explained.
“He’s not my daddy.” Hope continued to whine through tears and hiccups. “I want my real daddy.”
Sarah stroked her daughter’s hair and murmured soothing sounds, then turned her attention to Cullen again. Based on the sympathetic furrow of her brow his discomfort was obvious.
“It was bound to happen sooner or later, Cullen. You can’t take a family out in public without someone eventually assuming you’re part of it.”
“But he is,” Meg insisted as she pulled her attention away from Hope and slipped a Cracker Jack–sticky hand into Cullen’s. “Maybe he’s not our forever-daddy, but he’s our now-daddy.”
