And he really wanted to kiss her again.
“I could ask them to come out and help clean this up,” he said.
“Where would you bring the stuff?”
“I’d have to ask around, but I’m sure we could bring most of it to a scrap iron dealer in Calgary. Maybe one or two of the guys might want some of it.”
“What could anyone possibly want?”
Morgan heard a faint note of despair in her voice as she looked around, and he gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “You never know. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”
“Well, here’s hoping. And thanks so much for the offer. I appreciate it. It’s been a long struggle.”
“You’ve done a lot on your own. I can’t believe you haven’t asked anyone for help.”
Tabitha released a faint laugh. “I made a few friends the years I went to school here and since I moved back, but not the kind of friends you ask to help you out with house renovations or junk removal.”
They skirted a pile of rotting lumber, following Nathan as he meandered through the stuff to where the truck was parked.
Before he joined his son, Morgan took her hands in his. “You’re not on your own with this now. I’ll gladly help out.”
She shot a glance at Nathan, who was swiping a stick through the tall grass by the old barn. Then, to his surprise, she stood on tiptoe and brushed a quick kiss over his cheek.
“Thanks,” she said. “That means a lot to me.”
Morgan wanted to grab her and kiss her properly but Nathan was waving at him now.
“I should go,” he said, squeezing her hand. “When will I see you again?”
“Sunday?”
“Do you want to come to my place for lunch after church? So you don’t have to run the Walsh family gauntlet again?”
“Sounds good. Tell me what to bring.”
“Just yourself. I’ll take care of lunch.”
“Okay.”
“You sound like you don’t trust me.”
“I guess I’ll have to.” She grinned and Morgan felt a calm settle over the part of his soul that had always felt tense. Chaotic. Restless.
Did he dare take a leap and risk his heart again?
* * *
“You have to make sure you don’t get it too close to the fire.”
Tabitha knelt beside Nathan, who was trying to roast a marshmallow to golden perfection over the crackling fire Morgan had built in his backyard. So far he wasn’t having much luck.
“Just keep turning it,” Morgan offered, kneeling down on his other side.
“I don’t know how.”
Tabitha was about to show him but pulled back at the last minute. This was Morgan’s job, she reminded herself. She’d been interfering too much lately and Nathan was turning to her too often.
Morgan carefully put his hands on Nathan’s as he held the roasting stick, showing him how to keep the marshmallow slowly turning. Finally they were done and Morgan carefully brought the graham cracker with the piece of chocolate close and together they managed to put the whole gooey business together.
“I did it!” Nathan crowed, holding up the s’more that he and his father had made, toasted golden marshmallow oozing out the sides.
“Your dad helped,” Tabitha countered.
Nathan nodded, shooting a quick glance Morgan’s way and adding a shy smile. “Thanks.”
Morgan patted him on the shoulder and thankfully Nathan didn’t flinch away. Morgan and Tabitha exchanged a look, both of them pleased by the small step.
Nathan took a big bite out of his s’more, laughing as melted marshmallow slid all over his fingers and down his chin. Morgan pulled a wet wipe out of a bag sitting close by and handed it to his son.
“Can you wipe my face?” Nathan asked instead, holding out his chin.
Morgan obliged and Tabitha could see that even this tiny acceptance of Morgan’s help was another step in the right direction.
“Well, that was a great lunch,” Tabitha said, sitting back in her lawn chair and wiping her mouth with the napkin she had stuffed in the cup holder. “I haven’t had hot dogs for ages.”
“It was Nathan’s idea,” Morgan said, grinning at his son. “Not your usual Sunday lunch, but it works.”
“I like wiener roasts,” Nathan mumbled past a mouthful of graham cracker, marshmallow and chocolate. “Me and my mom would have them—” He stopped there, lowering his eyes as if the memory of his mother hurt.
“I imagine those were fun,” Morgan said, resting his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I think you miss having wiener roasts with Mom.”
But this time Nathan pulled away. He didn’t say anything but swiped the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his face, leaving a smear of chocolate on his new red hoodie.
Then, without a backward glance, he walked over to the swing set that still sat in the backyard. He got on and swung slowly back and forth, the rusty chains squeaking with every movement.
Morgan sighed and sat down on the lawn chair beside Tabitha. “I keep reminding myself that it’s step by step. But sometimes those steps seem small.”
“As long as he knows you love him, they’ll get bigger.” Tabitha wove her fingers through his and gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t forget he had a completely different relationship with his mother than you did. In spite of what she was, she was still his mother.”
Morgan tightened his grip on Tabitha’s hand, his other finger tracing circles over the back of her hand. “Is that how you feel about your father?”
His words ignited a tiny jolt that was a mixture of shame and affection. She wasn’t sure which was uppermost.
“He was my father in spite of everything he did. But loving him was...hard at times. He and I fought a lot when I became a teenager.”
“About?” Morgan prompted.
“Moving so much. Settling down in one place. Most of the time, I felt like the adult in the relationship. He was so flighty.”
“It must have been hard to move here at the age you did.”
Tabitha heard the regret in his voice, and before he could apologize, yet again, for how she was treated when she got here, she answered him.
“It was hard, but I didn’t help matters much by being so prickly,” she admitted.
“Self-defense mechanism common to self-reliant teenagers,” Morgan said, his smile holding a hint of melancholy. “But it was your prickly attitude that caught my attention.”
She held his gaze then grew more serious. “And it was your teasing that caught mine.”
“I sometimes wonder...” Morgan let the sentence drift away as he looked back at the fire, still holding Tabitha’s hand.
She wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but suddenly his cell phone rang and Nathan came over to join them.
Morgan glanced at the phone, then gave Tabitha a look of regret. “Got to take this.” He answered with a hearty hello, leaning back in his chair, releasing Tabitha’s hand. She guessed that was for Nathan’s sake as the boy sat down beside her, swinging his legs.
“I’m not working, so I think tomorrow should work fine,” he said. “Let me check.” He held one hand over the phone, looking at her. “Are you around tomorrow? Owen is organizing a work crew.”
Tabitha was momentarily taken aback. “Already?”
“The sooner it gets done, the better.”
She had figured on working on the kitchen tomorrow. She’d planned on heading over to the hardware store to pick up whatever she could get for the money Morgan had paid her for the week.
She had tried to protest at what she saw as an overly generous amount but Morgan waved off her objections, saying that he’d asked Ernest what the going rate was for horse training and paid her accordingly.
“
Okay. Monday sounds good,” she said, still feeling rather uncomfortable with the idea. She knew she had to pay the people who came to help. She couldn’t expect them to do it all for nothing. Owen Herne barely knew her other than the fact that she served him at the café from time to time. The other names Morgan had mentioned were familiar to her but not people she knew well enough to expect a favor from.
While she was thankful for the help, she didn’t know where she was going to get the money.
“Can you help me make another s’more?” Nathan asked while Morgan returned to his phone call.
“Sure.” Tabitha helped him stick a marshmallow on a stick, set out the graham crackers on the table and set a block of chocolate on it.
All the while she worked, she had half an ear on the arrangements Morgan was making on the phone. Sounded like he was getting a lot of people together.
When he was done he slipped the phone back in his pocket, giving her a self-satisfied grin.
“Why don’t you look happy?” he asked.
She caught herself, forcing a smile as she turned her attention back to Nathan, who was engrossed in carefully turning his marshmallow. “I’m thrilled that the yard will get cleaned up. It’s a huge job and I’m thankful that I’ll be getting all that help.”
“But...?”
“No. No buts. It’s just...well...how many guys are coming and how much equipment are they bringing? I’m sure they can’t all spare time from farming to help someone they barely know. That’s a lot to ask and I’m wondering how I can...how I’ll...” She faltered, wishing she knew how to say what she wanted to.
Morgan slowly nodded as if he finally understood. “You’re wondering how you can pay them.”
She pressed her lips together, realizing how that sounded, but then she nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”
“Tabitha. This is a community. We help each other when we can. That’s what we do.”
“But I can’t begin to pay them back,” she said. “And I don’t know how.”
“The books don’t have to be balanced.”
“In my world they do.” She gave Nathan a thumbs-up when he showed her the perfectly cooked marshmallow and helped him get it on the graham cracker. Then she stood, brushing off the grass from her blue jeans, her face warm from the fire.
Morgan stood as well, his expression suddenly serious. “Well, in my world they don’t. And right now that’s where you are.”
His words gave her heart a peculiar lift and a breathlessness she wasn’t sure what to do about.
His world? Was she truly a part of his world?
Did she dare allow herself that dream again?
But, as always, then came the specter of the debt she owed. Morgan could talk all he wanted about being a part of a community and not needing books to be balanced.
But he wasn’t living with the legacy she was.
A legacy of broken promises and dreams and debt that, no matter how much she wanted, needed to be repaid before she could feel free.
Chapter Twelve
The steady beeping of equipment backing up blended in the afternoon air with the shouts and orders of guys loading stuff onto trailers. A faint breeze sent clouds drifting across a blue sky and, for the first time in a long time, Tabitha felt a sense of peace and order in her life.
This morning she had been woken at 6:00 a.m. by the roar of a tractor. Morgan was driving and he was pulling a large, empty trailer. He was completely unapologetic about waking her up so early. In fact, when she had come to the door, he had dropped a kiss on her lips and called her Sleeping Beauty. Then he grinned and sauntered off to do some heavy lifting, as he called it.
Nathan had a sleepover with his cousins Paul and Suzy, so he was taken care of.
While she was getting dressed, another tractor came as well as the loader with the infamous thumb. As she stepped outside her house, two more trucks and another tractor arrived. She felt completely overwhelmed and had to fight her initial resistance to all the help. But they were here and there was nothing she could do about it now. She had to go to work at the veterinary clinic until noon. She was surprised that Morgan had asked Dr. Waters for the time off, knowing it wouldn’t endear him to the man.
In the late afternoon, when she’d returned from the clinic, she was packing stuff around and trying to coordinate all the volunteers who had been there all day. She swallowed her pride and made a lunch run to the café. Sepp didn’t say anything but thankfully made the sandwiches she needed. Even gave her a discount.
She brought them back and they were wolfed down before everyone got back to work again.
She lifted up another soggy cardboard box, holding it carefully so its contents wouldn’t come out, and carried it to a flat-deck trailer that Morgan had designated for odds and ends. As she did, she looked around, still trying to absorb how quickly the yard was getting cleaned up and what a transformation it was.
“Hey, Tabitha,” a voice called out.
Tabitha set the box down on the half-full trailer and looked around, then saw Owen Herne come striding toward her, waving to get her attention. Owen was tall, broad-shouldered and somewhat intimidating with his square jaw, firm lips and direct gaze. Plus he wore his sandy-blond hair long, waving over the collar of his shirt, which made him look like a Wild West outlaw. He’d been very helpful today, if a bit terse.
“Was wondering what you plan on doing with all those old cars,” he said.
“Which ones?” Tabitha made a face as her eyes skimmed the yard. There were about eight to choose from.
“All of them.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Junk them?”
Owen shot her a look of pure horror, slapping a hand to his chest as if he was having heart problems.
“They’re worth a ton to car collectors. Some of these are still in excellent shape. Like this one.”
Tabitha looked at the car he was pointing to. Crusted with dirt, it sat up on blocks, its windshield cracked and broken, windows missing on the side.
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious.” Owen scratched his chin as if thinking. “Would you consider selling them?”
“Sell them?”
“Well, I know they might mean something to you—”
“They mean nothing to me. My dad collected these from all over. Still amazes me how little time it took for him to accumulate this junk and why he thought he needed seven bathtubs.”
Then she realized she was rambling, and Owen wasn’t particularly interested.
“You can take them. Please,” she said.
Owen slowly shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of taking them. I’ll bring the cars to my place and talk to my buddies. See what they might be interested in, what they’re willing to pay, and take it from there.”
Tabitha still couldn’t absorb the idea that they might be worth something, but Owen seemed to want a reply.
“Well. Okay, then. If you don’t mind taking care of it, help yourself. Please.”
“Excellent.” And without another word, he headed toward the flat-deck tow truck he had brought.
“So what did Owen want?” Morgan joined her, looking all sweaty and attractive with his messy hair and a streak of grease on his cheek.
“To sell my dad’s cars. To his friends.”
“I’m sure if anyone can, he will. Why do you look a little stunned?”
“Still surprises me that someone sees them as valuable when I’ve only ever seen them as junk.” Then she grinned. “You’re looking a little grubby,” she said, lifting a corner of her shirt and wiping off the grease from his face.
He grabbed her and pulled her against him. “Just for that, I think I’m going to kiss you.”
She looked around, as if checking to see who was l
ooking.
“Everyone else is busy,” he said with a laugh. “No one is paying attention to us.”
Tabitha rested her hands on his shoulders, pure happiness flowing through her. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“What? The yard getting cleaned up?”
“That. But mostly this.” She leaned in and kissed him, surprising herself with her boldness.
He looked surprised too. And pleased.
“I like that part too.” He grew suddenly serious, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her heart trembled at his touch and the sight of his solemn expression, knowing what was behind it. They were cleaning up the yard to make her place more attractive to a future buyer. Hard not to avoid that reality.
Thoughts gathered up within her, confusing and contradictory. For now, she felt as if they were moving from moment to moment and she didn’t dare look too far ahead.
Because every time she made plans, something changed. Every time she made a good friend, they moved. Every time something good came, life or her father’s decisions or someone else’s choices took it away from her.
She hardly dared hang on to this longer than the minutes in front of her.
“I better get back to work,” he said, tugging at his gloves and giving her another smile.
He walked away, leaving her both confused and happy. She returned to the pile of stuff she’d been collecting and began filling a box with the glass jars she had set aside. They could go to the recycling depot. The tin cans full of screws and bolts would go in another box.
“Need a hand?”
Tabitha smiled up at Boyce, who had dragged an old metal lawn chair over to join her.
“You can give me moral support,” she said, sitting back on her haunches.
“I can sort things out too.” He sat on the chair that he set within reach of the pile and pulled the glass jars out, handing them to her.
“Morgan seems awful happy these days,” Boyce said.
Nothing like getting directly to the point. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded, pulling another tin can out of the pile and setting it aside.
Second-Chance Cowboy Page 13
