Emily's Chance (v5)

by Sharon Gillenwater

  “I don’t think I’ll find any major issues. I inspected the house for her every year and occasionally fixed some things. She had the exterminator come out regularly, so termites didn’t dare set up residence. At the first sign of a problem, she’d call whoever she needed. If it was a squeaky board, she called me.”

  “I can’t wait to see the inside,” Jenna said, pausing to give Zach a hug as he drove one of his little cars along the coffee table past her. “It sounds beautiful.”

  “It is. The woodwork was done by a true artist. I hope we can find the architect’s drawings and notes along with who the builder was.” Emily propped her feet up on the ottoman. “Unfortunately, the craftsmen weren’t always recorded.”

  “I’ve seen the drawings, though I don’t know where she kept them. She still had them two years ago. There was a list of materials too, and a few bills from the suppliers. I don’t recall seeing anything about the people who did the actual work.” Chance watched Zach wander across the room to the corner where his folks kept the little guy’s toy box.

  “Did she have anything from her father’s medical practice?” Nate asked, also keeping a relaxed eye on his son. “It would be cool if you found some old medical equipment.”

  His mom curled her legs up on the couch. “Linda thinks there are some things stored somewhere, but she didn’t know if they were in the attic or one of the garages. She’s never come across it, although Miss Sally told her years ago that she had kept everything except the exam tables from her father’s office. His big mahogany desk is in the study downstairs.”

  Zach came back, carrying a drawing tablet. He smiled at Chance and wove his way past all the adults’ legs until he reached him. “You draw a picture for me?”

  Chance noted surprise flash across Emily’s face. “Sure, buddy.” Scooting toward Emily until their shoulders and hips touched, he made room for Zach on the couch. He picked up the little boy and settled him on the other side of him. “What do you want me to draw?”

  Zach grinned impishly, his eyes shifting to Will. “Uncle Will all muddy.”

  “Ah, you’re thinking about when he fell in the mud at the stock tank last week.”

  “Uh-huh.” Zach nodded and grinned at Will before he leaned forward and said to Emily, “Him was all dirty.”

  Chance turned the pad sideways, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and started drawing.

  “I’ll have you know I didn’t fall in the mud. That ornery bull pulled me down.” When his dad laughed, Will frowned at him. “You could’ve helped.”

  “I told you that bull would come out of the tank when he was ready. He wasn’t nearly as bogged down as you thought he was.”

  “He might have been more cooperative if you’d roped him too.”

  “Couldn’t. I was laughin’ too hard when he started pullin’ you into the tank.”

  Chance sketched quickly, starting with the ground, sloping it gradually downward, making a flat bottom, then sloping it up on the other side so he could add water. In some places, it was called a pond. In West Texas, it was a tank. One he had built with his bulldozer. “I don’t have room to show the whole tank, just part of it. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Zach watched him intently.

  Chance sensed that Emily did too. He drew a longhorn bull, cartoon style, standing in water up to its knobby knees. When he added a clump of mistletoe hanging from the bull’s exaggerated long horns, Zach giggled. “That’s why Uncle Will thought he couldn’t get out. That ol’ bull had been standing there so long he was raisin’ mistletoe.”

  Even Will chuckled.

  He drew Will sprawled on his backside on the bank, digging in his heels and clinging to a rope that he’d thrown over the bull’s head. “He had to make a great big loop to go over those horns, didn’t he?”

  “Uh-huh.” Zach spread his arms as wide as he could. “This big.”

  “At least,” Will murmured dryly.

  Chance glanced up at his older brother and grinned.

  Will tried hard not to smile, but he wasn’t successful. “Be kind, bro. Be kind.”

  “Oh, I am.” Chance chuckled as he covered the cartoon Will in mud. A big glop of it was about to slide off his cap, which had been knocked sideways.

  Zach shifted around until he was sitting on his knees so he could see better. He giggled and pointed at the mud on Will’s head. “It gonna hit his nose.”

  “It might slide down and hit his ear.”

  “No, his nose.” Zach leaned against his arm, making it a little harder to draw. Chance didn’t say anything. Moments like this with his nephew were too precious to worry about something so trifling.

  “Yep, I think you’re right. First his nose and then probably his mouth. Then he’ll spit and sputter.”

  “He did some of that, all right.” Dub sent his oldest son a teasing smile. “And said a couple of words that made my ears burn.”

  “They weren’t that bad.” Will squirmed a bit and glanced at his mother – and at Emily.

  Chance raised an eyebrow. Will looked at him and shrugged slightly. He supposed he couldn’t blame his brother for not wanting Emily to think badly of him.

  “Should I add Papa watching the whole fiasco?”

  A tiny frown creased Zach’s forehead. “What’s that?”

  “Fiasco?”

  Zach nodded.

  “Mess. As in Uncle Will messed up.”

  “Yeah. Draw Papa.”

  “I bet he was laughing. What do you think?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Chance drew his dad standing over to one side, laughing broadly and slapping his knee with his cap. Just for fun, he added a big mesquite tree and a wide-eyed, open-beaked mockingbird perched on a branch, watching them.

  Zach giggled again. “The bird’s laughing.”

  “Yes, he is. What about the bull?”

  Zach shrugged and held out his hands in front of him in a classic I-don’t-know gesture. He looked so sweet that Chance gave him a one-armed hug.

  “The bull is bored.” Emily pressed against him as she leaned closer to look at the drawing.

  Chance relished the moment, promising himself there would be a million more like this.

  “Or maybe he’s thinking about pulling Will into the water. What do you think, Zach?”

  The little boy studied the picture for a few seconds. “Yep.”

  Chance laughed and moved his arm from around the boy so he could carefully tear the drawing from the sketch pad. “I reckon that ol’ bull wants to give him a bath.”

  “Give Uncle Chance and Emily a hug.” Jenna smiled adoringly at her son. Chance didn’t think any mother anywhere loved her child more. “Then show everybody else the picture and give them good-night hugs too.”

  “Okay.” Zach put his arms around Chance’s neck and squeezed him tight. “Thank you for the picture.”

  Chance’s eyebrows went up. The kid had been saying thank you for things for a while. But he didn’t think he’d ever heard him use it in a sentence unless prompted by someone. “You’re welcome, buddy. Tell your mom to hang it up in your room.”

  He picked Zach up and handed him to Emily, noting that the hug he gave her was a little longer than what he’d received. Smart kid.

  After she set Zach on the floor and he went over to show Will and his grandparents the drawing, Emily slipped her hand beneath Chance’s forearm, curling her fingers around it. “On Sunday, you didn’t mention that you were an artist,” she said quietly.

  “It wouldn’t be any fun if you learned everything all at once. I have to spread it out so you’ll stay curious.”

  “So that’s your strategy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He slid his hand up to capture hers. “Think it will work?”

  She laughed softly and tickled his palm with her thumbnail. “For a while. What happens when you run out of surprises?”

  “It won’t matter then.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’ll be old and gray an
d so used to having each other around that we wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves if we were apart.”

  12

  Emily sipped her supercharged mocha and stared at the hole in the foundation where Chance had disappeared into the crawl space of the Bradley-Tucker House. The awful thought of sliding the cover back in place and leaving him there for a few minutes to contemplate his transgressions crossed her mind. But she couldn’t do it, not with spiders and bugs and walls that grew closer by the second. She shivered, set the cup down on a wrought iron bench, and buttoned up her thick wool sweater. No matter how angry she was, she would never shut him or anyone up in such a confining space even with a flashlight.

  Besides, angry was a slight exaggeration. Irritation fit her feelings more accurately. How dare he stir her up last night with that talk of becoming old and gray together? She had worried and fretted almost all night, only to wind up with dark circles beneath her eyes and a strong urge to conk him in the head and knock some sense into him.

  Didn’t he understand that she had a career waiting to happen? That getting to know each other didn’t mean happily ever after? It meant becoming friends, enjoying each other’s company – in a platonic way – and maybe seeing each other two or three times a year after she moved back to the city. Which city remained to be seen since it depended on where she went to work. She was not supposed to spend her life in Callahan Crossing, where a hot date was going to the Boot Stop for dinner and dancing the night away at the honky-tonk north of town.

  Nothing serious could develop between them, even if a tiny part of her heart longed for love and a too-handsome-for-her-own-good cowboy/builder. Shaking her head, she smiled at herself. That’s how she thought of him. Cowboy-slash-builder. Equal parts of the whole. She’d yet to see him on a horse, but she had no doubt that he would be comfortable in the saddle and as proficient at herding cows as he was with a bulldozer or hammering a nail.

  Ah-choo! Or crawling around in the dirt beneath houses. She leaned over so her voice would carry better into the shallow cavern. “Are you all right?”

  “What?” His reply was faint and muffled.

  “Are you all right?” She called louder but didn’t move an inch closer to that awful hole.

  “Yeah.”

  She heard some sliding noises.

  “Yuck!”

  “What’s wrong?” Shading her eyes with her hand, she tried to peer farther into the darkness.

  “Cobwebs.” He sounded closer now, accompanied by scraping noises and a glimmer of light. The wobbling light grew brighter, and a hand holding the flashlight came into view. A few seconds later his head and shoulders appeared in the entrance as he pulled himself out of the crawl space. A few more wiggles and scoots and he was kneeling in the cement-framed hollow beside the house.

  “Eww! There’s a spider on your cap.” Emily grabbed the stocking cap off his head and threw it on the ground, stomping on it. The spider fled in terror, but she stepped on the cap one more time for good measure.

  “I think he escaped.” Humor tinted Chance’s voice as he climbed up to ground level and stood.

  “He might have had a partner in crime.”

  “From his perspective I’m the one who committed the crime.”

  “What?” She frowned and shook her head in confusion.

  “Home invasion. His home.” He smiled. “Beneath the house.”

  “I get it.” Annoyed at his smug expression, she glared at him. “Don’t exterminators zap spiders too?”

  “They do. But it appears they haven’t been here in a month or two. You’ll need to check with them and restart the service if it’s been discontinued.”

  “Okay.” When he shoved the wooden cover back over the entrance, she took a good look at him. He was coated in dirt, cobwebs, and a half dozen dead bugs the spiders had in their pantry. “You’re filthy.”

  He pulled off his leather gloves and tossed them on the bench. Glancing down, he inspected his dark brown coveralls. “That’s why I wear these over my clothes.” He pointed to a yellow-handled narrow broom lying on the dried-up grass. “And bring something to brush off with. Would you do the honors, Miss Emily?”

  “I’d be delighted to, Mr. Callahan.” She noted his wary expression as she picked up the broom. Perhaps she’d sounded a little too enthusiastic. “Do you want me to start with your head or your shoulders?”

  “Just shoulders and back,” he said quickly. “I’ll wipe off my head and face in a minute. I have a whisk broom in the truck that I can use for the rest of it.”

  She began to brush with vigor, stirring up a dust cloud and making him cough.

  “Whoa!” He turned and grabbed the broom handle, halting her in midswipe. “I appreciate the effort, but we’re going to choke to death.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’m not.” He tugged on the broom, but she held fast. She’d been rather enjoying herself.

  He frowned and tugged again. “Am I on your nasty list?”

  “Whatever makes you think that?” She strove for an innocent expression.

  “You’re applying that broom like a rug beater and I’m the rug.”

  “Oh.” She released the offending object and backed up a step, aware that she didn’t appear the least bit contrite. “Sorry.”

  “No, I don’t think you are.” He brushed at a large dirty spot on his lower pant leg. “You’ve been about half aggravated all morning.”

  “I have not.”

  He raised an eyebrow and kept brushing.

  “I’ve been wholly aggravated.”

  “Why?”

  Emily stared at him. He honestly didn’t have a clue. “Remember last night? You talking about us growing old together?”

  “Oh, that.” His smile was so sweet she wanted to throw something.

  “Yes, that. Hello? Remember my career? I don’t want to get involved.”

  He paused, resting the broom bristles on the ground. “Don’t you?” he said softly.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you take me to meet your grandmother?”

  She’d been asking herself the same question. “I thought she’d like you.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes. But just because we went to see her – ”

  “And spent the day together.”

  “Doesn’t mean I intend to get serious.”

  “Sometimes what we intend and what happens are completely different things.”

  “I want us to be friends, to enjoy each other’s company while I’m here.”

  “And when you go back to the city, you’ll just forget about me?” A glint of anger flashed through his eyes.

  “No,” she said honestly. “I could never forget you.”

  He leaned the broom against the back of the wrought iron bench and stepped closer. “There’s something special between us, Emily Rose. You know it.”

  Yes, she did, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

  He smoothed a loose strand of hair back over her ear. “All I’m asking is to see if God has something in mind for us beyond friendship.”

  “I have everything all planned out, Chance.”

  “What about God’s plans? Don’t you think he might have something even better for you?”

  “The Bible says he gives us the desires of our hearts. Running a big museum is what I want more than anything.” Wasn’t it? Seeing the intense emotion in his eyes, she wasn’t quite so sure.

  “There’s another way of considering the same verse – that he puts the desires in our hearts and fulfills them. Did the goal of working in a big museum come from him, Emily? Or did you sort through your interests and decide it was what you wanted to do? Were you willing to let him lead you?”

  “I didn’t know God when I started college and chose a major.”

  “What about after you were saved? Did you ask God if you were doing the right thing?”

  She lifted her chin a notch, meeting his direct gaze head-on. “Yes, I did. I asked hi
m to block my way into the master’s program for museum science if he didn’t want me pursuing this. But he opened every single door. I know I’m in the right career.” So there. A childish thought, but it was the way she felt at the moment. She was proud of herself for not saying it out loud and looked away so she wouldn’t be tempted to do it anyway.

  What had happened to her cool reserve, the sophistication she’d achieved under her mother’s careful tutelage to survive in their world? Where the slip of the tongue or an unguarded expression might lose a valuable client, destroy a potential business deal, or offend a large benefactor to a favorite charity.

  Why did he turn her upside down and inside out? It wasn’t only Chance, she realized. It was his family, the whole town. Most of the people in Callahan Crossing weren’t afraid of showing their emotions, good or bad. They were steadfast in their beliefs, honest in their feelings. They were real. Like Grandma Rose. And they were changing her.

  Or was God using them to change her? To mold her into more of the person he wanted her to be. Not the little kid who felt like sticking out her tongue at Chance and saying “Neener, neener, neener.” But the woman who had discovered a depth of compassion she hadn’t known she possessed until the fire. The woman whose hard heart was being softened because she was in the midst of a family who loved each other deeply despite their occasional disagreements.

  Chance ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, drawing her attention back to him. “I know you’re in the right career, Emily. Your love of what you do is obvious in the way your face lights up when you talk about the museum or this old house. Your belief in the value of history can’t be denied, especially after you saved those documents and pictures from the fire.”

  He inched closer, curving his right hand around her waist. “But why does becoming the head curator of a big city museum have to be the ultimate prize? Is it the only thing that will make you happy?”

  “I want to be a success.” The drive that had brought her this far lent an edge of stubbornness to her voice. Or was it the desperate need to show her parents that they were wrong? To prove to them that she was important but on her own terms. That what she had chosen to do was important.