Her Small-Town Hero

by Arlene James

  Hap nodded. “She don’t hardly give you a chance to get to know Ace or for him to get to know you. I could lighten her load a whole bunch just by watching over him sometimes, but she won’t hear of it ’less he’s napping.” Hap shook his head worriedly. “I’m wondering how long she can hold up.”

  Ryan looked to Holt. “Maybe you and I ought to be taking a bit more of a hand, still.”

  Perversely, Holt had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Ryan to just back off and leave Cara Jane to him. He knew it wasn’t reasonable and that rankled. He’d already had a talk with himself and God about his attitude toward Charlotte, and he didn’t want to have to add Ryan to that list. He still couldn’t believe what a load his baby sister had carried all those years, and God knew Holt wanted her happiness above even his own, but he couldn’t deny that he’d felt a twinge of resentment at having to put his own work on hold in order to take care of what had been hers. Now, suddenly, he wanted to snap at his brother. And why? He knew the answer to that, and it had a lot less to do with Ryan than Cara Jane.

  Narrowing his eyes, Holt wondered what she had been up to here on her own with his brother. Had she played on Ryan’s sympathies? Maybe even tried to spark his interest? Ryan would be too trusting, too soft-hearted to properly judge the situation. He wouldn’t understand how Holt could be so sure that Cara Jane wasn’t being completely honest with them. Nope, this burden fell to him. So be it.

  “I think I’ll just check on things before I shove off,” Holt announced, striding for the apartment door.

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” Ryan asked.

  “I’ll see the two of you later,” Holt answered, as if he hadn’t even heard the question.

  “The boy was sleeping,” Ryan began, but Hap cut him off, calling out a cheery, “Tell Cara Jane good night for me.”

  Holt kept on walking, right into the apartment and out the back door. He dashed across the pavement to her room, cold nipping at his ears and nose. If Cara Jane Wynne had designs on his too-trusting and too-amiable brother, Holt felt an obligation to find out and put a stop to it.

  Of course, he’d felt the same way about Ty when he’d first realized that he and Charlotte might be interested in each other. Holt had feared that, with wealth almost beyond imagining, Tyler might consider Charlotte as nothing more than another plaything. In the end, Ty had turned out to be madly in love with Charlotte and willing to give up his whole world, family and career included, to make her happy. She’d refused to allow him to make that sacrifice. Thankfully, neither had to give up anything for the other. As it turned out, Ty would continue to run Aldrich & Associates even after he and Charlotte built their house and moved to Eden, and to everyone’s surprise, the snooty Aldrich clan had accepted Charlotte with open arms.

  Cara Jane, however, was nothing like Tyler Aldrich. Holt wanted to be fair, but whenever he came into contact with her, his every sense jolted to uneasy alert. He sensed that desperation hid beneath her quiet aloofness, and it made Holt wonder what secrets she held and to what lengths she might go to keep them hidden.

  He stood in front of her door now, his hand fisted, but instead of knocking, he closed his eyes and reached for help, preparing himself for the encounter.

  Father, You know I don’t trust this girl, and I know that I tend to react in defensive anger to anyone who threatens my family. That serves no useful purpose for anyone. Help me here. I don’t want to be unkind or harsh. I just want to protect my family and myself.

  Himself?

  Holt’s eyelids snapped open. Yes, himself. All wrapped up in that small package lived a very pretty and compelling woman who made him aware of her as none other ever had. She took him back to a time when he’d thought he would marry and have a family of his own—until his daddy had died.

  He’d taken up where his dad had left off, even hiring some of his father’s old crew, and he’d accepted that God did not intend for him to marry and make a family of his own. Over the years, Holt had seen too many men crippled, broken down and even killed working on oil rigs. Sure, the odds had improved, but the chances of an accident were still too great. Besides, his brother, sister and grandfather needed him.

  In all fairness, Cara Jane could not be faulted for making him think of a time when his life had seemed destined for a different path. He sucked in a deep breath of cold air and finished his prayer.

  Help me be fair and insightful, Lord. Give me discernment so I’ll know how best to deal with Cara Jane. Accomplish Your will in this and protect my family. Amen.

  Calmly he lifted his hand and tapped on the door, mindful of the boy sleeping within. Seconds later he felt Cara Jane standing just behind that barrier. Backing up a step, he lifted his chin so his face wouldn’t be hidden by the brim of his hat and she could see him clearly through the peephole. The chain snicked, and then the door opened a few inches.

  Head bowed, she regarded him warily from beneath her brows. “Something wrong?” She sounded stopped-up, and he wondered if she might be getting a cold.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “You tell me. But do it inside, please. It’s freezing out here.” He bounced his shoulders up and down beneath his leather coat to emphasize that fact. She had to be chilly, too, standing there in nothing more than jeans and a tank top. Didn’t the woman own anything with sleeves?

  She turned away from the door, and he pushed inside, glancing around.

  “Where’s Ace?”

  Cara Jane sent a fleeting, twisted smile over one shoulder. “In his room.”

  “What room?”

  She moved toward the closet, crooking a finger at him. Basically, one passed through the closet area to the bath beyond, which could be closed off with louvered doors for privacy. She’d hung a blanket over the outer, open doorway into the closet and now pulled it aside. Puzzled, Holt walked across the floor to look behind the blanket.

  The closet provided ample space for the small crib, especially since no clothing hung from the single rod overhead. The louvered doors that separated the bath area from the closet and the foot or so of space at the bottom of the blanket provided ample ventilation. The pebbled glass of the high window in the bathroom would filter sunshine into the space in the daytime, and the light in the toilet cell made a decent night-light.

  Ace slept deeply in this makeshift nursery, a soft bundle of baby boy at complete peace with his little world. Holt’s heart turned over in his chest. His mother might not be trustworthy, but Ace deserved only protection and consideration.

  Backing out of the space, Holt took a look around and noted all the little ways in which Cara Jane had made this space a home for herself and her son, from the sprig of ivy falling over the lip of a water glass to the dish towel folded and fanned prettily across the bar counter. She’d fashioned a seat for Ace at the breakfast bar from an upturned cooking pot, a pillow and a woven belt arranged on a dining chair.

  “Looks like you’ve settled in nicely,” he commented, keeping his voice low.

  Nodding, Cara Jane floated about the room and came to rest with her hands gripping the back of the dining chair she’d obviously chosen for her own.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Holt watched her study the hard wood seat of the chair. After a moment, he realized that she had yet to look him in the eye. She sniffed and made a swipe at one cheek, and suddenly he knew why she hadn’t looked at him. He wandered over to the hide-a-bed sofa and sat down, just so she’d know that he meant to stay awhile. He removed his hat and turned it over in his hands.

  Deciding that a direct approach would serve best, he asked, “Why are you crying?”

  She shot him a wary look, moved around the chair and gingerly parked herself. “I don’t know. Women cry sometimes.”

  He leaned back and crossed his legs, leaving the hat on his lap. “Last time Charlotte cried,” he told her, “it was over Ty.”

  Cara Jane didn’t appear to muster much interest in that, but she politely replied, “Oh?�
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  “Mmm-hmm. Never thought she’d see him again, I guess. That’s when I started praying especially hard.”

  “And now they’re married,” Cara Jane said, a touch of asperity, or possibly envy, in her voice.

  “Happily married,” he confirmed.

  Cara Jane gripped the seat of her chair with both hands. “Charlotte’s very lucky. You all are.” Spearing him with a tart look, she added, “Oh, that’s right. You don’t believe in luck.”

  “We’re blessed,” he admitted, tickled for some reason by her irritation, “and we know it.”

  “Do you? Even after the way your parents died?” He must have shown his surprise at that because she quickly added in an apologetic tone, “Ryan told me about your mother.”

  “I see.” Obviously Ryan had more than carried his end of the conversation.

  For a long moment, she said nothing, just sat there looking down at her hands, the palms turned up as if weighing the words she might speak. Her irritation gave way to wistfulness as she said, “It’s odd, isn’t it? Your dad fell to his death. My husband fell. Your mom took pills. My mom took pills.” As if fearing she’d said too much, Cara Jane quickly tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “Not on purpose,” she qualified. “My mom just liked to get high. She liked it so much it killed her.”

  Holt should have been pleased to learn something new about her, but instead he wished she hadn’t told him, wished it hadn’t happened in the first place, wished it didn’t make him feel sorry for her. He especially wished he didn’t have to know more, but he did.

  “How old were you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Old enough to stay out of the child welfare system, he noted, not old enough to really take care of herself. A heaviness settled over him. He accepted it with the gravity it deserved, asking, “What about your dad?”

  She waved a hand. “Last we heard he was living on the streets up in Vancouver, but for all I know, he could be anywhere. That was ten, twelve years ago.”

  No wonder she’d married so young. Mother dead of a drug overdose, father gone. This information put Cara Jane in a somewhat new light. Holt acknowledged reluctantly to himself that he’d asked for understanding and God seemed to be delivering it bit by bit.

  With an inward sigh, he commented, “Sounds like you had it pretty rough growing up.”

  Cara Jane nodded. After a moment, she confessed, “I loved school. I was safe there.”

  Meaning she hadn’t been safe at home. Holt inhaled through his nostrils. “What about the summers?”

  “My mother’s aunt,” Cara Jane answered instantly. “I don’t think either me or my brother could have survived without her.” Her lips curved wistfully.

  “Where’s your aunt now?”

  The shutters came down behind her eyes, and she shifted on her seat. “Great-aunt,” she corrected, “and she died a long time ago.”

  “What about your brother?” Holt probed, but apparently she’d reached the limit of her willingness to share because she stood then and moved to the door.

  “My brother and I are not close. We’re not all so lucky—” She broke off, ruefully bowing her head. “Blessed, I mean. We’re not all so blessed as you and Ryan and Charlotte.” She leaned back against the door frame and folded her arms, blatantly changing the subject then. “Did Hap enjoy his night out? I imagine you’re both pretty tired by now.”

  Holt knew when he was being asked to leave. He got to his feet and walked toward her, his hat in his hands. “Hap always enjoys his night out,” he told her. “Guess it’s your turn next.”

  “My turn?”

  He hadn’t intended this, but suddenly it seemed like a very good idea. He’d learned something about her tonight. What might he learn given a little time with her in a purely social setting?

  “If Charlotte were here, it would be her turn,” he pointed out, “but since she’s not and you are…” He let that trail off, pressing lightly, “You’re not going to make me go to dinner next week by myself, are you? No fun in that.”

  Cara Jane lifted her chin. “But I have Ace.”

  “Bring him along,” Holt told her, reaching around her for the door knob. She leapt out of the way, and he pulled the door open. “It’ll be a night out for both of you.” With that, he stepped onto the pavement and pulled the door closed behind him, giving her no chance to refuse.

  Only then did it occur to him that he’d just usurped her Saturday evening off. But for a good cause, he told himself, an essential cause. Not only did he need to learn more about her, Ryan was right. She had lost weight. She didn’t fill out those jeans quite as well as when she’d first arrived, and if he hadn’t been trying so hard not to pay attention, he’d have noticed it sooner. This working herself to the bone had to stop, which meant that he would have to step in once more. Perhaps he could see her well fed while he pumped her for information.

  Holt fitted his hat onto his head as he strode over to the apartment and let himself in through the kitchen.

  He found Hap and Ryan at the dining table, eating leftover pizza. Hap dropped his piece when Holt blew into the room.

  “Caught ya. You know you’re not supposed to be eating that. Too much sodium.”

  Hap made a face. “You won’t tell Charlotte, will you?”

  Holt circled around to his usual chair and dropped down into it, snatching the pizza off Hap’s plate on the way. “Nothing to tell,” he said, cramming the first bite into his mouth. Pineapple. That was new. Not half-bad, either.

  “Not now that you’ve eaten it yourself,” Hap groused, and Holt grinned.

  “You’re in a better mood,” Ryan noted, claiming a second piece for himself. “Guess Cara Jane’s okay.”

  Holt shook his head. “Nope. You’re right. Work’s too much for her.”

  Hap sighed and sat back in his chair. “What’re we gonna do? I’m telling you now, I’m not putting her and Ace out on the street.”

  “No one’s suggesting that,” Holt said, though he might have if she hadn’t opened up just a bit. It hit him that she hadn’t ever really said why she’d been crying, which made for one more mystery. “We don’t have any choice except to pitch in until we can find her some part-time help.”

  “But we’ve already tried that,” Ryan pointed out. “We couldn’t find anyone to hire, and I couldn’t free myself up enough to make any difference.”

  “Let me rephrase,” Holt said, downing the last of Hap’s pizza. He reached for the one remaining piece. “I will just have to pitch in until we either find her some help or she loosens her grip on the boy.”

  Hap rubbed his chin. “If you could just help her after he gets up from his nap, say around three in the afternoon…”

  Holt shrugged. “I guess I can manage that.”

  “And I’ll be doing the dinner dishes from now on,” Hap vowed, nodding his approval.

  “No, I will,” Ryan said, “and that includes the weekends, especially Sundays.”

  “Now how are you gonna manage—”

  Ryan cut off Hap’s protest with a raised hand. “I’ll figure it out. It’s only fair.”

  Hap looked at Holt, who shrugged again. Couldn’t argue with fair.

  “Speaking of Sundays,” Hap said to Holt. “You invite her to go with us to church tomorrow?”

  Holt made a face. “No, I didn’t.”

  “I’ll do it on my way out,” Ryan volunteered, half rising from his chair.

  “It can wait till morning,” Holt insisted, focusing on his pizza. “She, um, looked like she’d be turning in when I left, so I’ll ask her in the morning.”

  Ryan subsided, but Holt caught the look he traded with Hap. He started to protest, but then he thought better of it. Letting Ryan think he had personal interest in Cara Jane would be one way of protecting Ryan. Cara Jane could not be described as an open book yet, and until he knew a lot more about her, Holt decided, it seemed best for everyone concerned to keep her out of Ryan’s way.

 
He didn’t want to think about why that especially seemed best for him.

  Instead, he bit off another chunk of pizza. The sweetness of the pineapple provided a nice counterbalance to the spicy pepperoni. “Where’d you come up with this?” he asked Ryan, knowing his brother’s penchant for dressing up a frozen pie.

  “I didn’t. That was Cara Jane’s idea. West Coast influence, I suppose.”

  West Coast? Holt asked himself. Definitely not the Pacific Northwest. He’d expect fish pizza from that part of the world, not tropical additions.

  Questions and answers and more questions. Well, he’d never expected it to be simple with that woman, not from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

  Dinner next week should prove interesting. Very interesting.

  Chapter Six

  C ara glanced at the door, a spoon poised to fill Ace’s gaping mouth with a grayish glob of cereal. A second flurry of knocks had her inserting the cereal into Ace’s mouth at the same time as she called out, “Coming!”

  Rising from the breakfast bar, she reached over to shut off the television as she hurried to answer the knock. She liked to hear the hymns that played early on Sunday mornings. Slipping the chain, she opened the door. Hap and Ryan stood smiling at her.

  “Mornin’, sunshine!” Hap greeted her. “We heard the TV and figured you was up.”

  She started to smooth her hands down her cotton print bathrobe, realized that she still held the spoon and dropped her hands to her sides instead. “We’re having breakfast.”

  “Won’t keep you then,” Hap said, adding with a wag of his thumb, “Ryan and me, we was hoping you and Ace might like to join us for church this morning.”

  “You already know the pastor,” Ryan pointed out.

  “Grover Waller,” she supplied, nodding. “First Church, right?”

  “That would be the one,” Hap confirmed.

  “Actually, I was already planning to go there this morning. I saw the church building last week on our way to the park.”

  Hap literally beamed at that news.

  “No need to go on your own,” Ryan said. “Holt will be along in a few minutes with his truck, and there’s room enough for all of us.”