Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5)

by Carolyne Aarsen

  "Don't have time for that, sis," Carter said, looking up from the paper. "Gotta go."

  I levelled him a frustrated look. "You guys couldn't even pick one dish off the table?"

  Carter's face looked puzzled. "You didn't ask."

  "I will be in therapy until I’m 80." I dropped the plate I had been carrying on the nearest empty spot on the counter and walked into the living room. I shifted gears, took a long slow breath, then laid a gentle hand on my dad's head. He looked up at me and smiled.

  "You okay, Dad?" I asked.

  He nodded. "Just want to rest, that's all."

  "We'll go for a walk when we get home, okay?"

  "Sure. When you get home." He gave another weak smile and then closed his eyes again. I watched him a moment longer, willing him to get better, hoping and praying he would so if--no, make that when--I left, I wouldn't have to feel like I was abandoning him to the erratic care of my brothers.

  "You sure you don't want to come?" I asked Carter, hoping, praying he would.

  He looked at Dad, then back at me. "Thought I would stay home with him today," he said quietly.

  "Okay." My disappointment mingled with a small ray of hope. At least Carter understood what Dad needed. I took a chance and pushed a little further, remembering what James had told me the other night. "Could you do the dishes then, while I'm gone?"

  He screwed up his face in an "I doubt it" gesture. "I've got a couple of cows calving that I need to check on."

  So much for James's well-meaning advice. Seems I knew my brothers better than he did.

  "Whatever," I said, stalking out of the house as an all-too-familiar refrain now sang through my head.

  I've got to get out of here. I've got to leave.

  But James's comment from the other day slid in behind my scurrying thoughts, herding them into a place I hadn't brought them before.

  Was I enabling my brothers? Did I not ask enough of them? But if I didn't do what they didn't do, what would happen to my father?

  Easy for James to say as he was taking care of his infant niece. Wasn't he doing the same thing with his sister? Right. And what else was he supposed to do?

  And why was I even thinking about him when I was trying to plan another life?

  I put on some contemporary Christian music as I drove, breathing long, slow breaths like the stress management consultant had taught us. Half an hour later, I pulled into the church parking lot.

  I checked my lipstick in my rearview mirror and got out of my car. The sun warmed my shoulders, soothing away my frustration. It was a perfect spring day. Exactly the kind of day to go out for a walk. I hadn't even seen any of the new calves yet. I'm sure my dad would love to go see them, too.

  I flipped my purse over my shoulder, smoothed my hair back from my face and walked to the church.

  "Good morning, Danielle," a young woman boomed across the foyer as the door fell shut behind me. She sailed toward me, her bright pink suit straining across her midriff, a purple-and-orange scarf tucked into the coat and her expression as cheerful as her outfit, a long red braid curving over her shoulder. "How is your father?" she asked as she gave me a hug. Rita Woytowich knew everything about everybody and didn't care who heard what.

  "Hey, Rita," I said, thankful for her concern. "He's doing okay. Still feeling tired though."

  "He was always such a hale and hearty man. I was sorry to hear about his heart attack. That must have been so frightening for you. And you, motherless, as well." She clucked in sympathy. "Is he here today?"

  "No. He's been listless and is staying home a lot."

  Rita patted me on the arm. "Don't you worry. You are blessed to have your three brothers. I'm sure they're a great comfort to you."

  "They are," I said with forced good humour. "If your idea of comfort was three big, messy men who have never seen a piece of laundry they couldn't trip over or a dish they couldn't wash."

  "Even if they don't help much, they're good boys and I know they love you." She paused a moment as if unsure of what to say next. "I'm sure you're busy with your work, too?"

  "Yes." I gave her a vague smile, wondering where this conversation was meandering to.

  "Probably too busy to do a proper job of housework and such."

  "I do try," I said, hoping I didn't sound defensive.

  She must have caught my sniffy tone and she let loose a loud guffaw. "Oh, honey, I know what it's like to live with a houseful of men. I was trying to be subtle but guess that went out the window." She released another belly laugh. "What I really wanted to say is that I know your father's health is iffy. I'd like to come and help you and your family."

  "Help. How?"

  "Oh, general stuff. Cleaning. Some cooking. Visiting your father." She waved her hand--a mere whiff of time for her. "I usually have the Bible study Monday morning at the cafe but otherwise I don't have a ton going on."

  I looked at her, trying to take in this potential shift in my life. "What would you charge?"

  She frowned. "Charge. Don't be absurd. I'm at loose ends with Laine in school and I've been bored. I could use the work and I'm sure your dad could use the company."

  "Well...let me think about it."

  "Give me a call. I'll be waiting." Rita winked at me, then called out someone's name and was off on another mission.

  I wandered into church, still trying to absorb all of this. Could it be that those rag-tag prayers I had for a chance to move away had been answered? Could the last hindrance to my moving to the city have been whisked away by a brief conversation in the foyer? Was she a fuchsia godsend?

  Tracy and David were already seated in their usual pew and I slipped in beside them.

  "You're looking pretty chipper." Tracy said. "Casey transfer out of Holmes Crossing or something equally heartwarming?"

  "Something almost as heartwarming," I said evasively. She would hardly share my enthusiasm in having the problem of my father solved because that removed one more barrier to my leaving.

  "What are your brothers up to today?" she asked.

  "Neil and Chip went to Freeman." Obviously things were moving right along in the Chip and Juanita situation. I hoped he didn't run into Steve Stinson. "Carter is staying home with Dad and checking on some cows and not doing the breakfast dishes," I grumbled, glancing over the bulletin.

  Tracy wisely changed the subject, telling me instead about the newest plans they had decided on for the house. "David even approves, so things look like they're moving along."

  "I'm not that hard to please," David put in, putting the bulletin away and slipping his arm around Tracy. He gave me that crooked smile that could make so many women's hearts go pitter-pat. At one time I wasn't immune, either, but I've gotten to know him too well to see him as anything else but David, a good friend and the husband of my best friend.

  "Excuse me."

  A deep voice beside me made me look up. And my mouth went dry.

  10

  And there stood James. Wearing a casual shirt, corduroy blazer and clean blue jeans. A perfect hybrid of the "man" who loved Schubert and the guy who loved bucking broncs. He was good. I'll give him that.

  My eyes drifted to his mouth that quirked up in his now trademark smile, as if he were laughing at some interior joke. I thought of his kiss and my lips burned.

  "Is this seat saved?"

  "No, but I'm praying for it." Nervousness brought out my dark humour. I had hoped I wouldn't see him after last night's kiss.

  "Well, I'll help things along," he said, slipping in beside me as if everything was all peachy keen between us.

  Tracy nudged me, gave me a wink. I glared a warning at her, but she just grinned. I rolled my eyes and turned to James.

  James was all courtesy and charm, mam-ing the dickens out of Tracy as I introduced them, but while he spoke, I couldn't keep my eyes off of his mouth. I couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. How his face had softened before he moved in. How I had met him partway.

  You're in church, you ninn
y. Get a grip.

  "So what brings you here today?" I asked, injecting into my voice a tone of nonchalance. Keep things simple and superficial. He was not the man for me.

  "Memories of other church services," he said. "Some of the things we talked about the other night."

  My heart fluttered again at his serious tone and the hint of yearning in his voice.

  "And they have a free nursery," James added.

  His mocking look dampened the faint warmth that his previous comment had kindled in me. "Of course," I said, feeling foolish.

  I was about to turn away, but as I caught his gaze again, his sardonic smile softened. "I'm kind of kidding about the nursery," he said, his voice dropping enough to create a hint of intimacy.

  Again his eyes held mine. Again I felt like I was drifting into a new, different place. His smile faded and I saw him swallow.

  "Danielle..."

  A crash of musical chords surrounded us as the singing group at the front started up. I jumped. James looked

  away.

  My heart fluttered as I got to my feet, my mind trying to connect to the words flashing on the screen overhead. I caught the rhythm, caught the song. But as I sang, I was intimately aware of the man beside me.

  Forgive my distraction. Lord, I prayed as my eyes followed the words, trying to pull myself into worship. Into the realization I was in God's house and worshiping Him.

  I was drawn slowly into the song, but even so, I heard James's voice beside me, hesitant at first as he learned the song, then more forceful as he caught on.

  After the first few songs were done, the worship leader welcomed us to the service, inviting us to greet the surrounding people.

  I took a quick breath and shook James's hand, officially welcoming him to our church service. I kept my voice cool and calm.

  He looked down into my eyes and gave my hand an extra squeeze at the end. Nervy as a pickup artist in church. Which is exactly what he was.

  I went through the motions of chatting with the people ahead of me, behind me. Said hello to Tracy and David again and tried to make myself focus on the music as the praise team started singing.

  I closed my eyes in an effort to concentrate on the church service. I was here to be a part of a community that worshiped God. I listened to the words, let them become a part of me and again, let myself be carried to another place, a place close to my Saviour, in His presence.

  By the time the pastor came to the front of the church, I was in the right frame of mind for worship.

  We had a visiting minister today, and he spoke on Exodus 33. The passage tells the story of when Moses was up on the mountain, and he asked God to show him His glory.

  '"I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion. But you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live,"' he said.

  He continued on to the end then looked around at us and began speaking again. When he spoke of God's mercy and compassion, I felt comforted. Encouraged. I struggled each day with people who I needed to deal with compassionately, even though I didn't think they deserved it.

  And do I deserve it?

  That last question hung in the back of my mind and I couldn't help a quick glance over at James. Maybe he saw the bet as a harmless joke. But it wasn't harmless. At least not to me. It was part and parcel of how my brothers seemed to treat me. As as joke.

  And what stung almost as much was that, though we never talked about it, because feelings are not manly after all, I assumed my brothers knew exactly what losing Wyatt had cost me. How it had hurt and frightened me. So why were they trying to get me together with another cowboy?

  The last chords of the last song faded and then the praise group moved into another chorus and conversation swelled as people made their way out of church.

  I waited a moment, letting the message sink in.

  I turned to James, but he was already walking away, heading toward the nursery. I saw a few women's heads turn, watching him. Just as I was.

  "Could you? Please?" Chip caught my hands and squeezed, giving me his best sad, puppy dog face.

  "Chip, I haven't had an empty evening to myself in weeks. I was hoping to get together with Tracy." I got up from the kitchen table and tied on an apron. This time I would be firm. Just as James had encouraged me to. "Babysitting Sherry isn't high on my 'want to do' list."

  "But if James can't get anyone to watch Sherry, he won't come check out those new broncs of the Alameda’s tomorrow. They're supposed to be real goers. Drake Alameda wants us to break two for riding. And we want to get ready for the rodeo in a couple of weeks. So it's a double duty ride."

  Like that was an incentive. I was sure the boys knew how I felt about them competing.

  Besides, I'd worked well into the evening this past Monday and Tuesday. And each night as I dragged myself home, I would look over at James's house and wonder what he was doing--how he was managing. I'd slow down, think about stopping, but each time the memory of his kiss and the thought of him in church would mingle together with the picture of him riding that wild bronc. It was altogether confusing and frustrating. And now on my first free night, Chip wanted me to nurture and help that part of James along.

  "Why would I want to make it easier for James to break his neck on some 'goers.'" I tried to sound all tough and together but as soon as I spoke the words I felt a jolt in my midsection.

  "He's good, and he's got a real drive. He told us this is a big deal for him and he wants to make one last run. Besides, he's better with the horses than we are."

  "Of course he would love doing it," I muttered. I don't know why it should bother me that James was no different from my brothers when it came to 'guy stuff'. Surely having the responsibility of a little baby should have tempered that very "guy" urge. I pulled out two onions from the refrigerator and chopped them up, sniffling as the fumes overtook me.

  "It would help out if you could. I mean, it's not his fault his sister took off on him." Chip came around to the sink and leaned on the counter, trying to catch my eye.

  "It's not my fault, either. Has he heard anything from Robin?"

  Chip shrugged. "I guess she called yesterday crying. She said she wasn't coming home yet, which will mess things up for us."

  I felt a moment of sympathy for James and, in spite of myself, admiration for him continuing to care for Sherry. "By the way, how are things with you and Juanita?"

  "Good." His smile blossomed. "She's a real neat person. Spunky and a lot of fun. She's working on changing her life, you know." This was delivered with a plaintive tone, just in case, I presumed, he thought I would report back to Oden, Juanita's caseworker. "She hasn't been drinking or anything like that."

  "That's good."

  "I know she's not exactly the kind of person Mom, or even you, would pick out for me, but I care for her. A

  lot."

  Chip's perception was a welcome surprise. "Just like you guys have certain people in mind for me, I guess I've done the same for you. So if you care for her, then I'm glad. I hope Steve Stinson doesn't make trouble for you."

  "I heard he's out of the county." Chip took a piece of raw onion and popped it in his mouth. Gross. "You know, speaking of having people in mind...James is also a nice guy."

  Why did the mere mention of his name give me that silly jolt? "I'm sure he is," I conceded, trying to banish the memory of that foolish kiss out of my mind.

  "I mean, look at him, taking care of that little baby for his sister. Few guys would do that."

  I let the observation slide as I tipped the onions into the sizzling frying pan, stirring them around to sauté them.

  "Whatcha making?" Chip sniffed. "Smells great."

  Now, that was one thing I did appreciate about my brothers. As long as the scent of onion or bacon frying wafted through the house, they assumed supper would be fantastic. "Plain ordinary old shepherd's pie," I said, dumping the hamburger into the pan.

  "You can make plain and ordi
nary taste extraordinary."

  My surprise was almost as great as the warm feeling his compliment gave me. "Thanks, Chip, that's nice to

  hear."

  He beamed. "James told me it was a good idea to give you a compliment once in a while."

  Trust something James initiated to make me feel contradictory feelings of pleasure and frustration.

  "So, would you be able to help James out?" Chip asked, as if his compliment had paved the way for my agreement. He leaned closer and smiled. "James told me to leave you alone. Said you worked hard enough every day, but I know that you're a good person and it would be great for him to get out."

  "You're on a roll," I said, shaking my head at his persistence, and secretly pleased with what James had told him. "Okay. I'll babysit Sherry."

  "You're the best." Chip gave me an awkward one-armed hug. Then he clambered out of the kitchen, presumably to tell James the good news.

  But even as he did I wondered what I had gotten myself roped into. Was I enabling James to do what I didn't want him to, or was I just being a good neighbour. And why should I care what James did with his life? It wasn't any of my business.

  Was it?

  11

  My ears were ringing from Sherry's steady screams and it was only nine o'clock. I wasn't getting rescued from this very upset child for at least another hour. I had rocked, burped, fed, changed, sang, pulled faces, ignored, and carried. Nothing in my babysitting repertoire had prepared me for this unceasing onslaught of grief.

  Sherry's sorrow had worked up such a sweat on her, I had changed her clothes twice. My head ached, and I wished for the tenth time I hadn't agreed to this.

  "I'm an easy touch," I said to Sherry. Not that she could hear me above her wails. I looked at the clock again. Seventeen seconds had passed.

  I couldn't keep this up any longer, but what could I do?

  WWMD. What Would Mom Do?

  Though I could see the house from the window, I phoned my dad, hoping he would feel sorry for me and possibly help me out.