“Well, welcome to the club.” She eased the door closed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “You know, Sarah-Jane didn’t come with an owner’s manual telling me what I was supposed to do. Before she was born, I’d never been around babies, either. See that bookcase over there?” She pointed to the wall at the far end of the living room and the shelves flanking the empty fireplace. “It’s full of nothing but baby books, so feel free to borrow—”
A loud hissing sound echoed from the other room, and a look of panic flitted across Laurel’s face.
“Oh no!” She rushed into the adjacent kitchen.
The urgency in her voice had him following her into the small, partially open space with white cabinets and marble countertops.
Pausing near the short peninsula that separated the cooking area from the dining, he traced the sound to a pot that was boiling over on the stove. Yet, for some reason, Laurel just stood there watching it, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do.
Moving past her, he turned off the electric burner, then grabbed a towel from the counter and transferred the pot to another burner as Sarah-Jane whimpered from the living room. Poor kid. Between this chaos and their elevated voices, they’d probably scared her.
“You get Sarah-Jane,” he said, “and I’ll take care of this.”
While Laurel stepped away to see about their daughter, Wes grabbed a dishcloth from the stainless steel sink and started wiping up the starchy water that now covered a good portion of the stovetop.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He turned to find Laurel standing behind him, holding Sarah-Jane. And all eyes seemed to be on him. “It’s only fair since I was the one who distracted you.”
Her expression was much softer now. “You know, being a parent isn’t so different than what you’re doing right now.”
He rinsed the cloth under the faucet. “What do you mean?” Turning off the water, he resumed his wiping.
“You saw a problem, and you addressed it.”
Though he tried to follow her train of thought, he was still lost. “What does that have to do with parenting?”
“Well, when a diaper is dirty or wet, you change it. And trust me, there is a slight trick to that, but it’s not rocket science.”
Setting the rag beside the sink, he leaned against the countertop, unable to stop the soft chuckle that escaped his lips.
“When Sarah-Jane is hungry, I feed her. When she’s thirsty, I give her a drink.”
Sarah-Jane turned from watching him then and looked at her mother, all the while rubbing one hand in a rough circular motion over her chest.
“What is she doing?” Wes had never seen that before.
“She must have heard me say drink.” Laurel gave the child her full attention. “Do you want a drink?”
There went the rubbing again.
“This—” looking at Wes, Laurel mimicked Sarah-Jane’s motion “—is sign language for please. She’s telling me she wants a drink.”
“No kidding.” He’d never heard of an infant using sign language. “How did you figure that out?”
“I taught her.”
She moved Sarah-Jane onto the opposite hip. “This means more.” She tapped the tips of her fingers on both hands together. “And this means all finished.” She awkwardly waved her hands in the air.
Sarah-Jane must have been amused by her mother’s actions, because she giggled and bounced.
“All right, baby. I will get you your drink.” Laurel slid Sarah-Jane into her high chair beside the table before retrieving a lidded cup from beside the sink. “Of course, there are a few other things that are imperative to parenting.” She moved to the refrigerator and filled the cup from the dispenser while Wes’s entire body tensed.
He just knew these were going to be the things he’d never be able to live up to. “And they are...?”
“Well, trusting God to get you through it all is number one.” She twisted the cup’s lid on. “Because there will be days when nothing goes right.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Hmm, I can’t relate to that at all.”
She laughed then, the sound putting him at ease. “And then there’s love.” She continued toward the table and handed the cup to Sarah-Jane. “Kids need to know that they’re loved unconditionally. That no matter what they do, there’s someone who still cares and they can count on to be there for them.”
“Like your grandmother was for you.”
Turning, Laurel looked up at him, blinking. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“There’s not much you said that night that I don’t remember.” Probably because he’d replayed it over and over in his mind for the past two years.
A smile tilted the corners of her pretty lips. “You were a good listener, and that was what I needed.”
“I guess I was blessed to be in the right place at the right time.”
She nodded. “Now here we are again.”
“With a daughter, no less.” He winked at the precious child they’d unwittingly created. “So, where do we go from here?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.” She leaned against the French door that led outside. “I suppose we could discuss our predicament over supper. That is, if you’d care to join us?” Laurel glanced toward the stove. “Assuming it’s still edible.”
His gaze drifted to the beautiful child he’d never known existed. “I think I’d like that very much.”
Chapter Four
Laurel woke up Wednesday morning feeling a sense of relief. Wes hadn’t rejected her daughter. However, his text message at eight thirty this morning, asking her to meet him at the café, had her wondering if he’d changed his mind. His message had been short and to the point. Not nearly as friendly and forthcoming as the man who’d had dinner with them last night.
While they enjoyed Drenda’s meal, Wes had asked question after question about Laurel’s pregnancy, Sarah-Jane’s birth and her first year, as though wanting to know everything he’d missed. He’d even broached the topic of child support, saying he wanted to care for his daughter in every way, including financially. Later, he and Sarah-Jane had played while Laurel cleaned up the kitchen. All in all, it had been an unexpected yet pleasant evening. For all practical purposes, Wes was the same friendly, easygoing guy she’d met two years ago.
But his text was different. Strictly business. So, as she parked Sarah-Jane’s stroller outside Rae’s place, anxiety pulsed through Laurel’s veins. If Wes turned his back on her daughter, she would...
A sigh escaped. She would go on just the way she had before he came to Bliss. Except she’d be carrying the ache of her daughter’s rejection right along with her own.
The morning air was already warm as she lifted Sarah-Jane out of the stroller. They continued inside, where the enticing aroma of coffee beckoned Laurel toward the counter.
“Good morning.” Rae smiled as they approached. “And how is the most adorable little girl ever doing this morning?” She leaned across the counter to give Sarah-Jane a kiss.
The child grinned and reached for Rae, who readily obliged.
“Happy to see you, apparently.” Laurel glanced around the restaurant, noting four ranchers still nursing their morning ritual and a couple of other folks enjoying a late breakfast, but no Wes.
“He’s upstairs.” Rae’s perceptiveness really bugged Laurel sometimes. It was almost impossible to get anything past her. “Told me to let you know he’d be down in a minute.”
“Good.” Laurel faced her friend. “Just enough time for you to whip up my usual.”
“You got it.” She passed Sarah-Jane back to Laurel. “Better check out Paisley’s pastry offerings before they’re all gone.”
“Ah...” As Rae set to work on Laurel’s Americano, Laurel shifted her attention to the chalkboard that hung on the
exposed brick wall behind the counter, ignoring the fact that she had almost half of a chocolate sheet cake at home. “Strawberry cupcakes, oatmeal-cranberry cookies and her Blissfully chocolate brownies.” All grab-and-go treats. Just the way folks liked it. They could stop in, pick up some goodies and be on their way.
“Laurel, I’m glad you’re here.”
She turned as Wes approached, wearing a gray Navy Seabees T-shirt and faded jeans, her desire for sweets waning. The pucker in his brow and the laptop in his hands said this meeting was, indeed, strictly business—at least until his gaze shifted to Sarah-Jane and a smile blossomed.
“May I?” He set his computer on a nearby table and held out his hands as though he wanted to hold her daughter.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” She didn’t have to coax Sarah-Jane, who readily leaned into her father’s waiting arms, a sight Laurel found as endearing as she did troubling. “What did you want to talk about?”
Her phone rang before Wes had a chance to respond. She tugged it from the back pocket of her jeans and looked at the screen. Irma. She must be calling to check on Laurel again. Yet as she started to tuck the phone away, something urged her to answer.
“Excuse me,” she said before swiping her finger across the screen and placing the phone to her ear. “Irma, can I call—”
“Help me, Laurel! My house is caving in!” Laurel’s worries about Wes faded into oblivion as her heart skidded to a stop. Irma wasn’t one to make mountains out of molehills.
“What do you mean?”
“I was in the kitchen washing up my breakfast dishes when I heard this horrible crash. The upstairs bathroom is in my family room.”
Concern coursed through Laurel. “Irma, are you all right?”
“I’m not hurt, but I have no idea what to do.” Irma’s normally calm voice trembled. “There’s water everywhere, and it just keeps coming. I’m outside on the porch, and I don’t know what to do. I need help, Laurel.”
“Don’t worry, Irma.” Her gaze drifted to Wes. “I’ll be right there.”
Ending the call, she relayed the information to Rae and Wes.
“That’s a pretty old house.” Rae handed Laurel her drink before glancing toward her brother. “There’s no telling what could have happened.”
“How does a house just cave in?” Laurel inadvertently deferred to Wes, knowing he was in the construction business.
“I won’t know until I see it. But I suggest we get over there now.” Moving around the counter, he passed Sarah-Jane into his sister’s waiting arms.
Uncertainty had Laurel lifting a brow. “We?”
“Yes. I want to make sure things are structurally sound before you step inside that house.”
The impact of his words wound around her heart. It was as though he cared about her.
“Come on.” He started toward the door while Laurel simply watched him.
At least, until Rae motioned for her to follow. “I’ll keep Sarah-Jane, you just go.”
“We’ll take my truck.” Wes pointed toward the charcoal-gray pickup as she raced outside under the midmorning sun.
“Considering I walked, that seems like the best option.” She hopped into the passenger seat as he climbed behind the wheel.
Starting the engine, he glanced her way. “Not to mention that I have tools. And with water spewing, it’s likely I’ll need them.”
“Good point.”
After checking to make sure things were clear behind him, he backed into the street. “Which way am I going?”
“Make a right at the corner.” She watched him across the cab. The determined set of his jaw. Wes was one of those guys who approached things sensibly, without getting wound up. Unflappable, as her grandmother used to say. But Laurel had certainly thrown him for a loop when she told him about Sarah-Jane. And, as far as she was concerned, the jury was still out on the outcome of that situation. “Take another right up here.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to trust Wes, she just wasn’t sure she could. Just like she couldn’t trust her mother whenever she promised that things would be different. Aside from Rae, Christa and Paisley, Grandmama was the only person who’d ever earned Laurel’s trust. She had been the one constant in Laurel’s life. When Brenda and Jimmy Donovan turned their backs on Laurel, Grandmama was always there with a warm embrace and fresh-baked cookies.
Two minutes later, Wes eased the truck to a stop in front of the pale yellow Victorian with white trim where Irma paced the graceful front porch, wringing her hands.
Wes let go a low whistle. “That’s a lot of house for one person.”
Laurel reached for the truck’s door handle. “Maybe, but it’s been in her family for over a hundred years.” She slid onto the curb, tossing the door shut behind her before rushing up the walk to her friend.
The eighty-year-old, who had more spunk than most people half her age, met Laurel at the top step, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears. “My beautiful house is ruined, Laurel.”
Unable to stop herself, Laurel wrapped her arms around the petite, silver-haired woman. “I’m so sorry.” She held her for a moment before releasing her. “I brought a friend with me, Irma.” Motioning Wes closer, she continued. “This is Rae’s brother, Wes. He knows all about construction, so he’s going to take a look at things.”
Irma lifted her wire-framed glasses to wipe her eyes. “Oh, thank you.”
“Laurel says there’s a water leak.”
Depositing the tissue into the pocket of her baggy pants, Irma said, “More like Old Faithful. Go see for yourself.” She poked an arthritic thumb toward the door. “The whole house is liable to float away.”
Wes nodded. “I’m on it.”
“Irma, you wait out here,” said Laurel. “I’m going to go with him.”
“All right, but you be careful. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for leaving that sweet little girl of yours without a mama.”
Laurel’s heart cinched as she inched toward the screen door. Could it really be that bad?
Wes waited at the entrance. “I told you I wanted to check things out first.”
“And I said I’m going with you.” Fists firmly planted on her hips, she dared him to argue.
After a long moment, he creaked open the screen door and moved into the dimly lit entry hall.
“The family room is straight ahead.” Following close behind, she pointed beyond the staircase that hugged the wall to their right.
“I can hear the water.”
“Me, too.” Glancing to her left, she found the parlor and all of its vintage furnishings untouched. “That’s probably not good, though, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” He stopped halfway down the hall, aiming a flashlight she didn’t even know he had at the longleaf pine floors. “And it’s already made it this far.”
Looking down, she noted the water spreading in every direction. Her anxiety heightened as Wes picked up his pace and continued into the family room.
As her eyes adjusted, a sick feeling seized Laurel’s stomach. “Oh no.” She turned this way and that, trying to take it all in. “This is horrible.” Bits of plaster and shards of wood floated over the floor, and a commode lay shattered in front of the antique bookcase that lined one wall. Not far from the toilet, a claw-foot tub lay on its side in front of the window. Meanwhile, water poured from the second floor like a faucet.
Wes aimed his light overhead, moving it right and left. “Pipes are broken. I gotta get this water turned off.” Doing an about-face, he urged Laurel back toward the front door and onto the porch. “Irma, where’s your water cutoff?” He was already down the steps.
“Somewhere between the sidewalk and street.” She pointed toward the narrow section of grass. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Laurel could feel Irma watching her as Wes retrieved something from his truck.
“It
certainly is a mess.” She turned her attention to the older woman. “One that seems insurmountable at the moment, but, I promise, we’ll get it figured out.”
Irma shook her head, her expression pinched. “I guess this is what insurance is for.”
Laurel couldn’t stop the laugh that puffed out. “Yes, this is definitely what insurance is for.” Slipping an arm around the woman’s shoulders, she pondered all that would need to be done. Starting with a call to Irma’s insurance agent and a water-removal company. She was also going to need a place to stay until the repairs were complete. No telling how long that would to take, so Laurel should probably contact the church, too.
A breeze swept over her bare arms as she gave her friend a squeeze. “Don’t you worry, Irma. I’m going to see to it everything is taken care of.” If only she could say that about her situation with Wes. She still had no clue why he’d asked to meet with her this morning. And, at the moment, it didn’t look like she was going to find out anytime soon.
* * *
Between Laurel’s accident and the debacle at Irma’s, Wes was starting to see that his vision of Bliss being a quiet little town was sorely misguided. Then again, if his time in the military had taught him anything, it was that there were struggles everywhere.
After turning off the water, he’d gone back inside Irma’s supersize Victorian home to try and get a better handle on not only the cause of the collapse, but the extent of the damage. Unfortunately, the water only added insult to injury. Water had a way of reaching in, around and under everything in its wake. And the longer it remained, the more damage it would do. He suspected that at least half of the books on the shelves, many of which looked as though they could be antiques, were already damaged.
Now, while Laurel remained outside with Irma, making phone calls, Wes stood atop an old wooden ladder he’d found in Irma’s garage, staring into the gaping hole in the ceiling with the aid of his flashlight and trying to figure out what had happened. Houses didn’t simply collapse. There had to be a cause.
A Father's Promise Page 4
