The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (8 page)

Foolishly he hadn’t figured Miss Birdie in his calculations. The pillar motioned toward Adam with that pot of hot coffee. Once she ascertained he wouldn’t attempt to run, she said to the young woman, “We’re full today. Do you mind sharing the booth?”

Miss Birdie continued to wave Adam forward and, unwilling and suspicious but not wanting to insult the young woman, he followed. Besides, he couldn’t run without causing a scene and infuriating Miss Birdie. Neither seemed wise, and he was hungry.

“Hello.” Adam nodded as the woman glanced up.

A lovely smile, he noted, dimples showing on a round, sweet face. Her dark hair was pulled back with one of those plastic styling things he’d seen advertised on television and wondered both how they worked and if anyone bought and used them. At least this woman had.

“Hi.” She gestured at the red upholstered seat across from her. “Please join me.”

Adam slid in before glancing at Miss Birdie, whose smile stretched bright and broad and triumphant across her face. What next? A victory dance?

No, she simply turned a cup over and filled it. “Your breakfast will be right out. I ordered for you, Preacher,” she said. “Pastor, this is Reverend Patillo, the minister at the Presbyterian church. Why don’t you two get acquainted? As ministers, I imagine you have a lot in common.” She dashed off, leaving them alone and looking as proud as if she’d posted a
MISSION COMPLETE
banner.

Not that Adam felt particularly alone with fifty to sixty people crowded into the café. The eyes of every one of them studied the two in the booth surreptitiously. Was the entire town in on Miss Birdie’s matchmaking scheme?

“I’m Mattie. Have we been set up?” She chuckled, a warm, friendly sound but hardly the siren’s call of immediate chemistry. “You must be Adam Jordan from the Christian Church. I’d heard a single minister was coming to town and figured it was only a matter of time before someone tried to get us together. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks.”

“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened earlier.” Mattie took another sip of her coffee. “I want to…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but here’re your breakfasts.” On her right arm, Miss Birdie carried a platter holding two large plates and two small ones. “Toast and half a grapefruit for Reverend Patillo.” She placed them in front of Mattie. “The rest for Pastor Adam. Hope you enjoy this, Preacher.”

With those words, she set down a platter in front of Adam with a stack of pancakes topped with whipped cream and strawberries and syrup and another with four pieces of bacon, a small steak, three sausage links, a couple of biscuits, an enormous mound of scrambled eggs, grits with oceans of melted butter on top, and hash browns. It took up nearly the entire table. That finished, she folded her hands in front of her and smiled, her glance shifting from minister to minister. “Isn’t she just about the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

He responded, “I can’t eat all this.”

“Course you can. Wouldn’t hurt you to put a little meat on those bones. Take the leftovers home for breakfast tomorrow.”

Adam studied the amazing amount of food. Except for the grits, the food would last for a week. Even though he’d lived in Kentucky for years, he’d never learned to like grits. They must be a taste acquired immediately after weaning. To him, grits tasted like ground Styrofoam. It wasn’t that he disliked them; he just saw no reason to expend the effort to swallow something so tasteless.

“Now, you two enjoy. Take your time.” She patted his arm, friendlier than she’d ever behaved. “No reason for you to hurry. We have plenty of room.” With that, she rushed to another booth.

Adam glanced at the packed room and the line out the door. Oh, sure, plenty of room. Within minutes he discovered that even if he were interested in Mattie, it wasn’t conducive to romance to have half the town watching while the other half wished they’d stop eating and leave, giving up a booth big enough for four or five of them.

“You don’t think she’s too obvious, do you?” He attacked the pancakes.

“She’s sweet.” Mattie picked up a packet of jelly, tore it open, and spread the contents on her toast.

“No, she’s not. She’s controlling and has to be right.”

“And she thinks every minister should be married, even women pastors. I’ve heard she’s not too certain women should be in ministry unless we work with children, but if we are she wants us married.” She grinned. “Right?”

He smiled back. “But only because she cares.”

“You two are getting along well.” Miss Birdie appeared with her ubiquitous coffeepot and topped off their nearly full cups.

Adam noticed she looked very pleased, probably sure her plan to marry off two ministers was going well.

The pillar wandered off but kept her eyes turned toward them. He should tell her that if she wanted to play matchmaker, she shouldn’t hover or gawk. Instead, he took a bite of sausage. After a few bites, he studied the plates again. “Mattie, can I interest you in a piece of bacon? Sausage? Steak?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” After taking a sip of coffee, she asked, “What are you preaching on Sunday?”

“I’m planning to use the lectionary text from the gospel. What about you?”

“Me, too. How are you going to approach it?”

For a few minutes the ministers discussed the meaning of the verses and their structure and historical background as well as examples they could use in a sermon. As they exchanged opinions, Adam noted and ignored Miss Birdie’s fluttering around the table. He hadn’t thought the pillar could do fluttering. She filled their cups, removed plates, even dropped ice in the overflowing glasses and brought more orange juice. Inside Adam laughed because he knew hearing them talk about the interpretation of biblical texts must make Miss Birdie crazy.

Besides, he was having fun. He liked discussing sermons with another minister, and he felt more comfortable with a woman than he had for years because he didn’t think of Mattie as a woman—not that he’d tell her or Miss Birdie that. She seemed like another minister, a colleague but not a possible wife or a woman to impress or date. He felt at ease with her, and the constant surveillance of Miss Birdie amused him.

“I need to tell you something,” Mattie said after Miss Birdie had run out of things to bring or empty or pick up or wipe down and had left several huge take-home boxes, which Adam filled with enough food for breakfasts for the next week. Before Mattie said more, she searched until she spotted Miss Birdie waiting on a table on the other side of the diner. “You are the nicest single man I’ve met in Butternut Creek.”

“Oh? Are there many of us?”

“Actually, you’re the only one I’ve met under fifty.” She grinned. “Right now, I have no desire for a relationship. I broke my engagement before I came here and am not interested in anything, not for years.”

“Pretty bad, huh?”

She nodded.

“Fine with me. I’m not interested in dating now, either. New job, new life.” Adam leaned forward and spoke softly. Miss Birdie would probably believe that those heads close together meant something romantic. “How would you like to go to a movie every now and then or go out for lunch? Maybe discuss the lectionary once a week. That should throw the town matchmakers off.”

“I’d like to. I could use a friend.” She picked up her check. “Give me a call.”

At nine, after the preachers and most of the morning crowd had left, Birdie pulled out her cell phone and punched speed dial. She’d always thought they were a stupid expense until the girls became teenagers. Then they’d become necessities.

“A total waste of time. Not a spark between them,” she said as soon as Mercedes answered. “They spent most of the time discussing the lectionary. What’s the lectionary?”

“Someone divided up the Bible into verses to use in sermons.”

“Why would anyone do that? What’s wrong with the way the Bible was written, all those books. All together.”

“The lectionary covers most of the Bible in a couple of years so you have an idea of the complete Bible instead of just sections.”

“Sounds too complicated.” Let down and disappointed, she shook her head, as if Mercedes could hear that. “Well, that’s what they discussed. For nearly an hour. Hmph. Didn’t work at all.”

“It could,” Mercedes answered. “After all, sometimes it takes a while for the seed to take root. They have something in common. Don’t be so impatient.”

“Bah, I’m not impatient.”

“I’m not going to debate that with you because I have to get back to work. Bye.”

After Mercedes disconnected, Birdie stared at the phone and wondered about her minister. Why hadn’t he found a wife on his own? He was an attractive young man even though his hair was a lot longer than she felt a Christian young man should wear. Of course, Jesus wore his hair long, but Pastor Adam wasn’t Jesus.

“Miss.” One of her customers waved his hand and held up his cup. “Coffee.”

She shoved the phone in her pocket and hurried toward him.

This matchmaking stuff was a lot harder than she’d remembered. Was there another single woman in town she could fix the man up with? Willow Thomas was her only thought, but she was saving her for Effie’s nephew.

Which pretty much left her baffled, not her normal state and very uncomfortable.

N
oise from outside once again jerked Sam awake far earlier than he wanted to be conscious.

This time the commotion didn’t come from the exploding mortars or flashes of rockets that tormented his nightmares. No, someone was knocking on the front door. They did it again, with at least two sets of knuckles. And then again. Someone he didn’t want to talk to—which included about everyone in the world—waited outside. The sound made waves of pain bounce against his skull from the inside.

He groaned. Although he didn’t hear voices, he had an idea of exactly who stood outside and had changed to even more insistent hammering. He had learned that people in this town didn’t leave when he ignored them, but he was still willing to try.

He squashed the pillow over his head so the streak of sunshine didn’t hit him right in the eyes and tried to fall back asleep. If changing position didn’t hurt so much, he’d turn over and bury his face in the mattress.

“Captain Peterson, it’s Willow Thomas, the physical therapist from the hospital.”

Exactly what he feared.

He squeezed his eyes shut, turned one ear against the mattress, and put the pillow over the other. Didn’t work. He still heard the knocking and the shouting. It wasn’t going to stop. The look in the PT’s eyes yesterday had revealed a determined woman who didn’t act like she’d turn aside from her duty because of a locked door or being ignored by the person inside.

He hated tenacity in a woman.

“I have my sons with me. They want to talk to you.”

Oh, sure. He’d wager chatting with a worn-out, crippled shell of a man who’d yelled at them was exactly what those two kids wanted to do.

His head throbbed. With the pounding and shouting, the pain reached a higher level. Why wouldn’t she go away? Didn’t she have work?

“Captain, the boys have all day free and I’m staying here, with them, until noon. We’re not leaving until you come out even if we have to knock on your door for the next three or four hours.”

He couldn’t escape. After all, the woman worked with amputees all the time. Probably understood them very well, knew their reactions. She probably believed that before they were wounded and became so angry and frustrated and rude, wounded veterans
had
been nice guys. She probably thought he was a nice guy, deep inside. He could easily prove her wrong, only not right now and not from his bedroom. He’d have to get up to show her what a jerk he could be.

He tossed the pillow aside, turned in bed, pushed himself to his foot, and shoved the crutches under his arms. He glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked like he’d come off a five-day binge. Maybe he should quit drinking so much. He considered that for a second before he decided it would be easier to take down the mirror instead.

“Hold on,” he shouted. Last night he’d fallen asleep in his camo cutoffs and T-shirt. Wrinkled and scruffy but fairly clean, they covered most of him. Attempting to go around the worst of the trash, he caught a crutch on the carpet and with a loud expletive nearly collapsed in a heap. He regained his balance and shoved away from the wall, then hobbled across the living room to the front door. Once there, he glared at the three members of the Thomas family through the glass panel.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Captain, the boys have something they want to say. Can we come in and talk to you?”

He looked behind him at the squalor of his house.

He hadn’t minded the mess when the window man was here the other day—the repairman was a guy—but allowing these three in? Two kids and his PT? Besides, he wasn’t sure what else lay under the mess. Probably mice and cockroaches. As far as he knew or cared, there could be wild boars or feral cats under it all.

The stench had begun to bother him yesterday but not enough to do anything about it. Now company waited. Maybe they’d leave as soon as they came in and the miasma nearly asphyxiated them. Of course, he didn’t plan to let them in. He could stick his head outside, hear the apologies, and shut the door, coming back in alone.

When she saw the conditions, if she didn’t run, Willow Thomas’s eyes would be filled with sympathy, which he didn’t need, or with disgust, which might be a good thing. Right now, he could see they sparkled with determination, which signaled she was not going away. Why fight the eventual outcome?

He flicked his glance toward the boys. Even with the spiked hair, they looked innocent but frightened. Shame filled him as he realized he couldn’t let them see what he was really like.

When they’d been in before, the boys had entered the dining room—which he seldom used and was fairly uncontaminated. If he let them in, they’d see everything. Everything.

No, he didn’t want them back inside, in the part of the house he used and trashed. Didn’t want them to know what a slob he was or how much he drank or how little he cared about anything and certainly not how little he cared about himself or his future.

“Captain Peterson?” Willow repeated from outside. The determination in her voice convinced him even more she wouldn’t be content to stay outside.

In an effort to make an inroad in the mess, he tried to kick bottles out of the way. Hard to do with only one leg. Sam took a few steps away from the door and used a crutch in an effort to shove a few under the sofa. He nearly fell between the cluttered end table and the pink velvet love seat.

Finally, he gave up with a curse, deciding he wouldn’t feel ashamed. This chaos stated clearly who he was. He manipulated himself back to the door, opened it at the same time she pushed on it, then moved away so they could enter.

Willow didn’t flinch when she and the boys entered. Probably had visited a few wounded vets in her time and knew what to expect, but the boys stood still, just inside the door, and studied the mess with wide eyes.

“Look at all the bottles,” Nick said in a voice filled with awe.

“Do you recycle?” Leo asked.

He’d been wrong. The fact that kids had been exposed to his excesses made him feel more ashamed than he thought possible.

“Any pizza left?” Leo scampered toward a box.

“You wouldn’t want it if there were,” Sam said. “It’s really old.” He shoved an empty fried-chicken bucket off a chair and onto the floor, then lowered himself onto the sofa between a couple of Chinese delivery sacks and dropped his crutches on the floor before he asked, “To what do I owe this visit?”

“Boys, come here,” she said to her sons. The boys’ heads turned back and forth as they admired the jumble and heaps of trash. Finally, her words brought them back to reality and, he supposed, the reason they stood in the middle of his living room.

The two moved a few steps to stand next to their mother, reluctance showing in every step. The journey seemed as tortured and protracted as a trek through deep snow in weighted combat boots.

“Leo and Nick have something to tell you.” When they didn’t say a word, she nudged Leo.

“We’re sorry, Captain Peterson,” the older brother said. “We shouldn’t have been playing in your backyard without your permission.”

Nick nodded. “And I shouldn’t have been throwing rocks. I’m sorry about your window.”

Sam didn’t say a word, just watched the trio and waited.

“The boys apologize for causing trouble and that you had to buy a new window. Unfortunately…” She paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled through her lips.

Beautiful, sensual lips that promised more than he wanted to consider now. Not that she actually
offered
anything other than the apology, but he wasn’t too wounded to fantasize.

“Unfortunately,” she repeated, “with our move and my starting a new job, money is a little short right now. The boys will work off their debt.” She glanced at the boys, then toward him, uncertain for a moment. “If that would be convenient for you.”

He couldn’t imagine anything less convenient than having two kids around the house unless it would be the presence of these two kids and their mother.

The two boys nodded, looking as solemn as imps with spiked red hair and freckles could.

“No.” Sam waved the offer away. “Not necessary.”

“Yes, it is, Captain Peterson.” Her chin jutted out a bit, only enough to show her determination. “They need to learn that bad behavior has consequences.”

And
he
was the consequence? He grinned a little, inside. Being the consequence not the instigator of bad behavior was a first. It amused him. At the same time, he had no interest in actually being the consequence, and had to get the idea out of her determined, redheaded mind. He sat forward and clasped his hands in front of him. “The boys tell me that your husband ran off with a younger woman.”

At his statement, she paled. For a moment, he regretted the words even though he’d meant to hurt her. But his inability to behave in a civilized manner should make her gather her sons and make a dignified, if quick, departure. Actually, he’d prefer an undignified departure—he’d like to see her scramble out.

He’d obviously underestimated the character of Willow Thomas.

She lifted that chin a fraction of an inch more and stared at him. “That does not mean that Leo and Nick can get away with breaking a window and not taking responsibility for the damage. Although it may not appear that way to you now”—she glared at each son—“they were raised to behave better.”

She looked so brave and the boys so solemn that he had to steel himself. These were exactly the kind of people he’d have enjoyed before… All the more reason to beat her off with words and attitude.

“Ms. Thomas, I’m not going to take care of your sons because you can’t control them.”

That should do it.

She took another deep breath, but before she could say anything, Leo stepped forward. “Sir, Mom expects us to behave ourselves. We were wrong to play in your yard without your permission and really wrong to break your window. Now we have to man up.”

The old Sam, the pre-injury Sam, would’ve laughed to have his words used against him. This Sam shook his head. “You can’t shame me into this.”

“Please, Mister… um, Captain.” Leo took another step toward Sam and swallowed. “Please. We’re good kids and we won’t bother you, but we can”—he looked at the mess—“we
can
clean this place. We’re good at that. We know how to vacuum and dust. Mom’s taught us a lot of stuff.”

“Please?” The younger brother used every bit of his body to express his contrition: quivering lips, sad eyes, and bowed posture. Sam thought even the spikes in his hair bent in shame.

He thought he’d discarded compassion for others in the strife of the last few months, but the remorse of these two kids was more than he could handle. He recognized it as emotional blackmail. It worked.

“All right.” He gave up, amazed at how easily the family had defeated him. “You can police the area.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo said. “Thank you.”

At the same time Nick said, “Wow! We get to police the area.”

Willow nodded. “Thank you. How much did the window and the installation cost?”

“Four hundred dollars.”

The boys gasped.

“That means each of the boys owes you two hundred dollars’ worth of work. At five dollars an hour, that means forty hours of work each. Does that seem fair?”

“Too much.”

She glared at him, and he found himself nodding. He could shut himself in his bedroom if he had to and drink himself under the bed.

“Was there any other damage?” She looked at Sam, then at the boys.

“No, that’s all,” Sam answered. “Forty hours of work from each.” Would he survive it?

“When can they start?” She glanced at her watch.

“What day is it?” Didn’t really make a difference. Every day seemed the same to him. He only remembered appointments because someone called him the day before to remind him.

“Thursday.”

“Next week,” he said. Maybe they’d forget by then.

“We can start right now, Captain,” Leo said.

Sam shook his head to clear it, but it didn’t help. He’d planned to sleep until noon at least, but before he could suggest next week again, Willow spoke.

“I have cleaning supplies in the car. Boys, go get them.”

As the two ran out, he glared at her. “Don’t you think I have cleaning supplies?”

In fact, he didn’t. He’d used up the bits left in his aunt’s pantry and hadn’t bought more because it was hard enough just to carry food home. Besides, he’d had no desire to clean. Living like this had seemed right, but still, her assumption was insulting.

“Of course you do, but you shouldn’t have to pay for them. Not when my sons did the damage.”

He nodded.

“I brought some work to do,” she said.

Sam noticed the laptop hanging from her shoulder. He hadn’t noticed that when she came in. What man would when a woman looked like her?

“I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.” She checked her watch. “I’ll stay until noon and fix you all lunch before I leave.”

“Ma’am, despite the fact that I’m disabled, I’m perfectly capable of supervising two kids.”

“Of course you are.”

He could read the implication. Although she’d read his file and knew his background, she was careful with her sons except when they ran around on their own. He admired that.

“You don’t want to leave them alone with a stranger, especially one whose house is filled with bottles and trash,” he said. “I have a lot of bad habits, but I don’t hurt kids.”

She didn’t agree or argue or deign to answer but turned toward the dining room, picking up bottles as she went. As she moved away, she left a view of that great derriere and a trail of perfume that floated behind her and smelled so sweet it masked the odor of the room for a second or two.

The boys came loudly back into the house, loaded with supplies. To make sure they understood his reluctance, he frowned.

Didn’t faze them.

“We’ll start by picking up the cans and bottles,” Nick said.

“No, leave that for me,” Sam said. He didn’t want these two picking up beer cans and drained tequila and bourbon bottles.

“I’ll take care of the bottles,” Willow said.

He nodded. “Okay, you guys shovel up the other trash while I take a shower and get dressed.”