A Season for Family (13 page)

Heath was stunned by the lack of emotion in Olivia's voice. If her feelings could transition to apathy in twelve hours, how much truth was there to her profession of love?

Yeah, like I've got the right to question her honesty, huh, God?

“Is that what you want?” Heath asked.
Please say no.

“What I want is for you to pray about this and listen for the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Then do what you feel in your heart is right, even if it's only right for you, Heath. I'll be okay. This may be my first rodeo, as you put it, but I've been around the backside of a horse enough to recognize one when I see it.”

The echo of a buzzer announced a visitor at the front entry. Olivia looked toward the sound, and then down at the carton of milk she still held in her hand.

“I don't think Amos is out there right now.”

“I'll see who that is,” Heath offered. “You go back and wrap up your deal. You're right, this is none of my business and I should get out of your hair sooner rather than later.” He turned around and marched down the long hallway that led to the check-in area. Outside the door, with burglar bars and glass to keep him away from Olivia stood the person who was quite possibly responsible for this whole mess.

Dick Sheehan.

O
livia's heart had been on a wild ride all day. One moment it was in the pit of her stomach as she waited for Heath to pack his few belongings and leave. And an hour later the erratic thumping had climbed into her throat, thanks to Heath digging in his heels as if he were there for the long haul.

“I said I'd stay through Thanksgiving and I'm staying through Thanksgiving,” he insisted when she found him in the kitchen making a mess with a potato peeler. Bits of sweet potato skin littered the countertop, floor and wall behind him while Heath clutched a mutilated yam as if it might try to make an escape.

“He's determined to help out in here,” Amos explained. “With a hundred pounds of taters to peel, I figured I'd best put both of these guys to work.”

Olivia noticed Dick Sheehan for the first time.

“Welcome back! I didn't realize you were in here.”

“Word's out that Table of Hope will be open again tomorrow. I figured you might need some help with the holiday coming up and all,” Sheehan explained.

“That's thoughtful of you. Thanks so much for showing up like this.”

She was always glad for another willing worker, especially a guy who already knew his way around the shelter.

“I let him in a while ago,” Heath grumbled, sounding for all the world like Amos.

“My pleasure, Miss Livvy.” Dick held up his half-peeled sweet potato. “Don't these things come already sliced and in cans? Wouldn't that be easier on the kitchen staff?”

Heath and Amos exchanged withering glances.

“You gonna take it or you want me to?” Heath gave Amos first dibs.

“Go ahead.” Amos turned his attention to the tub of turkeys he was injecting with Cajun marinade.

“Money doesn't grow on trees around here.” Heath parroted what he'd heard Amos say a few days earlier. “In case you hadn't noticed, we work with whatever gets donated.”

Olivia held back a grin.
My, how Heath's perspective has changed since his first KP experience.

“Excuse me.” Dick exaggerated an apology, and then turned his attention back to Olivia. “You think I could bunk here tonight since the place is empty?”

“I can't imagine why not.”

“Don't you need clearance from the Health Department or something?” Heath barked above the manic scraping of his peeler.

“We didn't get shut down for goodness' sake—we closed voluntarily.” Olivia wanted to knock a knot on Heath's head for the unnecessary comment.

“Still, flu bugs and all,” he grumbled. “Might not be smart to let just anybody back in here too soon.”

“Could I speak with you for a moment in my office?”
She turned and strode toward her cubicle, expecting Heath to follow.

“What is going on with you?” She flew hot the moment he stepped into her workspace. “First you're hiding out, then you're all up in my business, next you're leaving and now you're staying. Not only that, you're trying to run off what little help we have.”

“I don't think I like that guy.”

“I don't care what you think!”

“Well, you should. He looks suspicious and I wouldn't trust him any further than I could drop-kick him.”

Olivia huffed out a breath at the judgmental comment.

“Dick's a homeless man who's willing to work in exchange for a place to sleep tonight. In case you've forgotten, Heath, this is a shelter and I don't turn people away because of how they look, or whether or not they seem trustworthy. I let
you
in, didn't I?” The wisecrack slipped out, surprising even Olivia.

Heath grabbed the stapler from her desk and held it like a microphone to his mouth. “Sarcastic party of one, your table is ready.”

Olivia spit out a grin. She'd come to enjoy his edgy humor. Even so, he had no right to be critical of her clients. He folded his arms, evidently waiting for the lecture he knew he had coming.

“Look, Dick was a good sport when the other guys were sick and you needed somebody to help you clean up the mess. I'm asking you to give him the benefit of the doubt and just appreciate his servant's heart.”

Heath became interested in the pattern of the area rug. He nodded while he muttered something she couldn't understand, which was probably just as well.

“I'll take that as a sign of agreement.”

His gaze wandered up to meet hers, his eyes staring, questioning. “I don't know what to take as a sign anymore.”

Olivia stepped closer, nearly toe-to-toe with Heath. She raised her hand, rested her palm along his jaw and studied the face that had begun to appear in her dreams and daydreams.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For changing things between us, for making you uncomfortable, for saying something I should have kept to myself.”

“But it's the truth, right?” he asked quietly.

“I've tried to be as honest with you as you've been with me.”

Heath turned his face toward her hand, pressed his mouth to her palm and let his lips linger there for a moment. She felt the depth of his warm sigh against her fingertips. Then he took a step back as if he were creating a chasm between them.

“It's good of you to stay through the holiday,” she thanked him. “I appreciate it.” What more could she say?

Heath seemed uncomfortable with her gratitude and let his attention shift to the window. He stepped closer, breathed against the glass and touched the foggy spot that appeared.

“With this ice storm passing across the state, it's a good thing you're opening the doors again tomorrow. The forecast says it's going to be the worst Thanksgiving cold spell on record.”

“Well, let's pray the weatherman is wrong.”

“Why's that?” Heath turned to face her.

“Because when it freezes in a place like Waco, where we're not used to such cold, people on the street die.”

 

Heath hoped Olivia's comment wasn't a premonition. A drug bust could be deadly business. If things went according to plan, they'd be drawing the pill pushers to a new location on the very night the freeze was supposed to hit the lowest temps. Who knew if the bait Amos had thrown into uncertain waters would get a bite right away. But if Heath's suspicions were correct, the sellers were greedy for a cash deal, anxious to unload a huge quantity and then hightail it out of the state as quickly as possible.

“So, will you make nice with the help?” Olivia's head was cocked to one side. Her short black hair poked out every which way, a sign she'd nervously run her hands through it, which he'd noticed she did frequently.

“For you, anything.” He meant it from the heart, wished he could prove it to her.

“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Her gratitude was anemic. She left the room and headed down the hallway. “I really appreciate your support.”

Olivia's words dripped insincerity. Heath took a beat to consider how much that bothered him. He'd been saying that she
should
be suspicious, question more than she accepted. She needed to expect the worst from people so she couldn't be taken for a ride. That's the perspective Olivia ought to have after the hard knocks in her life, but instead she was one of those cockeyed optimists, too good to be true. Heath's insides shivered. The power behind her positive nature had become clearer to him by the day and he no longer felt the need to deny the source.

Heath was alone in the quiet space. Alone in the world for that matter. He hung his head.

“Lord, Olivia says You're in control and You can do anything. Whatever Your plan is for the next few days, when it's all played out will You please help me learn to be less of a jerk? I want to be a person my family will be proud to claim. I want to be a cop who doesn't have to be afraid to show his face. I want to be a man who deserves a woman's love. That's pretty much a new person, and Olivia says that's exactly the business You're in. How 'bout it, God?”

“Stone, you down there?” Amos interrupted Heath's pitiful effort at prayer. A raspy cough punctuated the question.

Heath poked his head outside Olivia's cubicle, motioned silently to Amos. The older man entered the check-in area and pulled the hall door closed behind him, then followed Heath into the private space.

“I don't think Sheehan's our guy.” Amos wiped at his face with a checkered handkerchief.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's too stupid.”

“I won't disagree, but could you be more specific?”

“I dropped a couple of hints when we were alone in the kitchen. Stuff any seasoned doper would pick up on. He was more concerned about how many sweet potatoes were in that bushel basket than where a fella could score something big for a holiday party.”

Heath slumped against the wall, back to square one.

“I never thought it was him anyway.” Amos struggled through another fit of coughing that drained the color from his weathered face.

“Are you sure you feel like being up and about
just yet? Maybe you should take it easy for a while longer.”

“I'll be fine.” Amos dismissed the concern as he stuffed the handkerchief in his hip pocket. “Croupy lungs are what I deserve for smokin' two packs a day for twenty years.”

“Okay, what were you saying about not suspecting Sheehan all along?”

“Mostly gut feeling, but he's only been coming around here for a few weeks. This surge of campus drugs has been steady for a while now.”

“How would you know about that?”

Amos slanted an impatient glance at Heath. “I may look like a washed-up old coot on the outside but that's not how I feel in here.” He pressed a gnarled hand to his chest. “I have a lifetime of experience as a cop and a family man. The bad times didn't always outweigh the good ones and I didn't drink so much that it pickled my memory.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to imply—”

“Yes, ya did. You don't expect a has-been like me to be in touch with what's going on in my community, but I am. I read the paper, listen to the news and pay attention to talk inside the shelter. Anybody who's really interested can figure out that we're smack in the middle of a drug traffic lane and kids are gonna die if it's not stopped.” The outburst cost Amos another coughing fit. Heath grabbed an unopened bottle of water from Olivia's desk, twisted the cap and handed it to Amos. He drank to clear and calm his throat.

“Thanks,” he wheezed.

“Don't mention it.”

“Not the water,” Amos clarified. “I mean thanks for looking out for Miss Livvy. She thinks she's got it all
under control. She's mighty sharp—I'll give her that—but she needs help. For Pete's sake, she's only a kid.”

“She's not much younger than me.”

Amos rolled his eyes. “You came into the world a grumpy old man. You started life thinkin' the worst of folks, and thanks to your line of work now you expect it. Miss Livvy's not jaded like you and me. She can still be happy as long as she gets the chance.” He punctuated the remark with a glare of overkill. “And while I've got the chance I want to thank you for protecting her and keeping this place in the clear. As soon as you make tracks in another direction, she can get on with the stuff she's got planned for Table of Hope.”

“What about her art? Will you encourage her?”

“How about if we both just let go and let God handle it?”

The buzzer sounded, giving them both a start.

“What the…” Amos bit back his thought. They looked around the cubicle wall to find several bundled up figures stamping their feet to keep warm on the porch. “Looks like we might be back in business sooner than we expected.”

When the bolt was turned, the door flung wide and scarves unwound, revealing Bruce, Nick and Velma looking much better than the last time Heath had laid eyes on the three of them.

“The fever and chills are all gone,” Velma reported.

“And no barfing since we left here,” Bruce added.

“Let's hope that's not a commentary on the food, considering you're second in command in the kitchen.” Amos pulled Bruce into a bear hug, the two men slapping each other on the back, careful not to set off coughing spells. “You sure you're not out of bed too soon?”

Bruce shook his head. “Even though the nurses treated us like royalty, we couldn't wait to be released. The minute we got the all clear we were dressed and out the door. We just happened to hitch a ride with the same van that was picking up Velma.”

“Y'all think you're in good enough shape to help with Thanksgiving?” Amos still seemed worried about his friends.

“By the grace of God!” they chorused.

“Then I can't wait for the look on Miss Livvy's face when she sees we're all back together.” Amos led the way. “And guess what? Our girl is gonna have an art show at a real gallery.”

The four trooped down the hall, communing in friendship, gone in search of their boss lady. Heath watched them go, leaving him behind with his thoughts. Her staff was back and with Peggy still there Olivia had all the help she needed. Tomorrow would be a big day one way or the other and then Heath could be free to “make tracks in another direction” as Amos had put it.

Everything was falling right into place. Here was another of those
signs
he'd just told Olivia he didn't know how to interpret. But this one was so obvious even he couldn't deny the message. His prayer for help was still fresh on his lips and here was a response. He reached into his pocket where his fingers grazed the warm metal of his cell phone.

Olivia was busy reconnecting with the people who were her family. It was time for Heath to do the same. He punched the first speed-dial number, excited to hear the voice that answered.

“Mom, it's me. I called to see what you and Dad are
doing for Thanksgiving. I sure could use one of your home-cooked meals. And we'll need extra in case I'm able to convince company to join us.”