A Season for Family (2 page)

“Is there a chance you ever insulted your mama while she was fixin' you a meal?” Bruce asked. “'Cause that might explain why she didn't want your company in her kitchen. Same goes for Amos.”

“Huh?” Heath hadn't slept more than a few hours in a row for a couple of weeks, thanks to a stakeout where the good guys had come up nearly empty-handed. He was exhausted and asked to delay this assignment until tomorrow. But Biddle insisted that Heath get on the case right away, and without any of the disguises he normally used during undercover operations. He'd been told to report as is, clean-faced and bare-headed, a situation he'd never encountered before.

The confusion just kept on piling up. He strained his brain to understand the comparison Bruce had just made between Heath's mama and Amos. Obviously he'd done something wrong. “Are you saying I insulted the guy?”

“When you came into the kitchen with Miss Livvy we heard what you said about
sir
being code for
feeble old geezer.
When you called Amos
sir
two beats later, I thought that big vein on the side of his neck might explode.”

“I was simply showing respect,” Heath explained.

“You can't have it both ways. Everything's black and white with Amos.”

Heath looked to Olivia, who nodded agreement.

He hung his head. How he wished for a beard and horn-rimmed glasses to hide his naked face. There was comfort beneath camouflage. Being out in the world like this made him feel exposed.

Judged.

The real Heath Stone wasn't exactly a guy people took to right away. And who could blame them?

Most days Heath didn't even like himself.

“Oh, don't worry too much about it,” Olivia said, cutting him a break. “It may take a while, but Amos will warm up to you once he gets to know you.”

“How long you plan to stay?” Bruce asked. A smirk twisted one corner of his mouth. “I've been here three months and he's still calling me Bryan.”

“Well,
Bryan,
” Olivia picked up the joke, “things are under control in here so how about checking with Velma to see if she needs help? With these freezing temps I expect a full-capacity night.”

Bruce nodded, scrapped his pile of chopped vegetables into a container and stored it in an oversized fridge. He hung his apron over a peg on the way out of the kitchen.

“Sorry I got off to a bad start,” Heath felt he should apologize, though he wasn't sure he'd done anything so awful.

“Most people have the same experience with Amos.” Olivia tore big sheets of tin foil from a roll mounted on the wall and tucked them over the giant bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Including you?” Heath grabbed paper towels and began to clean up the mess he'd made.

When she didn't respond right away, he glanced up. He was captivated for the second time that hour by the fair skin that rose above the neck of her sweater and the short crop of jet-black hair framing her face. Something quickened inside Heath's chest at the thought of this woman being guilty of trafficking drugs, especially if it was to support her thieving father who'd fled the country
a decade earlier to avoid prosecution for tax evasion. The Feds had never given up on finding Dalton Wyatt and they wondered if he might somehow be behind the recent influx of meth and ecstasy that seemed to be passing through this shelter.

Heath watched tiny lines crinkle the corners of Olivia's indigo eyes, where she squinted as if the answer to his question was a pleasant memory.

 

“God's touch was all over my first encounter with Amos.” The event was a sweet memory for Olivia. “We hit it off right away. He needed a place to live and I needed someone I could depend on.”

“What about your family?” Heath dipped his chin and turned his attention to wiping down the countertop.

“I've been on my own since high school, so help from family hasn't been an option for years.”

She wondered how his life compared to hers. Wondered if he could possibly understand what it was like to be alone in the world, not knowing whether you'd have food to eat or a roof over your head from one day to the next. Heath Stone spent his life sitting at a computer while she went door-to-door asking for donations to feed the hungry. They probably didn't have much in common at all.

Still, she'd been asked by Detective Biddle to let Heath repay his debt to the community through service at her mission. Maybe the time he spent at Table of Hope would have a life-changing impact. Maybe he'd find even more than anyone expected.

O
livia watched Heath throughout the meal. He was obviously uncomfortable having his dinner in a shelter. He avoided eye contact, ate with his head down. He kept his elbows pulled close to his body, careful not to brush against his neighbors as if that would keep their cooties away.

The guy was definitely out of place among the homeless but after the strained introductions in the kitchen she suspected he might never find his personal comfort zone.

Anywhere.

Though Detective Biddle had briefly shared the circumstances that cost Heath a hundred hours of community service, she knew nothing about him personally. Was he a political activist or just a prankster? What on earth had compelled him to make the trip over from his home in Austin, visit the public library in Waco and use his talent to break into the city's computer system? Whatever his objective, the price of reaching it had been high. The court had slapped Heath with the maximum number of hours and threatened him with contempt if
he left Waco without serving his full sentence. They'd even impounded his vehicle!

If not for the creative thinking of Detective Biddle, Heath could be working highway detail during the coldest year on record. From the hangdog expression on his face he might actually prefer the road crew to eating in her cozy dining hall and sleeping in the men's quarters for a while.

A shoulder nudged playfully against Olivia's.

“Ain't he somethin', just like I said?” Velma whispered.

“Would you stop!” Olivia hissed, hiding the humor that would only encourage her friend.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Velma smacked her always-painted lips. “That man needs a lady friend and I just might have to apply for the job, even if it's only part-time.”

As Olivia stood to clear her plate from the table, she gave Velma's arm a pinch. “You behave yourself,” she instructed. “We have rules here and for good reason.”

Even so, it was impossible to disagree with Velma's assessment. Heath's questioning brown eyes had met Olivia's only once across the table. For the brief seconds she'd held his gaze, a deep sense of emptiness had stirred in her spirit. Olivia wasn't experienced enough with relationships to know if the need she recognized was his or her own.

As she carried her plate toward the cleanup station, she tried to imagine what Heath thought of her cheerfully painted dining hall. She sniffed the warm air, wrinkled her nose. Okay, it got a bit smelly in the evenings with all the food and the crowd of people right off the street. But before lights out everyone would have an opportunity to freshen up, to appreciate a brief shower.

The hot water heaters would be nearly empty by the time the staff had a turn. But with a man as handsome as Heath Stone as their new resident, the chill of a cold shower was probably a good idea. Especially for Velma!

 

If Heath added up all the dishes he'd washed in his twenty-nine years of life, it would still be less than the number of plates that passed through his sink tonight. He was fairly sure this would become a frequent event, so he needed to accomplish the job he'd been sent to do and then make tracks toward a new future in a new place.

Just today he'd firmly decided to leave the force.

“I gotta get out of drug enforcement, Biddle,” Heath had complained to his trusted friend at lunchtime over chips and vending machine sandwiches. “What's the use in bustin' college kids for dime bags when there's an endless supply out there? It's just a waste of effort and tax dollars.”

“Oh, come on,” Biddle chuckled. “It was a bigger deal than that. You're just sufferin' poststakeout blues. You say this every time a case wraps and you have to cool your heels waitin' on the grand jury.”

Bill Biddle was patient to a fault when a cop needed to let off steam. Venting had become a daily occurrence for Heath, frustrated as he was by the constant stream of drugs across the Mexican border into Texas.

“It would be different if the indictments paid off,” Heath griped. “But the honcho of this new outfit seems to have an endless supply of product and every money-grubbin' lawyer in Texas in his hip pocket. Living in disguise twenty hours a day is making it harder and
harder to remember who I am. It's just not worth it to me anymore.”

“Listen, son.” Biddle had laced his fingers across a sixty-something belly. “I know going undercover wasn't your first career choice, but you're good at the work. Stick with us till we can afford another full-timer in the Computer Crimes Unit. Microsoft and Google aren't the only places a natural nerd can find his calling, you know.”

Heath reached for another dirty plate, grateful for the ugly yellow gloves that were a barrier between him and cleaning up after these homeless people. This place was definitely not for him and the sooner he was out from under the eagle eye of Grandpa Amos, the better.

Earlier, while Heath picked up the shattered pieces of a fumbled cup, he'd foolishly mentioned that using disposable stuff might be a good idea. He was swiftly educated about the virtues of soap, water and elbow grease versus garbage that would still be in a landfill when Christ returned. Then Amos started in about the number of trees that died for the sake of paper plates when a restaurant supply had donated perfectly good dishes.

“And, by the way, butterfingers,” he'd warned, “try not to break anything else. Money's tight around here!”

Olivia's return to the kitchen was like a sedative, quieting the curmudgeon who was a cranky Pit Bull guarding his boss lady's business. As she picked up a stack of clean bowls near Heath's work area and then stepped away, a sweet aroma lingered. She turned to carry them to the dish pantry and he seized the moment.

“Um, excuse me. Could we talk?”

“Sure,” she answered. A patient smile lifted the
corners of her tired eyes. Setting the bowls back on the counter, she grabbed a fresh kitchen towel to dry the coffee cups in his drainer. The woman's hands hadn't been still since she'd introduced herself. He knew rookie cops who could use a dose of her stamina.

“It's been crazy here tonight,” she admitted. “That's the nature of a shelter in the winter. When the weather's warm, folks leave right after the meal, but if it's freezing we tend to bed down almost everybody. And even when it finally gets quiet, there still seem to be a dozen problems that need attention.”

“I noticed.” He'd only been in the place a few hours and had already come to the conclusion there must be easier ways to get some of the jobs done. But if it was all a front for drugs, why care about efficiency?

“So, what can I do for you?” she asked.

Before he bothered to state his case, Heath was pretty sure what the woman standing beside him would say, but he needed an opportunity to poke around the place when everybody else would be occupied. He gave it a shot.

“You can tell me Amos is wrong about nightly Bible study being a requirement of staying here.”

Olivia flung her red checkered towel over her left shoulder and pointed to a plaque on the wall above their heads. It was identical to the one he'd noticed above the front entrance.

Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Matthew 6:33

“We're in the business of seeking God. Shelter and food are only the physical part of what Table of Hope is about. Introducing lost souls to Christ and helping believers grow closer to Him is the primary reason we're
here. If you're going to be with us even for a short while, worship is nonnegotiable. It's a daily time that brings the staff together with a common heart.”

“But what if I don't believe that stuff anymore? Why would you want me to take part if I didn't feel the same way you do?”

“Faith comes by hearing the message and the message comes through the Word of God. Just because you don't feel the same way I do doesn't mean the Holy Spirit can't use Scripture to meet your needs, whatever they are.”

Heath's jaw tightened, sending a pinpoint of pain into his temple. This shouldn't be a big deal. He'd find another way to skin this cat. But having somebody force religion on him rankled all the same, reminded him of the well-meaning adoptive parents who were forever trying to suck him into their church activities. Once they moved to Florida, he thought this sort of coercion was behind him.

Evidently not.

“I'll cooperate because I have to, just like I have to wash dishes.” Heath reached for more dirty flatware and slid spoons and forks into the sudsy water while keeping his gaze away from the intensity of Olivia's oh-so-lovely eyes. “But I want to say up front that requiring me to listen to Bible study will be about as effective as forcing me to do community service. Neither one can rehabilitate the person I am inside.”

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder. His already tense muscles stiffened more.

“Is it being stuck here that's got you keyed up or are you angry at the world in general?”

“Is submitting to therapy also a requirement of your program?” He glanced at the spot where her fingers
touched him, warming the flesh beneath the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt.

Olivia pulled her hand away. She reached for another dish and continued to help in spite of his rudeness.

“May I ask what kind of work you do in Austin?”

“Government security.” He began to spin a fresh web of lies, making up his story as he went along. Saying whatever it took to get her to drop her guard.

“Will you lose your job over this?”

It was natural for Heath to examine the motives behind questions. Did this lady really care what happened to him? Could her ministry to this captive audience be sincere, or was this God business just a more intricate cover than the average dope dealer bothered to set up? A loyal daughter would go to a lot of trouble to protect her father, even if he didn't deserve it.

Heath turned his head, his eyes searching hers. He smiled to mask his suspicions.

“One of Waco's city officials is the brother of my boss. He challenged me to hack into their Intranet just to stick it to his brother. I actually did the city a favor by pointing out the weakness in their network, but the mayor didn't see it that way. Even though I didn't access anything confidential, Judge Wapner still threw the book at me. I covered for my boss and he's letting me use vacation time till I get home.”

“Do you have family in Austin?”

“Nope.” Heath said the word like punctuation to end the prying.

Olivia caught the hint, knew he was telling her to back off, but she kept pressing. “So it was a security job that drew you to our state capital?”

If this guy thought she'd go away easily, he had another think coming. People were her life's work.
Each one had a story worth telling and most needed somebody to listen. Maybe if she'd been tuned in to her father, she'd have recognized the signs of trouble, spotted the depth of his deception before it was too late.

But she'd barely been nineteen back then. He'd run like a coward and left her alone to face the enormity of his white collar crime. His disgraceful departure devastated Olivia. He left her with nothing but the landmark family home that was her late mother's inheritance, Olivia's birthright. Selling off the antiques kept the taxes paid and the water turned on, but little more. Once the place was nearly empty, it only made sense to let the property go and use what funds were left to do something positive to restore the Wyatt name by giving back to the community her father had swindled.

Some citizens had objected to another mission, even complained that it encouraged transients to frequent the area. Olivia would not be distracted by opposition, since she realized from her first volunteer experience that she was called to witness to the homeless. Or nonbelievers like the one standing before her now with his rubber gloves fisted on his hips.

“Is this an interview?” Even while he was glaring and demanding an answer, the man was a pleasant sight. His lean arms pulled the sleeves of his black T-shirt tight against a solid chest. “Or are you just nosy with everybody?”

“Pretty much everybody, but especially with the ones I allow to hang around for a while,” she said, a reminder that she had every right to ask a few questions. “Some of your answers would already be in writing for me if you'd had time to fill out the paperwork. How about if I empty out that sink while you take a break and get those forms completed.”

The glare of his eyes softened, the set of his jaw seemed to relax and his head tilted ever so slightly as if he were sizing her up. He turned back to the sink and resumed his attack on the white stoneware.

“If you get a nonnegotiable, then so do I.”

Olivia detected a hint of humor in his words.

“And what would that be?”

“I don't shy away from hard work. I pull my own weight, especially in the service of a lovely lady.”

She hadn't thought of herself as a
lady
in quite a long time, let alone one who was lovely. Humility was a free by-product of dressing in cast-off clothes.

“I never argue with a man who wants to do his part.” She sidestepped the compliment. People were generally grateful when you took them in, so it was her practice not to read too much into flattery.

“Miss Livvy, a toilet in the women's lavatory is overflowin' like the Brazos in rainy season.” Velma stood in the doorway with a mop in one hand and a janitor's bucket at her side.

“Not again,” Olivia groaned. “The plumber promised it was fixed.”

“I already shut the pipes off, but I could use some help to clean up the water.”

“I got it.” Heath made a beeline for Velma and relieved her of the mop. “Point the way.”

“Just follow the stream.” She glanced at the wet tile floor. “It'll lead you straight to the source.”

“You get the ladies out?”