Baby, Come Home (13 page)

19

K
endall opened the door to Amy’s room a crack and looked out. Seeing the coast was clear, he stepped out into the hall and, with one regretful glance back to her sleeping form, he closed the door.

He crept down the hall as quietly as he could in the predawn hour, hoping he didn’t run into anyone along the way. His body ached pleasantly from two—or was it three?—days in bed with Amy, but he’d never felt better. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if he had something to look forward it. He’d promised his brothers he would help rebuild Sweetness, yes. But now it meant more to him because he wanted to make it home for Amy again, to give her the kind of loving environment she hadn’t had here before.

So that she would stay.

He eased down the stairs and paused at the bottom. From the kitchen came the sound of voices and activity, hushed in deference to the early hour. He gauged the distance to the front door. He’d have to walk past the door to the kitchen and through the front great room, which was mostly used as a sitting room.

He turned in the direction of the back door, but that route would take him through the rear great room that was equipped with TVs and computers and, therefore, more likely to be occupied.

Then he remembered the side door that would spill him onto a footpath leading to the main street. It was a more circuitous route, but he was less likely to run into anyone.

Resolved, he took a step, but at the sound of a growl, he froze. In his path a few feet away stood Rachel’s dark-faced pug, Nigel. And he didn’t look happy.

“Easy, boy,” Kendall soothed.

The dog began barking, a sharp, yapping noise in the same decibel range as a siren.

“Shh!” Kendall hissed, now panicky. “Shh!

“What’s all the commotion?”

Kendall looked up to see Rachel Hutchins standing there in pajamas and robe, holding a spatula.

“Kendall? What are you doing here?” She snapped her fingers at the dog, and it quieted.

“I…uh…” He squirmed, wondering when she’d realize he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the night he’d nearly burst into flames after eating her “Special Asian Chicken.”

Suddenly Nikki appeared behind Rachel. “Kendall, are you finished already?” She glanced at Rachel. “Kendall offered to come over this morning and take a look at the leak in the hallway from all the rain we’ve had.” She looked back to Kendall, her expression pointed. “So, is it fixable?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s…fixable. I’ll be back later with…tools.”

Rachel smiled. “I’ll walk you out.”

He stifled a groan, but he’d put up with anything to get to the door. He gave Nikki a grateful nod, then strode down the hall.

Rachel trotted to keep up with him, and Nigel trotted to keep up with her. “I hope you’re not angry about the other night,” she said. “I’m really sorry.”

Kendall stopped at the door, then turned. She was a very pretty girl—smart, too. But she wasn’t Amy. “I’m not angry at all. It wasn’t your fault. You’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

Rachel bit her lip. “But?”

“But…I’m not your type, Rachel.”

She angled her head. “You mean
I’m
not
your
type?”

“That, too,” he agreed.

“It’s that Amy woman, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it’s always been Amy.”

She nodded. “I heard that she’s from here originally. You all were sweethearts before?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that takes the sting out of it a little.”

“I’m sorry. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

She gave him a little smile. “So I’ve been told.” Then she sighed. “Does this mean you’re not going to fix the hole in my wall?”

“No. The hole will be fixed, I promise.”

She nodded, but looked as if she didn’t believe him.

“Rachel, I am really sorry about everything.”

She leaned over to scoop up her dog. “It’s okay, I have Nigel.” She gave her pooch a smooch, then walked back down the hallway.

He wondered with a pang how many men in her life had let her down, and hated that he was one of them.

He eased the door closed behind him and paused on the front porch to breathe in cool, rain-cleansed air. The sun was coming up and the sky was clear. It was going to be a nice winter day.

But the rain had left pools of ugly red mud in its wake, and he knew the site of the construction bridge would be a mess. Considering how much work Amy and the crew had accomplished the day the metal parts had been delivered, though, they were still on schedule.

In response to his howling stomach, he crossed the road to the dining hall. Remembering the war zone it had been the last time he’d walked in, he gingerly opened the door. But all was calm and Molly seemed happily situated behind the serving line, ladling out lumpy oatmeal, as usual. The hall was crowded with workers, eating early before their shifts began. He walked toward the food line, so famished that for once he was looking forward to rubbery eggs and undercooked bacon.

Suddenly, Dr. Jay Cross stepped into his path. “May I have a word, Mr. Armstrong?”

Kendall came up short to keep from plowing into the small, suited man. “Sure, Doc. What’s up?”

“My ire,” the man said in his precise, clipped accent.

Kendall squinted. “Come again?”

The doctor stabbed at his dark glasses. “I find myself in the unfortunate position of having to stake a claim on…my woman.”

Kendall scratched his temple. “Your woman?”

“As if you don’t know of whom I speak—Rachel Hutchins, of course.”

He almost laughed at the absurdity of Amazonian, flamboyant Rachel and this petite prim little man, but caught himself when he realized the doctor was serious. “I guess I didn’t realize you and Rachel were an item, Doc.”

“We’re not,” he chirped. “But we will be…once I’ve eliminated you as a competitor.”

Kendall lifted his hands. “Whoa, I’m not a competitor.”

“Okay,” the doctor said, putting his fists in the air and adopting a fighting stance. “Fisticuffs, it is!”

The noise around them quieted, and men scrambled to pull back tables, eager for a show.

Dr. Cross started bouncing from foot to foot, as if he were in the boxing ring. He was nervous, his face red, his tie askew.

Incredulous, Kendall stared at the man he could easily bench-press. “I’m not going to fight you—”

The man’s fist darted out, lightning quick, and jabbed Kendall in the nose.

“Ooh,” chorused the crowd.

Kendall frowned. The “punch” felt more like a mosquito bite, but now he was irritated.

Still bouncing, Cross stabbed at his glasses. “Put up your dukes and fight like a man!”

Kendall assessed the situation. He didn’t want to hurt the young doctor or break his glasses, both of which he was likely to do if he punched him. But he understood the guy needed to save face. So he “put up his dukes” and let the man dance around him, jabbing and punching at will.

He pretended to fend off the blows as the men around them cheered and provided various sound effects. Then after a few minutes, he raised his hands. “Okay, I give up.”

The doctor stopped bouncing and pushed up his glasses. He was sweating profusely. “You do?”

“Yes,” Kendall said. “I will step aside so you can pursue Rachel.”

The man smiled, then jammed his hands on his hips, pleased with himself. “Very good,” he said with a curt nod. “Brilliant decision.” Then he extended his hand, and lowered his voice. “No hard feelings, Mr. Armstrong?”

“None at all,” Kendall murmured. “Treat her right.”

“I will, sir,” the little man said, his expression serious—and happy. He ran to the door, no doubt in a hurry to let Rachel know they could now be together. Kendall puffed out his cheeks in an exhale.

He hoped the woman didn’t clobber him.

As Dr. Cross was going out, Porter and Marcus were coming in. They looked at Kendall and the pushed-back tables.

“Did we miss something?”

“No,” Kendall said with a dismissive wave. “Let’s eat.”

Porter grinned and clapped him on the back. “Glad to see you’ve recovered from whatever was ailing you, bro. That must have been some bug. You look like you’ve been ridden hard and put up wet.”

Kendall shrugged, unable to completely stop the smile that crept onto his face.

“Look at that,” Porter said. “Is that a smile? Our brother is smiling again, Marcus.”

Marcus grunted. “I just hope you’re ready to get back to work.”

“I am,” Kendall said.

“Amy, too?” Marcus asked with an arched eyebrow. “I heard she was down with the same thing that had you on your back.”

Kendall wiped his hand across his mouth. “I think she’s ready to return to work today, too.”

“Good thing,” Porter said, “because the fabricator is delivering the wood this afternoon for the Evermore Bridge.”

Kendall blinked. “That’s earlier than we thought.” Damn—of course the materials for the one project he’d like to delay would arrive ahead of schedule.

“Will you let Amy know?” Marcus asked. “That is, if you think you’ll be seeing her.”

Kendall smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

“Need an extra pair of hands today on the construction bridge?” Marcus asked.

“Sure,” Kendall said, always happy to work side by side with one of his brothers. They were usually off in different directions. “Have you heard back from the D.O.E. guy yet?”

“Not yet,” Marcus said. “I hope his report isn’t as bad as you think it’s going to be.”

“So do I,” Kendall said. He now had more reason than ever to want Sweetness to be a success. “So do I.”

20

A
my scanned the covered bridge work site where crews were drilling into the muddy creek bed, hoping to hit rock sooner rather than later. All seemed well, so she punched in Tony’s cell number, but frowned when it once again rolled over to voice mail.

“Hi, sweetie, it’s mom again, just hoping to catch you. Call me when you get this message.” She ended the call, telling herself not to be overprotective. Surrounded by other boys his age, he probably didn’t want to be seen as the kid who had to check in with his mother all the time.

She discouraged texting as a primary source of communication between them, but decided in this case, she would send one as a secondary measure. Call me soon. Love, Mom. She didn’t hear back right away, but reasoned he could be in class. Or he might’ve done something to have his phone rights restricted.

She admired her son’s independence and the fact that he’d always been mature for his age. She’d given him enough leeway to make his own mistakes and that hadn’t always turned out, but it was the only way to ensure he would be equipped to deal with the world when he left her nest.

She put away her phone, squashing the niggling worry in the back of her mind. She was probably feeling anxious over Tony simply because she’d spent so much time thinking about how she was going to tell Kendall he had a son.

So many times over the past couple of days while they were lying intertwined she’d started to tell him—until she played through the worst-case scenario in her head: instead of being elated, he’d be angry that she’d kept it from him for so long. And he’d be angrier still that Tony was in military school for being in trouble. He might see it as his duty to try to handle things, perhaps storm the school and demand to see his son. It was the last thing Tony needed right now.

So she’d decided to stick with her original plan—to finish building Evermore Bridge, tell Kendall about Tony before she left Sweetness, and invite him to visit her and Tony in Broadway when Tony got out of school for the quarter and returned home.

Home.

She’d thought about that word a lot lately. Kendall tossed around the word
home
as if it meant the same thing to everyone—going home, staying home, having a homecoming weekend. He had a singular view of “home” because his home always had been and always would be in Sweetness, Georgia. She could feel herself falling in love with him again—her body ached in all the right places from his vigorous attempts to “convince” her to stay. But the fact that he’d dedicated his life to rebuilding a concept that she didn’t understand showed just how far apart they still were.

A foreman waved to get her attention. Amy pushed aside the personal thoughts and emotions pinging around in her chest to focus on the task at hand. The parts for the covered bridge would be delivered this afternoon. Although the unpacking and staging of materials alone would probably take days, there was much to do to prep the site before assembly could begin. Everything they could get done before the materials arrived would put them that much further ahead.

And she couldn’t afford to get behind—she needed to be back in Broadway by the time Tony got out of school.

For the next several hours, she moved around the site where holes for new piers were being drilled, and the rock abutments were being reinforced. Timber Creek was running angry and red from the recent rains and from the soil displaced by the drilling. Simply getting the heavy equipment down into the creek was a precarious job because the banks were craggy and steep. Safety was a top priority, and Amy was careful to check every detail before giving the go-ahead on any part of the job, no matter how small. Having stringent safety measures in place for seemingly unimportant aspects of the job would help ensure everyone’s welfare when the blasting and heavy work began.

Amy was talking to a foreman about the site plan when her cell phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She pulled it out and her pulse rocketed to see the name of Tony’s school on the caller ID. She excused herself and stepped away to connect the call.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Amy Bradshaw?” a man asked.

“Yes. Who’s speaking?”

He identified himself as the dean of students at the school.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, tamping down concern.

“Is your son, Tony, with you?”

Her heart began to pound. “No. He’s supposed to be with
you
. What’s this about? Is my son okay?”

“Ms. Bradshaw, I’m sorry to inform you that your son, Tony, is missing.”

Kendall crouched to inspect a weld on a stiffening girder, then gave it a pat and stood to move to the next one.

Marcus walked over carrying two cups of steaming coffee and handed one to him. “How does it look?”

“Good,” Kendall said. “At this rate, the bridge should be ready for traffic within a couple of days.” He took a sip of the coffee. “Thank you, Marcus.”

“It’s just a cup of coffee,” Marcus said, drinking from his. He winced. “And not very good at that.”

“I mean thank you for convincing Amy to come here.”

Marcus averted his gaze, always uncomfortable with personal conversations. “No thanks necessary. It seemed like a good fit.” He took another drink of coffee. “How are things between you two? Other than the obvious, of course.”

Kendall smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I still love her.”

“God, I certainly hope so after the way you’ve moped around here waiting for her to show up.”

Kendall laughed. “I wanted it to be her idea. Or at least, not mine, I guess. I wanted her to come home on her own volition.”

“And is she going to stay after the covered bridge is built?”

“She says she isn’t, but I’m hoping to change her mind.”

Marcus grimaced and tossed the rest of his coffee on the ground. “Has she said anything else?”

Kendall frowned. “What do you mean?”

The horn of a big truck sounded. Kendall waved to the driver, the same one who’d delivered the metal bridge parts, and walked over to the edge of the road. The driver stuck his head out the window. “Where do you want this load?”

“Just up ahead,” Kendall said. “Give me a minute, I’ll ride with you.”

“Already got a passenger,” the driver said, jerking his thumb to someone unseen in the passenger seat. “Picked up a hitchhiker on Route 7 on his way here. Boy says he’s looking for his mother. Do you know an Amy Bradshaw?”

Amy’s knees buckled at the dean of student’s calm pronouncement. “Missing? How can Tony be missing?”

“Apparently, he left campus without permission, and we can’t seem to locate him.”

She gulped air, trying to stay calm. He’d said he was bored, he was probably with friends, maybe at a movie or an arcade. “When did he leave?”

“Er…yesterday, ma’am.”

Her stomach dropped. “Yesterday?” she shouted. “My son has been missing since yesterday and I’m just now hearing about it?”

“We only discovered he was missing a couple of hours ago, ma’am, but the last time anyone saw him was yesterday morning. We do believe he left voluntarily, and that no one else is involved. We’ve already called the police. I have the name and number of a detective for you to contact.”

She felt light-headed. She needed Kendall.

The foreman walked over to her. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

She lowered the phone and grabbed on to the man’s coat sleeve. “No, I’m not okay. Will you get Mr. Armstrong for me, please?”

“Which Mr. Armstrong, ma’am?”

“Kendall,” she said, her voice breaking.

He pulled out his own phone then stopped and pointed toward the road. “I think that’s Kendall now.”

She looked up to see Kendall’s black pickup pulling onto the site. He parked the truck and climbed out. She started toward him on wobbly knees.

And then she saw someone get out of the passenger side.

Amy couldn’t believe her eyes.
Tony?