Last Chance Knit & Stitch (30 page)

This only lasted for a couple of moments before Angel went into Cesar Millan mode. “Muffin,” he said in a calm, assertive voice. And that’s all it took. It was either the tone or the Spanish accent, but the dog turned her back on Les, looked up at Angel with adoration in her brown doggy eyes, and sat down on his lap.

“How did you do that?” Ricki asked.

Angel shrugged. “I do not know. She and I are sympatico.”

Ricki turned back to Les, who was standing there looking more and more awkward by the minute. “Why are you here?” she repeated.

“Uh, um …” He gave Molly a desperate look and then turned back toward Ricki. “Uh, can I talk to you a minute?”

Ricki’s face turned the color of the red knitting worsted she was using. “Les, I’m working and …”

“It’s okay. You can talk to him if you like,” Molly said.

“I’ll watch Muffin,” Angel added unnecessarily.

And that’s when Miriam leaned toward Ricki and said, “Honey, it’s now or never. You do realize that?”

Damned if a big smile didn’t flower on Ricki’s face. Not to mention that Les suddenly looked like a cat who’d just eaten the best goldfish in the tank. Ricki left her knitting on the table and followed Les out the door.

“Well, I don’t reckon we’re going to see them again this evening,” Miriam said.

Luanne turned toward Miriam. “I’m confused. I thought Molly and Les were supposed to be the ones getting married.”

“I never said that,” Miriam replied. “You must be getting senile.”

“Oh? But I could have sworn I heard it somewhere.”

“Just because you heard it somewhere doesn’t mean I said it,” Miriam said as she gave Molly a knowing glance. It was like the old lady had a pretty good idea what she and Simon had been doing on Saturday night. And it occurred to Molly that Simon actually fit the forecast. He
was a guy who had known her a long time ago. So long ago that Molly hardly remembered it.

But so what? There were so many reasons why she and Simon needed to back away from things. Miriam could prognosticate away, if she wanted to. But Molly was smart enough to know that her great love—the guy who was going to change her mind about kids and marriage—was not Simon Wolfe. In fact, given his relationship rules, it was a laughable idea.

She glanced at the clock. It was getting late.

Shevon Darnell entered the shop a few minutes later. “Hey y’all, it’s time to go,” she said in her big, booming, always cheerful voice.

The Purly Girls started getting their things together. All of them except Charlotte, who glanced at the clock behind the checkout with a worried look on her face. “Ira’s late,” she said. “I don’t want to ride the bus like some old lady.”

This earned her a couple of dirty looks from the other Purly Girls.

“Do not worry, Miss Charlotte,” Angel said. “I am taking you home tonight.”

“Where’s Ira?”

“He has a meeting with Ryan,” Angel said, not missing a beat. This must mean that Simon was with Ryan tonight. So Molly was safe. Why the heck did she feel so disappointed?

The Girls got on the bus. Rocky deBracy came by to pick up Miriam seeing as Dash and Savannah were off honeymooning. Then Angel bundled Charlotte and Muffin out the door.

Molly was left all alone in the Knit & Stitch, staring
at the damn postcard Momma had sent from the Canary Islands. A boatload of lonely tears filled up her eyes.

Ricki’s internal alarm clock was still locked in at four-thirty, even though she no longer had to make it to the morning shift at the Kountry Kitchen. So consciousness arrived before sunup.

She awoke warm, inside the curl of Les’s body. She opened her eyes to the alarm clock and the still-dark patch of sky at her bedroom window. The view between the curtains was narrow and familiar, and yet inside her heart there was something different, something new, something big.

She snuggled deeper into Les’s chest, skin-to-skin. “Hmmm, that feels nice, baby,” he said as he touched her breast.

Her body responded with a spiral of heat. But it was so much more than that. Her heart was pounding. She felt so alive. As if she’d been reborn last night.

As if God had finally handed her a second chance. Or maybe it was a last chance.

But she had to make the leap. She had to commit. She had to push her doubts about everything aside. She had to open her arms and accept it and not run. It had happened too fast. But if she didn’t trust it, she might lose it again and never have another chance.

She had to be fearless this time.

“I love you,” she whispered.

And he kissed her on her ear. “I love you back.”

She rolled over slowly, meeting him face-to-face in the darkness. His eyes shone even in the shadow light. He was so handsome.

She kissed his chin, stroked his hair. “I mean it, Les. I want you in every way. And I don’t want to sneak around. I love you, and I just want to be with you every minute.”

“Yeah, me too. I can’t stop thinking about you. And I’m still amazed that a woman as beautiful as you would be interested in me.”

“I’m not that beautiful. I’m too old for you, but I’m not going to think about that.”

“I like experienced women. And you are beautiful. In fact, you’re so beautiful you’re out of my league, but, honey, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

She laughed. “You’ve already made me happy tonight several times. But over the long run, you’ll have to make friends with my dog.”

“Oh.” His voice sounded flat.

“Oh?” Her voice sounded wary.

“Uh, honey, I was kind of thinking that maybe you could give Muffin to Angel. I mean she loves him, and she most definitely doesn’t love me. I don’t know why. I never got that kind of reaction from a dog before. I had a golden retriever named Rex for years and years. And we were great friends. We went hunting together and everything. But Muffin doesn’t like me. She’s scared of me or something. Maybe I’m too big for her.”

“I’m not giving Muffin away. I love her.”

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“I’m not giving her away.” Randy had treated her like a dog that no one wanted anymore. She wasn’t going to treat Muffin that way. Never. Ever.

A
llen woke Molly in the middle of the night with a firm rap on her bedroom door.

“Molly, I need your help.”

She came out of sleep all at once and quickly slipped from the bed. She opened the door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Beau’s got a fever. A bad one. We need to get him to the hospital right away. And Daddy’s useless. He’s been drinking.”

Oh crap. Molly had read everything she could find about caring for someone going through chemotherapy. A fever like this could be life-threatening, given what the drugs and the disease were doing to Beau’s immune system.

“Wrap him up in Momma’s living room throw. I’ll be dressed in a minute.” She threw on her clothes. By then, Allen had contacted Doc Cooper on his cell. Based on his advice, they piled into Molly’s Charger, and she drove them all the way to Columbia in record time.

The next few hours were horrible. Beau was isolated while they pumped him full of antibiotics and took images of his chest and lungs. He was having trouble breathing, and the doctors were pretty sure he had pneumonia. They were already talking about a possible bone marrow transplant, if he came through this crisis.

Molly didn’t like the “if” in that sentence. Of course Beau would come through. And he had a perfect bone marrow donor in his twin. God could not be so uncaring as to let Beau die at the age of twenty-three.

She bypassed meditation and went right to prayer. But God seemed so far away. As if He didn’t want to hear her prayers. As if He wanted to take back her brother, who was brilliant and sweet and kind. It wasn’t fair. God should take her instead.

Molly refused to leave Beau’s bedside while the fever raged. He was completely out of it, and every time he asked for Momma, Molly’s heart cracked until it felt like a damaged egg inside her chest.

She had no idea how much time had passed when someone touched her too-short hair. Hair that, if the mirror was any judge, was standing on its end and making her look like someone who’d seen a ghost. The touch was incredibly gentle and warm. She dropped her knitting needles to her lap and looked up.

Simon stood just behind the uncomfortable hospital chair with a grave expression in his eyes. He must know the situation was dire.

Her throat closed, and her eyes teared up. She stood up and reached for him like someone groping in the dark. He wrapped his arms around her and just held her tight. “I’m here,” he said.

And she hung on. She didn’t really cry. But just being pressed up against his chest, just feeling his hand caressing her shorn head, was enough to give her strength. As if, somehow, the God she’d had trouble finding in her prayers had suddenly handed her this helping hand.

She had no idea how long she stood sheltered in his arms. Eventually it occurred to her that hugging on Simon in public was probably a bad idea. So she disengaged and looked up at him. “I’m better now. Thanks.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. She turned away and picked up her knitting from where it had fallen on the floor.

“Momma?” Beau stirred in the bed, but he wasn’t fully conscious.

Molly took his hot hand in hers. “I’m here,” she said, repeating the words Simon had just spoken. She was stronger now. She could do this. She could be Momma’s stand-in. She could hold the family together.

“I hate it when he calls out for Momma that way,” she said.

“Your mother is on her way.”

“What?” She turned to look over her shoulder.

Simon’s dark eyes were filled with kindness. “Yesterday, based on that postcard she sent, I took a wild guess and started contacting Mediterranean cruise operators who call at the Canary Islands. I finally found her and got a message to her. She’ll be landing in Atlanta at ten-thirty tonight.”

“You did this yesterday? But I—”

“Your mother would have been very unhappy if no one had tried to get in touch with her. I know that she abandoned you. But I also understand why someone might
need to run away and not leave a forwarding address. Then yesterday morning, I woke up and I couldn’t stop thinking about the things Miriam Randall told me the day Peter was born. She said that sometimes it’s the things we don’t do that we regret most of all.

“I know you’re curious about what happened the day Luke Raintree died. And the simple truth is that Luke was arguing with his brother, Gabe, over who got to use the new rifle. They argued all day. And I had any number of opportunities to get between them. But I didn’t. Because when my parents argued and I tried to get between them, all that anger got aimed at me, and it hurt. So I didn’t try to stop them. And they ended up playing tug-of-war with a loaded rifle.”

“Oh, Simon. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I carried the guilt for a long time. I’m still carrying it. And that’s why I had to do something about your momma. With Beau so sick, I knew your mother would regret not being here. And you and Allen and Coach would all regret not looking for her.”

Another little wave of guilt slapped Molly. “Shoot. You’re right.”

“Don’t feel bad, Molly. You’re the one who’s been trying to hold things together. Everyone can see it. And I, for one, admire you for it.”

Simon held a piece of paper with Pat Canaday’s name on it. He stood just outside the security gate, near the baggage return at Hartsfield Airport, trying to figure out how he’d gotten so deeply involved in this family drama.

Something had come over him the day before yesterday. He’d awakened in that preposterous canopy bed,
breakfasted with his mother, who treated him like a stranger, and missed Molly like she was the sunshine.

He’d missed her when he’d opened his eyes. He’d missed her at the breakfast table. He’d missed her while he tried to fix the Harrison commission.

And all that time, all he could think about was the pain that Molly and her family were going through because her mother had run away. Those thoughts shamed and depressed him. He hadn’t said good-bye to his father before he died. And as for mother, her words that night he’d walked away had turned prophetic. He truly
was
dead to her.

There had to be a way to make some kind of amends for what he’d done all those years ago by walking out. So he’d forgotten about the Harrison commission—again—and he’d worked the phones until he found Patricia Canaday and had a short phone conversation with her on a ship-to-shore connection.

He didn’t think he would recognize Pat, but he was wrong. Molly was quite a bit like her mother.

Pat stopped in front of him. “You know, I don’t even recognize you. Simon?”

“It’s me.”

“Well, look at you and me together. A couple of sad prodigals.” She looked as if she’d been crying. Her eyeliner had smeared under her eyes, and her nose looked raw.

“Well, if you recall, the prodigal was welcomed back with love,” he said. Although his family hadn’t done any such thing. But Simon had every reason to believe that Pat’s family would.

“Thank you for reminding me of that,” she said, giving him a brief but motherly hug. “I can’t believe what a fool
I’ve been, and I will be forever grateful to you for calling me on it.”

Half an hour later, her bags tucked into the Taurus’s gigantic trunk, Simon pulled onto the interstate heading toward South Carolina. He was hoping Pat would sleep, but she was too antsy to close her eyes.

“So, you came home for your daddy’s funeral?”

“I did.”

“And you stayed?”

He filled her in on the latest news from Last Chance, including the closure of Wolfe Ford, Molly’s travails with the Shelby and the Knit & Stitch, and his plans to leave town just as soon as he could wrap up the major details of his father’s estate.

“And when’s that going to be?” she asked.

“Soon. The house is ready to put on the market, and Arlo said he had a ‘major nibble’ already from someone who wants to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. I’ve also made arrangements for my mother at an assisted living place near where I live. California social services is already working on the paperwork. Uncle Ryan is in control of the business side of things. At least he’s changed his mind about liquidating the dealership. I heard yesterday that he’s in negotiations with Dash Randall and the only thing holding them up is that Dash is off in the Caribbean somewhere on his honeymoon.”