Mom in the Middle (7 page)

He recalled Abby's comment that her dad and Curbo got along like a barn on fire. That was the way Abby and Casey were going to be once they were acquainted.

Guy felt his eyes widen, wondering what had prompted such an absurd thought. There was no reason for the two women to meet. Still, setting something up might have merit. They were polar opposites with a lot in common. It had the potential to be a friendship made in heaven.

Or a disaster. Maybe introducing them was not such a good idea after all.

 

Abby mulled over Guy's innocent question. She took her time, reeled slowly, unsure she wanted to probe into an area where the fond memories crowded all her senses and left her longing for the sport she could never again afford. She loved the smell that radiated from the neck of a barrel horse during the heat of a race against the clock. The dust in her nostrils, the grit that inevitably got in her teeth, the constant soreness of her muscles, and the cheer of a familiar crowd were all part of the personal reward of the amateur rodeo circuit.

“Abby? Is the subject off-limits?”

Guy's question snapped her out of her reverie. She angled her body where she could hold a conversation and continue to cast without the sharp hook on the end of her line being a threat to her spectator.

“Not really. It's just something I haven't thought about in ages so I was going through a little memory dump for a moment there.”

“Were you as good as Curbo said? Could you have competed professionally?”

She tipped her hand side to side in a so-so gesture. Yes, actually she
was
pretty good but that had been years ago, not something worth bragging about today.

“I had some lucky rides.”

“Lucky?” His eyebrows tipped together, his voice skeptical.

“Okay, I was blessed with a little natural talent and some great horses while I was in high school, so I
guess I do have a few dusty trophies in the top of my closet to show for it.”

She tossed the lure perfectly, appreciated its clean entry into the water. Daddy was going to enjoy hearing the details of this impromptu visit to their favorite spot. He'd love knowing she hadn't lost her touch.

“Did you own horses?”

“Goodness, no. My part-time job at the arena paid for my tack but it was the kindness of people from our church that kept me on horseback. Rodeo requires a significant investment of time and money and even professionally the prize payoff is pretty slim most of the time. There was never much hope for me to continue once I went to college. Then when Daddy's condition began to deteriorate, it became impossible.”

“Where was Phillip during those years?” The tone said he was sincerely interested.

“He was there every minute.” Her hands stilled from the business of reeling, her gaze locked with Guy's. “Phillip was my best friend for most of my life. I was his only friend.” She ached with the memory. “He was very shy and had a nearly disabling speech impediment when he was nervous. But with me and my family there was no judgment so there was no stammer. He didn't have the same comfort level at his home so he basically grew up at our house.”

“And he was the only boy you ever dated?”

“Yeah, I guess that's true. I never even considered
seeing anyone else.” Not that her parents hadn't suggested it a thousand times. “It would have broken Phillip's heart.”

Guy nodded, seemed to understand.

“You are an amazing lady, Abby.”

She glanced at her watch and reluctantly stretched her line to attach the lure to an eye near the rod's grip.

“I don't know why you'd say that.”

“You're a great mom to Dillon and a devoted daughter, you teach, you fish, you ride and from what little you've let me observe, you volunteer for a half-dozen things at your church, including keeping your husband's memory alive with that playground. Pretty amazing to a guy like me with only one commitment and it's a family business at that. You need to give yourself more credit, sweetheart.”

He raised the anchor and she reached shaking hands to coil the rope, using the excuse to turn her face away, not wanting him to see how his endearment was affecting her. Not even wanting to see it herself.

He took his place at the wheel to start the engine.

“And, more importantly,” he continued, “give yourself a break before you're dried up and burnt out like that awful toast Dillon cuts his teeth on.”

She focused on the truth in what Guy said. A break? What did that mean? And if she followed his advice, would anybody pick up the slack? Of course not.

The sun had ducked behind the clouds. The air was cool. The ride back to Patrick's would be a chilly
one. Guy reached for the lightweight cotton pullover he'd wisely brought from the truck and tossed into the boat. He handed it to her.

“Here, wear this, Goldilocks. And lean toward me instead of huddling over there like I'm the big bad wolf.”

She accepted the soft shirt, tempted to press her face into it, inhale his scent. Instead she looked skeptically at the pullover and recovered with a snappy reply. “You've got your fairy tales mixed up, Papa Bear.”

“Oh, hush.” He grinned. “And get that look off your face. It's a sweater, not a straight jacket. Be flexible, Abigail Cramer. Put it on.” Guy mimicked her earlier demand with a
gotcha
glint in his eyes.

She returned his easy smile and snuggled into the warmth of the sweater that embraced her like a soul mate's hug.

Perfectly.

And as she did she inhaled. Lumber, leather and lemon oil.

Guy.

“M
ondays are crazy,” Abby muttered to herself. “I shouldn't have let Guy talk me into this.”

She swung her six-year-old Civic into the Hearth and Home parking lot, cut the engine and ticked off the must-do list for the afternoon and evening. This was the first stop after leaving school because she'd agreed to meet him to look at bathroom fixtures. He had some ideas about making the private area of her parent's home more user-friendly for a wheelchair and a walker. There was no money for such an industrious project but Guy didn't know it, and there was no harm in listening to the ideas he seemed intent on sharing. The work had to be done eventually, so she might as well know the cost and labor requirements up front.

Mama would be released in a few weeks, hopefully in time for Mother's Day, the date the church had set aside to celebrate the playground dedication.

Abby covered her mouth as a yawn escaped. Each
deadline in the coming weeks was dependent upon at least two others and the weight of what had to be accomplished was costing precious sleep. Fortunately the primary need in her projects was time and elbow grease, not cash. But the small band of volunteers at New Harvest was shrinking as the end of the school year approached and the afternoon spring activities morphed into full-time summer commitments.

Each call from a harried mother who had to back out of planting or painting left Abby to do the work. It was either that or abandon some part of the playground, not an acceptable option. What Dillon would think in ten years of the efforts his mother made today mattered a great deal. She wanted to give her son a special place, beyond a box in the attic, where he could feel connected to his father. And maybe one day it would also become a place where she could release Phillip once and for all.

A shrill
beep, beep, beep
caught her attention as a forklift backed out of the H&H commercial dock door, prepared to deposit a load of treated lumber onto the flatbed delivery vehicle. The logo on the truck was the same on the shirts the employees wore. It was becoming a comforting sight. Kinda like Guy.

“Hey, Abby!” Leah, the store manager called a greeting from the courtesy desk as Abby entered through the wide double doors. “How's Mrs. Reagan?”

“She's responding very well to her physical therapy, thanks for asking.”

Leah rounded the counter and closed the space
between them. “That's wonderful news.” She embraced Abby loosely and patted her shoulder in that comforting touch Texans love. “Please give your sweet mama our best and tell her the staff is praying for her to make a full recovery. And if there's anything we can do for you, just holler.”

“Thanks, Leah, but y'all have been incredible already, bringing meals and helping out with Dillon and my daddy.”

“Hey, that's what a community is for, and one of the things that most appeals to me about working here. It's a family atmosphere and the Hardys believe in taking care of their employees as well as customers. I think it's the main reason they recovered after that nasty lawsuit a couple of years back.”

Abby knew nothing about a legal battle, but filed that unexpected piece of information away to be investigated when she had a spare minute.

“Would you happen to know where I can find Mr. Hardy? He asked me to stop by to look at some bathroom hardware.” She felt the need to explain.

“Sure, Guy said you'd be in. He's waiting in the office.” She pointed toward the stairs. “Go on up.”

Abby climbed the steps and knocked lightly on the door marked Private.

“It's open, Abby,” the familiar voice called, obviously expecting her.

Inside the dimly lit room, Guy sat with his back to the door, facing a bank of security monitors. Each flat-panel screen displayed a different area of the
store fed by cameras throughout the facility. He seemed to study one in particular, focusing on several shoppers in a busy aisle.

“If I've come at a bad time I might be able to drop by later in the week.”

He swiveled the high-backed leather chair, giving her his attention. Her gaze locked on his engaging bluebonnet eyes. The smile that spread across his handsome face caused the strangest flutter in her belly, not unlike the feel of Dillon's cartwheels during the months she'd carried him beneath her heart.

“Nonsense. I'm glad you're here. I've got a lot of stuff to show you.”

He twisted a knob on his desk lamp, throwing a wash of bright light across the work surface. As he busied himself unrolling a sheet of drawings, she noted the calendar. An orange line was drawn to highlight several weeks, ending with a double circle around Mother's Day.

A thoughtful son. Again her insides danced.

He swept his hand to indicate the blueprints. She leaned forward, taking a close look at the sketch of her parents' bathroom, both before and after Guy's ideas. Impressive.

She hesitated, not sure how to continue. With the strength of the Hardy family resources behind him, he might not understand her financial constraints. And while living on a budget so tight that every dollar counted was nothing to be ashamed of, it was a bit embarrassing to have to explain.

“Guy, listen,” she said, searching for the right words. “It's great that you want to show me your ideas, and I'd love to be able to do this stuff for my mom and dad someday, but we don't have the money just now for new fixtures, much less structural changes, something you've probably never had to worry about.” She straightened, took a step away from the drawings that were luxurious daydreams.

He reached for the other executive-style chair in the room, rolled it close to his and opened his palm in an invitation. She hesitated, considering whether or not to sit. He grasped her fingers and tugged her down to the soft leather seat.

“There.” She heard satisfaction in his voice. “One less decision for you to worry about today.”

She returned his grin, appreciating that he realized how much was perpetually on her plate.

“Now, let me clear something up for you and put your mind at rest at least on this subject.” He scooted his chair close, their knees brushed lightly. A pleasant warmth tingled. She considered backing up a bit but the kind squint of his eyes told her his closeness was to share something personal.

“Obviously the Hardy clan is financially well off, but it wasn't always that way. Both of my parents came from very big families. Dad had seven brothers and sisters, Mom had nine. With that many kids to feed and clothe there was always a struggle to make ends meet, so they each grew up in extremely frugal households. That experi
ence drove the way they raised us, even after the business took off. To give you an idea, my mom only has a few dogmatic rules but one of them is that none of her kids are ever to go out in public in sneakers.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a copperhead's bite.” His brows tipped together as he nodded, leaving no doubt. “Mother was the fifth daughter so she wore hand-me-down shoes till she left home at nineteen. All they could afford were sneakers and by the time a pair made it to her it would be in pretty rough shape. But used clothes and shoes were just a fact of life back then so she wore them without complaint. Still, she made up her mind that her kids would never have to be embarrassed by old tennis shoes in public, the way she was.”

“So, I guess she refuses to wear them today, huh?”

“Oh, goodness no! Sneakers are a symbol of
family
to her, to all of us. When we go to my parents' house, that's all we wear. It's our way of connecting to her personal experience, saying we're home, the most special place in our hearts. But away from the house we wear ‘Sunday-go-to-meeting shoes' as my chubby, white-haired grandma Hazel used to say.”

Guy slid up one pant leg and admired the hand-tooled exotic leather roper that had set him back at least a thousand dollars.

“I just happen to be partial to boots so this is my way of splurging to celebrate each of our new locations. I buy a pair at the beginning of a project and
when it's successful, I fit the boots with cedar shoe trees and retire them to the display rack in my closet.”

“How many pairs do you have?” She felt the smallest surge of pleasure at this personal insight he was sharing. It was confirmation she'd been correct the day before. It wasn't right to go on being distrustful of Guy and his family just because instinct told her to be suspicious.

He pressed his lips together and scrunched his brow in concentration as he touched the pad of his right thumb to the tip of each finger, counting to himself.

“Eleven.” It was a one-word confession, his expression contrite.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“I know, but it almost sounds wasteful considering what I just told you about my parents' upbringing. And given the fact that your boots say you're a rodeo regular where mine say I'm ‘all hat and no horse.'”

She smiled at the words her dad often used to tease Guy and reached her hand toward his knee, lightly brushing his dark jeans. The intensity in his eyes said he realized the touch emphasized what she was about to say.

“Guy, I've seen for myself these past few weeks that you're good to other people. You deserve to give yourself a break when it comes to a little luxury in life.”

Before she could remove her hand, he closed his over the top of it, gently pressing so she wouldn't withdraw.

“I hope you realize what you just said applies
even more to you, Abby. You work so hard to take care of everybody in your life. Not that a new toilet and some non-skid tile in your parents' bathroom are luxuries, but those things will make your life easier, so please let me do this for you. I promise the work will be finished by the day we bring your mother home.”

A new toilet and non-skid tile. She'd been praying that one day a special man would want to share the desires of her heart. This wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind, but it was Guy's way of sharing and there was a quirky sort of intimate quality to it that couldn't be denied.

“It's the least H&H can do,” he added.

Scratch that intimate stuff. It was about the store after all and she was a fool to imagine otherwise. Time to be practical, an area where Guy was clearly the expert.

She slid her hand from beneath his and brushed away an errant curl that had flopped across her forehead.

“Accepting your charity will bruise my mother's pride, and I'm sure she'd turn down your offer if we gave her the chance,” Abby said with a sigh, resigning herself to do so anyway. “But my realistic side tells me how much my folks would enjoy the comforts and peace of mind and Daddy will love the activity. So I'm going to agree.”

“Awesome!”

His face lit with pleasure. Over installing a new
commode! The guy really got a kick out of the strangest things.

“And will you also agree to let me do the same for the playground at your church? I can have all new equipment delivered and send out some landscape artists to finish the gardens.”

“Absolutely not.” She stood, physically drawing the line on his bizarre sense of generosity. “The playground isn't about money, or convenience or even meeting a deadline. This is something I need to do myself. For my son. For my husband.”

 

Guy felt the muscles in his face droop; his spirits sagged as well. Of course she wouldn't want his involvement in a project that was a labor of devotion for the husband she would always love. Would a woman ever care for him with her whole heart that way? And if one did, could he trust her motives? Probably no more than Abby seemed willing to trust his right now.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized. “My sister Andrea reminded me not too long ago that I get caught up in the details of getting things done and forget the spirit of why I'm doing it.”

Confusion and disappointment had to be written all over his face. Feeling like a fool, he turned back to the screens, pretended to scan the various camera angles.

A light touch warmed his shoulder.

“I didn't mean to offend you, Guy.” She used the tone reserved for soothing Dillon. How appropriate for
a man who was constantly asked by his mother when he would grow up and have a committed relationship.

“No offense taken.” Yeah, right. He busied himself with the screens.

He punched the zoom function of a camera to close in on the activity of a wide row prominently marked with a large Aisle Six sign. A young couple compared the used hardware in the man's hand to similar new items on the display rack. A few feet farther down the row, a lone figure in overalls, T-shirt and a baseball cap adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulder and positioned large dark glasses over her eyes. It was difficult to know the gender for sure, but the slight build and a few long tufts of hair spilling from beneath the cap indicated a female shopper.

If you could call what she was doing shopping.

“Check it out.” Guy touched the screen, drawing Abby's attention. The female lifted something small from the display rack and awkwardly tucked it into the pocket of her baggy pants. “I can't believe she's doing this again.” His voice resonated with aggravation.

He stood, paced the office several times while he clenched and unclenched his fists and decided what to do. “I'm fed up and about to put a stop to this once and for all.” He opened the office door and extended his open palm in an invitation for Abby to join him. “I'll walk you to the front of the store and then I have to attend to this problem.”

“You're going to apprehend that shoplifter yourself?” Her pitch rose. “But isn't that why you
employ a security guard? Guy, please don't do anything dangerous.”

He enjoyed the way Abby's eyes widened with worry about his safety. Again an odd sense of comfort over her attention squeezed his heart, immediately followed by a selfish pang for giving her reason to be concerned.