Sweet Blessings (Love Inspired) (8 page)

He wondered what they'd been looking for as the voices faded away to a distant murmur. They must have gone into the dining area.

Quiet filled him. It wasn't happiness, but it was something positive. It felt right that he was here, working for people who were honest and worked hard. And, judging from those roughnecks who'd caused trouble in the lonely diner at night, maybe he could do some good here at the same time. Keep a protective eye on the sisters while he built up his cash funds. It felt right to have the chance to do some good.

It had been a long time since he'd made a difference anywhere.

“L
isten up, bird, you don't want to make a nest on my nice table. Really.” The woman's kind words matched the gentle morning.

From his place at the open window at the small table in the kitchen, Heath couldn't see who was talking to birds this early in the morning but he recognized Amy's voice.

He shoved back his chair, neatly missing the refrigerator, and with cup of instant coffee in hand let his curiosity lead him downstairs and around the corner of the building. Maybe she could use some help.

The rumbling rhythm of the train rolling down the steel tracks hid the sound of his footsteps as he rounded a tall hedge of blooming lilacs to the gate through the latticed fence around the outside eating area. Small climbing roses, their buds closed tight, clung to the tall crisscrossed wall, and beyond the
green leaves and canes, he could see Amy's profile as she cleaned up the beginning of a bird's nest on one of the patio tables.

The robin hopped from the corner edge of the wall to the top of a chair back. The red-breasted bird looked determined to build her nest. She carried a sturdy tuft of a twig in her beak. The creature did not move, even though Amy was only on the other side of the small metal table.

“I'm sorry, this is my table. You can't build a nest here. Besides, it's not far enough off the ground. There's a cat just across the alley.” Amy gathered up the last of the twigs the bird had nestled between the rod of the umbrella and the folded tablecloth yet to be spread out. “This isn't a safe place for your babies anyway.”

The robin cocked her head and chirped before lifting her wings as if ready to fight.

He really ought to step in and help Amy out, but this was a wild bird. Surely it would take off at any minute.

But it didn't. Amy deposited the twigs in a small bag she'd produced from her pile of cushions and tablecloths in disarray on another tabletop.

“I'm really sorry,” she explained as she sprayed down the table and wiped it clean. “You have to find somewhere else to make your home.”

The bird didn't move.

“Please, shoo.” She waved her hand at the robin,
who still refused to fly off. “The health department won't like it if you live here. Go. Shoo.”

The robin chirped angrily before deciding to retreat to the fence.

“Good. Thank you.”

Amy disappeared inside the restaurant, absorbed in her work, moving quick and fast. Her hair was wet from showering and pulled back at her nape. She didn't see him standing on the other side of the gate.

He didn't want to startle her, so he was glad the latch squeaked and the hinges rasped as if they hadn't been opened in years. It was enough noise that she popped her head out the door, spotted him and smiled.

“Good morning. You don't know how happy I am to see you. This is by far our busiest time of the week. Sunday brunch.” She was friendly but all business as she led the way to the coffeepot and reached down two cups. “Don't tell me you're drinking that instant stuff someone left in the cupboard about five years ago?”

“It tastes all right.”

“No it doesn't.” With a smile, she took his cup and gave him a fresh one.

He breathed in the good-quality coffee. “Thanks.”

“Rachel said you did great last night and that you've worked a few grills before, from the looks of it. She was very impressed.”

“I worked at a truck stop in Dillon for a time. A few other places before that.”

That explained it. Amy dumped creamer into her cup, gave thanks and drank deep. The rich taste soothed her. She'd been up late last night, going over the books as she'd promised her sister. Rachel was starting to be much better at bookkeeping than she would admit, but Amy knew she wasn't the most confident person. She'd double-checked her sister's work, just so Rachel would rest easy. Everything was right, squared away and ready for Paige's inspection later this afternoon.

“Do you think you're up to manning the grill? It'll take two to keep up, once church lets out.”

“I'm up to it.”

“Great.” With coffee in hand, she rushed back to the side door, calculating how much she could get done in the time she had left. There were the tables to wipe, the cloths to spread out and anchor down, the new cushions to put in every chair, and she wanted a good sweeping before—

Wings fluttered in the air in front of her face. It was the robin. The bird had apparently taken her advice, the tabletop would not make the best place to raise her family, and now she was starting a nest in the spokes of one of the umbrellas.

“Not again.” Amy skidded to a halt as the bird lighted on a chair back and glared right back at her.

“This is why I can't grow flowers or a vegetable garden. I can't chase anything off. Not the deer that walk right up to my home and eat my lilacs and car
rot tops. Not even a bird who should know this is a bad place to build a nest.” She looked at her watch. There was no way she had time to wage a battle of any kind. “Could I ask you—?”

“Sure.” He moved past her, waving his free hand. “You have to find a better place, sorry.”

The robin took one look at him and fluttered off, perhaps for good.

“Thank you. I'm running behind this morning.” She had a nice smile, a sincere one, and he was glad he'd been able to help.

It felt good and solid in his chest. “Want me to set up here? I can do it.”

“That would be great. I've got to run and pop the cinnamon rolls into the fridge. Oh, that reminds me. Do you attend church?”

It was a question simply spoken without judgment or expectation. But Heath felt a thud in the center of his chest, and it was as if everything inside him were falling. He gripped the chair for support as he tried to say without malice, “No. I don't attend.”

“Okay. I would have offered you a ride, but if you'd rather stay, Jodi should be in any time. Oh—” Amy cocked her head, listening. The tiny gold crosses at her earlobes winked in the sun. “Oh, here she is. I'll tell her you'll be here to help. I know she'll appreciate it.”

In the next heartbeat, she was gone, going about her morning work as if it was just another Sunday
morning, another day in her week. Leaving him alone to try to calm the rush of memories he could not stomach. Memories he did not want.

Up in the trees beyond the privacy wall and the tall lilac bushes, the robin chirped. The train rumbling by brought with it the last of the cars and its cabooses. He waited until the train's noise grew softer, until it was gone. He waited until the sounds of the morning, of the leaves and the birds and the clatter of dishes inside the diner crowded out the shadows.

Quietly, purposefully, he wiped down the tables, snapped the freshly laundered tablecloths into place and figured out the strange decorative clips that held the cloths down in the wind. He heard Amy's car start in the lot behind the restaurant and the tires rasp on the pavement as she drove away. He caught sight of her as she pulled onto the main road in front of the diner.

She waved, friendly but with that polished manner of hers that kept her shield firmly in place. Cool and firm and polite. If he hadn't seen her with the wild bird, he never would have guessed she was such a sweetheart. So soft and good of spirit that wild birds did not fear her.

He knew, too, that he and Amy were more alike than different, and that was oddly surprising. A small-town waitress and a big-city doctor. Maybe that's why he felt as if he wanted to stay on. Because he saw a kindred spirit in Amy McKaslin. She, too,
kept nearly everyone at a distance, kept safe. Did she, he wondered, recognize the same in him, too?

He wondered what pain she hid so carefully. She looked lovely, the kind of woman who'd probably had a golden life growing up in this cozy small town. Adored by her family, she probably had been a cheerleader and class valedictorian.

But that didn't make a person immune to tragedy. To pain. He knew from first-hand experience that no one had the perfect life, no matter how it seemed. There was no telling what scars were hidden deep inside a person.

Somewhere nearby church bells tolled, rich and resonant.

Feeling ties from the past, ones he could not face, he retreated inside. He shut the door behind him so he could no longer hear the bells.

While he treasured the silence, he felt no peace.

 

“…and then Mrs. Winkler said God made all the stars in the heavens.” Westin paused to cough into his fist, straining against his car booster seat.

Amy glanced anxiously into the rearview mirror, but he looked fine. His color was good. His next breath came clear. Maybe the new medicine the specialist had prescribed was doing its job.
Please, Lord.
She wanted a normal childhood for her little boy. With all of her heart.

To her delight, Westin shook his head as he often
did, and ran his fingers through his hair. The fine strands stood straight up from static electricity. He was beyond cute.

And he knew it, too. He gave a charming grin and kept on with his story. “I asked about the galaxies, too, and Mrs. Winkler said that the stars in the heavens means the galaxies, too, but she's wrong. I told her that galaxies are not stars. And that the galaxies are speeding away.” He held up his hands as if he were holding a globe and pulled them apart. “She must not got any cable. Or she'd know that.”

“Not everyone watches the science shows.”

He looked crestfallen. “Me and George better pray for her so she can have cable.” He grabbed his ragged Snoopy dog, which had been his favorite stuffed toy for most of his life.

“That's a good idea, baby.”

“Yeah, I know.” While squeezing George around his middle, Westin bowed his head. His lips moved in an earnest prayer.

She couldn't help keeping one eye on the mirror. Her little boy was her everything. She felt as if she shone from the inside out from simply watching him.

Since the morning was pleasant and sunny, she had her windows down. She had escaped a few minutes early from the overflowing church parking lot, and was already on her way along the tree-lined residential streets to work.

As she drove, Pastor Bill's sermon weighed on
her; while she usually felt renewed and refreshed after Sunday service, she didn't today. Today she felt unsettled. She would have preferred a sermon that hadn't made her think of the man she'd hired. But the message and text had struck her hard, giving her a gnawing feeling that she could have handled things much better with Heath.

“Mom!” Westin squirmed, drawing her attention, all bridled energy. She marveled at how the seat belt managed to hold him still as he lunged against it and stretched his arm as far as possible so the stuffed dog popped up next to her head rest. “George wants strawberry waffles with the white stuff.”

“Whipped cream. Not syrup? I thought George liked syrup.”

“He changed his mind, but he wants lots of sausage.”

“With syrup or ketchup?”

“Both!”

It was good to see her little one in good spirits—it was more than she could say for herself.

The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.
That was the text Pastor Bill had spoken on in his compassionate and compelling way. The verse from 1 Samuel wasn't something she'd read in a while—with Paige gone, she'd been too busy to make the last two weeks of her Bible study group, and with Westin's asthma peaking since Christmas, her attendance had been spotty. Maybe
that's why today's passage had taken hold of her, as if her spirit was hungry.

Man looks at the outward appearance.
Is that what she was guilty of? Making, if not judgments about Heath, then certainly assessments. He was down on his luck; it sure looked that way. He wore clean but far from new clothes. His truck was at least twenty years old.

But he'd left Jodi a good tip, and Rachel had said he'd worked hard when she'd called early in the morning to go over the week's work schedule she'd made.

“I don't know what Heath told you,” Rachel had reported. “But he has a talent of understatement and a gift of modesty. I was prepared to work two jobs, training him and cooking, which, as you know, is demanding on our busiest night of the week. But he just took over. Ten minutes into the dinner rush, he was handling the grill like a pro.”

“You're kidding.” Amy had nearly dropped the phone as she rummaged through her dresser drawers looking for socks to match her tan trousers. Amy had assumed Heath was like so many others who passed through looking for work. Some were not to be trusted, but others, they had their reasons for wandering.

That's what she'd assumed about Heath. But she could only see his outward appearance. The Lord could look into everyone's heart, sure, but how could she? She knew from lessons learned that a man can show one face convincingly, but his motives and his agendas and his true nature can stay well hidden.

She zipped down the alley and into the back lot, recognizing the few cars parked there. Rachel hadn't beaten her here, but Cousin Kelly had, and the clatter and bang behind the screen door told her Jodi was busy already.

“Grab your backpack, please,” she told her son as soon as she'd cut the engine and tucked the keys into her pants pocket.

“George is coming, too.”

“Then hold him tight.” Amy bent, jamming one knee on the back seat so she could help Westin. He squirmed and struggled and yanked on the buckle and bopped from the seat the instant he was free.

Amy backed up, waiting as he bounded from the car holding his stuffed dog around its middle and holding onto his backpack's strap with the other. She shut the door, remembered to grab her purse and followed him in.

Her boy bounded ahead of her, his backpack bouncing in rhythm to his gait and poor George, loose-limbed from years of being dragged around, jiggled like a rag doll. He yanked open the screen door with great zeal and the old hinges squealed in protest.