The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (17 page)

“Thought you might like to take a ride this morning.” Jesse jerked his head toward the animals.

“This morning? A ride?” He grinned. “In town? Is it legal?”

“Sure. I called Mercedes the other day. Her sister the judge approved the ride as a medical treatment for a vet, one of our boys.”

“Medical treatment?” Sam stepped onto the porch, closed the door behind him, and studied the animals.

“Saw a program on the TV about amputees, vets who’ve lost their legs. Seems that if they ride a horse, it helps build up muscles and gets them used to a prosthesis better. Cheers ’em up, too.”

“Really?” Sam turned to study Jesse. Was the man kidding him?

“Yup. Figure if it’s on the TV, it must be true. Want to try it?”

Oh, yeah. Much better than walking between parallel bars.

“Supposed to also help with your balance and build your core, whatever that is.” Jesse pointed. “You get the horse with the pad, Captain, because that’s supposed to allow you to feel the horse better. That’s what the guy on the TV said.”

For a few seconds, Sam studied the horse. Tall creatures. “How do I get on?”

Jesse smiled. “Figured that out before I got here. You go to the edge of the porch and put your leg—the right one—over the back of the horse. I’ll stand down there and give you a hand if you need it.”

Sam had visions of himself rolling over the horse, ending up sprawled on the ground. But marines didn’t mind falling on the ground. Marines were tough. He could handle this. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Jesse ran down the steps, pulled the Appaloosa toward the porch. He angled the horse so she straddled the steps, pushing her a little sideways and closer. The horse obeyed calmly, an action that made Sam feel more confident. This didn’t seem like a creature who’d run away with him or buck him off.

“Gracie’s a gentle old lady.” Jesse stood on the other side of her and held out his hand. “You’re perfectly safe.”

With a nod, Sam approached the horse, leaned over to put his hand on her neck, and shifted his weight before raising his right leg to mount Gracie. When he settled on her broad back, she shifted a little but stayed still enough for him to relax, regain his balance, and pick up the reins. Jesse stood, unobtrusively, next to Gracie but didn’t offer assistance.

When Sam felt secure, Jesse said, “Stay right there,” as if Sam planned to gallop off.

The older man took the reins of his horse, got on, then reached for Gracie’s reins. “The program showed the horse being led. Don’t know why.”

“If the program said that, go ahead.”

It was fun, sitting on Gracie’s back, her gait rocking him. Keeping his balance was harder than he’d thought but truly much more enjoyable than the parallel bars. He could feel strain in the muscles of his leg and other parts he hadn’t worked on in PT. He didn’t care. He was on a horse, ambling along the street and out to the countryside northwest of town. He felt great.

After fifteen minutes, Jesse turned the horses around. “Don’t want to wear you out the first time,” he said. “The program said once a week so I’ll be back next Friday, if that works for you.”

“Thanks, Jesse. That works great for me.” He’d clear the entire day, the entire week, if he needed to.

They headed back toward town, through the rolling scenery and the green grass of the Hill Country.

“Next spring the bluebonnets will cover all this.” Jesse waved at the fields. “Ever seen the wildflowers?”

Sam shook his head. “I always visited in the summer.” Would he be here next spring to see them? He had no idea. Right now, he looked only far enough ahead to riding Gracie again, to ambling along the farm-to-market road toward Llano on her back.

On the way home, his thighs cramped and his back began to hurt from holding his posture. It felt like a good kind of hurt, the kind that came from exercise, not injury. The lethargy that filled him was just plain old exhaustion. He should sleep well tonight.

Odd how he’d begun to care about this community and the nice people. Jesse didn’t have to do this, but he rode in front of Sam, perfectly happy to be ambling along the road, spending his time doing something for Sam. And the ladies had brought him so much food, he seldom had to microwave a frozen dinner. Because of them, he’d started to feel positive emotions, to be thankful, to feel alive—almost happy.

And he regretted every one of those feelings.

B
irdie stepped out of her shoes and wiggled her toes before she slipped on a pair of soft slippers. She closed her eyes for a moment—only a few seconds because she’d fall asleep if she stopped moving. Lord, she was plum wore out. Seemed she was always tired. And now what had she done on top of everything else? Taken this child in.

The child was sleeping so maybe Birdie’d take a nap. Yes, she would, later, after she put the groceries away and thawed something for dinner and… well, a few other things. After she finished all that, she’d take a nap. Of course, by that time, Missy’d probably be awake. She sighed as she rotated her shoulder to relieve the stiffness and headed into the kitchen.

She had to take care of herself. The girls couldn’t get along without her and she’d just added one more child. All right, Missy was temporary and didn’t really count on Birdie, but others did.

If she did too much and got sick, what would the church do without her? Everyone would leave things to this young minister, who might begin a guitar service, or use PowerPoint to display praise songs on the wall, or introduce all kinds of foolishness without her supervision. Not that he’d showed that inclination yet, but she needed to be here in case the tendency broke out unexpectedly.

No, she couldn’t get old. She refused to get sick. Probably she should pray about it, tell God to either give her more strength or chip off a few layers of responsibility, but she didn’t have the time or energy to instruct God about how to run the universe, not right now.

The girls would be home soon. They’d figure out how to watch Missy. First they’d…

A knock came on the front door. She glanced down at the sofa where Missy slept with Carlos the Cat curled up happily next to her. Don’t that beat all? Carlos was usually an attack cat, but there he lay, snuggled against Missy. Then she opened the door as she moved her shoulder to get that final kink out.

Adam watched as Miss Birdie again rotated her shoulder and grimaced. The pillar did have a breaking point, was actually human. He had to remind himself that she was nearing seventy and had the aches and pains of an elderly person—not that he’d ever call her that when she could hear—and the responsibilities of a much younger woman. As her minister, Adam had to remember she was a beloved child of God and treat her as such, even during the times she acted so determined and in charge—and scheming.

“I didn’t know if you had a bed for Missy,” he said. “I went over to the thrift shop and got a blow-up mattress and a nightgown and some clothing for her.” He held out a large box and a small package. “Hope everything fits.”

“Thanks, Pastor.” She actually smiled at him, as if her minister had done something right, finally, but the smile didn’t change the fact that she looked exhausted.

“Do you need anything else? Toys? More clothing?”

She shook her head. “Missy won’t be here long. Maybe tonight. Maybe not. Her mother’s looking for this little one. She has good manners and has gone to church. Someone has taken good care of Missy, taught her well, and must be worried.”

The two both looked at Missy.

“Let me know if I can do anything,” Adam said.

“Think I can’t handle this?” Before Adam could answer, she plowed on, “Like a bachelor knows anything about children.” She snorted.

The truce was over. Of course Miss Birdie would fight anyone who tried to shoulder part of her burden, but he’d do what he could even if he had to conceal his actions.

“My neighbor does. Ouida said she’d watch her in the evening, when you want to do something with your granddaughters. And I can take Missy to day care and bring her back. Besides, I do have a sister. There are things I can do.”

Her glance showed she didn’t accept that. “How old is your sister?”

Two years older than he, but Adam didn’t say that. She’d just point out that he’d been too young to take care of a sister that close in age.

It didn’t matter. He could allow her to win this one. Victory always cheered her up, and she deserved that.

Much
earlier than Sam wanted to be out of bed, he studied his reflection and thought what an idiot he was.

To look almost civilized, he’d chosen his one dress shirt, white and fairly presentable. Because he had no iron, he’d steamed it in the shower. He tightened the belt on khakis that hung on him. Add to that fairly new athletic shoes he’d found in the box of stuff the general had sent to him. He hadn’t opened the carton until late last night after he’d had a couple of drinks. Only a few because he wanted to be able to function at the same time as he buffered himself from any memories rattling around loose inside, any reminders of activities he’d participated in back when he had two legs. Fortunately he’d found nothing but clothes and shoes.

He looked at himself in the mirror again. Over the last few days, he’d changed: better-looking clothes, shaved, and not hungover. What would he do next? Get a haircut? Not likely, but this “presentable” stuff seemed to be creeping up on him.

Who was he trying to kid with the white shirt and new shoes? He wasn’t normal, lovable ex-marine amputee Sam Peterson, not inside or out, so why was he attempting to
look
like that? The kids didn’t care about his appearance, which left only Willow Thomas to impress and she… she… Well, he didn’t know about her but he did know about himself. He had no business dressing up to… what? To attract her? To date her?

To marry her?

Crap. What a load of crap.

He put the comb down, shook his head so the clean hair looked unkempt, and pulled off the shirt. With the prosthesis, changing shoes and trousers was more of a hassle than he wanted to face. He grabbed the cane and hobbled back into the bedroom.

In the corner, Aunt Effie’s chair was piled with dirty clothes. On top of the dresser sat a pile of clean clothes he hadn’t shoved into a drawer. Folding and putting clean clothing away was a hassle he’d learned not to bother with. A pile on the dresser worked fine and let him know when he needed to do the wash again. No one in this house cared if his T-shirts were wrinkled or not. He grabbed his marine T-shirt, the one the kids wanted him to wear, and tugged it on.

He’d have to wash clothes soon, not one of his favorite chores. Manipulating out to the washer and dryer in the back of the narrow carport with a load of clothing under his arm stretched his ability. After a few attempts, he’d learned to put the laundry in a dirty clothes bag and drag it behind him.

Dumb stuff to be considering. For a treacherous minute, he wanted to check himself in the mirror again, but he didn’t. He didn’t care how he looked. He was clean and that was all Nick and Leo cared about, if they even cared about that.

Seven o’clock. Ready and waiting. They’d pick him up in fifteen minutes. He grabbed his cane and headed toward the living room. He needed a drink. He functioned better dead to feeling of any kind.

Vodka? Did he have any vodka? No one would smell it on his breath. No one would notice if he were unsteady, not that he could get that drunk in fifteen minutes. A drink or two would take the edge off. He headed toward the kitchen exactly as a knock sounded on the door. Too late. He should’ve known the boys would keep on their mother until she gave up and headed over here early.

Why had he agreed to this?

“Just a minute.” Sam forced himself to close the world out and quiet his thoughts.

“D’ya need some help, sir?” Leo shouted through the door.

“No,” he called back. “Be right there.”

For a moment, Sam hyperventilated, dragging in huge gulps of air while his heart pounded in his chest and sweat dripped down his face, all signs of an impending panic attack. “I’m doing fine,” he said to himself in a low voice, attempting to calm his breathing and slow the heart. He hadn’t had a panic attack since shortly after he got here. Why had one hit him now?

“I’m fine,” he repeated quietly. As the VA counselor had coached him, Sam pursed his lips and pretended to blow an imaginary candle out to decrease the amount of oxygen he took in. His heart began to slow.

“Captain?” Willow called.

Oh, great, exactly what he needed, an anxious professional like Willow wondering what was happening.

“I’m fine,” he said, loudly this time. And he was. His breathing had slowed and his heart no longer thudded as hard in his chest.

“I’ll be right out,” he shouted as he limped into the kitchen, got a glass of water, and drank it slowly. After that, he splashed cool water on his face and wiped it off, glad he’d caught it in time, before he went into full anxiety mode. He felt a little wobbly, but that would clear up soon.

He shuffled back through the living room and opened the door. “You’re a little early,” he said.

Willow scrutinized his face. She could probably read the physical signs of distress but didn’t mention it, quickly turning her gaze away.

Couldn’t she meet his eyes? Did she still feel a little uncomfortable about that kiss?

Or maybe it wasn’t that kiss at all. Maybe as a professional she recognized the signs of a recent anxiety attack but didn’t want to address it now. He didn’t, either.

The boys wore jeans so new and stiff they crunched a little as they walked, with new burnt orange T-shirts and matching athletic shoes. All ready for the first day of school. Their mother wore slacks and a nice shirt, her usual dress, almost like a uniform for work. She’d changed from her professional shoes to some with a thin heel—what were they called? Kitten heels? Why did he know that? Probably from watching that late-night program with Stacy and Clifford when he couldn’t get to sleep. Or was he named Clinton? He didn’t know and didn’t really care, but the shoes looked great on Willow.

“Cool,” Nick said. “You’re wearing your marine T-shirt. Sir.”

“Come on, sir.” Leo leaped down the steps and ran to open the car door.

“Mom says you get the front seat because it’ll be easier for you to get in.” Nick danced next to the car and watched Sam. “She knows stuff like that.”

“It’s a really low car,” Willow apologized.

“We can help if you need us to hold your elbow or anything.” Nick held out an arm.

“Get in, goofball.” Leo dragged his brother to the driver’s side of the car, pushed him into the back, and followed.

With the car door open, Sam sat on the edge of the seat, then turned as he picked up his right leg and placed it inside the car. In a car like this, it was a little awkward but not a difficult task. He grabbed the armrest and closed the door while Willow got in the other side.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “I should’ve opened the door for you.” He’d forgotten a lot about how to treat a woman.

“Thank you, Captain, but I’m perfectly capable of getting in the car by myself.”

“I know that. That doesn’t mean a gentleman should allow you to.”

As she turned the key and started the engine, she glanced at him, then quickly away, concentrating carefully on the nonexistent traffic as she pulled onto the street. He grinned. She still couldn’t look at him, which suggested… well, he didn’t know what but
not
indifference.

“It’s a short ride, sir,” Nick said.

“He knows that. He used to live here,” Leo said in an older-brother voice.

“I don’t remember much about town.” Sam looked over his shoulder at the boys. “I haven’t been here for…” He paused to consider. “… for about fifteen years, and I haven’t gone anyplace but to the hospital and the grocery store since I got back. Is the junior high still next to the H-E-B?”

“Did it used to be?” Nick said. “No, it’s that way.” He pointed vaguely to the east.

The boys attempted to explain where everything else in town was located and how the old IGA had become a department store and where the new post office was, as if he remembered where the old one had been. While they chattered, Willow kept her eyes on the road with so much attention she could’ve been driving at the Indy. After a few blocks of a carefully navigated route, she pulled into the driveway of the school, found a parking space close to the front door, and let out a deep sigh.

Sam would have laughed at her relief, but that would probably spook her more. To spook or not to spook? The question made him feel somewhat Shakespearean but didn’t solve the dilemma that was Willow Thomas.