The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (36 page)

He’d also hoped Miss Birdie would pick up a couple of forms and they’d leave. Stupid of him.

Neither woman moved or said a word. Just grinned. He’d made them very happy.

The intensity of their reaction scared him to death.

Y
ou can’t park here.”

Birdie turned to glare at Winnie, the bossiest woman she knew.

“It’s reserved for tenants and guests only.” Winnie pointed toward the sign.

She’d be so glad when Winnie married the general and they could kick her out of the Widows. “The lot’s nearly empty. No one within thirty feet of us and it’s convenient. After all, we’re doing the Lord’s work.”

“That doesn’t mean we can flout the rules. If we parked on the street…” Winnie stopped talking when Birdie turned off the engine, pressed the button that opened the back doors, and got out of the van.

Mercedes was supposed to have come, but she had an ailing uncle and that family was so close you couldn’t separate them with WD-40. That meant today Birdie was alone with Winnie to deliver Thanksgiving baskets to shut-ins. The two of them occasionally didn’t see eye-to-eye. The provisional Widow didn’t respect seniority and was darned inflexible and pushy.

“Susan Pfannenstiel lives in the blue house…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Bird, don’t you think I know where she lives? She’s been in my Bunco group for years.”

Had Winnie called her “Bird”? She only allowed Mercedes to do that. She’d need to take that up with Winnie sometime, set boundaries, but for now they had a mission that didn’t include arguing in public.

“All right, let’s visit her first, then we’ll pick up the basket for…” Just as she started to wave toward the home of another shut-in, Birdie saw Sam slinking along behind several azalea bushes. Was he trying to hide from them?

“Isn’t that Sam Peterson?” Winnie asked. “What’s he doing?”

“Skulking,” Birdie said. Then she grinned. “Right across from Willow Thomas’s apartment. Don’t that beat all?” But did he have the courage to go in? “I’m going to talk to him, make sure he’s going inside to talk to her.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“She must be home because her car’s right there.” Stupid kind of car for a mother of two to have, but that wasn’t the topic now.

“You can’t do that,” Winnie stated. “You have to let him alone, allow him to do what he needs to do.”

“Haven’t you learned?” Birdie turned back toward Winnie. “You can never be sure other people are going to do what they should do, not without some strong suggestions.”

Winnie shook her head resolutely. “Leave Sam alone to make his decisions. That’s what Mitchell said.”

As if Birdie cared what Mitchell said. Well, she did, actually. He was Sam’s father and might have more history and broader insight on his side than she did, but she remembered that look on Sam’s face at the parade, the longing. “I want to do something. I can’t just stand here…” When her voice broke, she cleared her throat before continuing. “I can’t allow a person to ruin his own life, not without trying to point him in the right direction.”

“Bird, we can’t control everyone and everything. Sometimes you have to let go and trust people to take care of themselves.”

“Hrmpp.” She turned to glare at Winnie. What did the woman know? Where would the world be if everyone stepped back and didn’t try, at least
try
, to set people on the right track? “There are times when people need direction.” Darn, her voice broke again.

“Besides, what’s your plan? Capture a marine and force him inside to talk to Willow?”

Yes, that had been her plan. Not a good one for a woman with a bad shoulder and an unwilling co-conspirator.

She turned to look toward the bushes that had barely covered Sam, but he was gone. “All right,” she sighed. “I guess we’d better get on with delivering the baskets.” She reached into the backseat, pulled out a basket, and handed it to Winnie to carry. The woman could do something more useful than issuing orders and disagreeing.

He’d become a total idiot.

When Sam first saw the Widows in the parking lot, he dropped, totally by instinct, onto the ground behind a hedge as if hiding from enemy snipers instead of two elderly women.

But he knew how dangerous they could be.

Fortunately, the prosthetic joint held up well. It had folded easily and evenly at the same rate as the left leg. When he slid forward to peek through the branches, he realized Miss Birdie could see him and Miss Winnie had pointed at him.

Now he was stuck. He could hardly leap to his feet and pretend he hadn’t been hiding—but he couldn’t stay here, either, huddled like an idiot behind these shrubs. What was wrong with him? He’d fought in war, led his troops into combat, but now he hid from the Widows? They weren’t even in full force and they scared him.

How could he ever explain this to his father?

Escape was the only answer. When he saw Miss Birdie turn to talk to the other Widow, he stood and ran faster than he’d thought he could toward the apartment building.

This was not the way he’d envisioned the morning. It had started out as a walk. As he strolled through the tree-lined streets, he’d reached into the pocket of his jeans to feel the crinkling of the envelope beneath his fingers. It had been on the dresser for several days. This morning he’d put it in his pocket, thinking if he saw Willow, by accident, he’d have it handy if the opportunity arose to share it with her. He didn’t have the courage yet to share it on his own, directly. Only by accident.

How he’d do that he didn’t know. See her at the H-E-B, shove the envelope at her, say,
Here. I thought you’d want to read about the horror that’s been my life for the past year
, then smile and walk away? So far, that was the best plan he’d come up with.

But somehow as he walked he’d found himself across the street from Willow’s—and the boys’—apartment building. He hadn’t planned that, but his feet had brought him here. The place pulled at him like a huge electromagnet, and he possessed the resistance of a poached egg. Stupid analogy. Eggs aren’t attracted to magnets, but the rest fit pretty well. He had no willpower when it came to the Thomas family.

What were the Widows doing in that parking lot? Were they setting something up between him and Willow? Not that he’d mind, but they couldn’t have known he’d be coming this way.

Why were they in the parking lot of Willow’s building?

Could be they weren’t waiting for him, not matchmaking for him. Maybe they planned to fix Willow up with someone else.

Who?

He didn’t know if there were more single men in town. Perhaps they’d decided to match Adam and Willow. The preacher was a good guy. They’d get along well. The minister would make a great father for the boys.

But not if Sam had anything to say about it. He made a decision without a second of thought: He had to reach Willow before the Widows did, before they found another man for her. Using the reconnaissance skills he’d learned as a marine, he started south, surreptitiously glancing toward the parking lot on his right every few seconds.

Nothing had changed. The women still chatted. Their presence had to be about Willow. Why else would they be here? Of course, fifty other people inhabited these apartments. Many more lived in the houses surrounding the complex. They could be sticking their noses into someone else’s life. Maybe their appearance had nothing to do with him or Willow.

But if it did… He couldn’t lose Willow and the boys.

He lost sight of the women as he dashed across the street. A few seconds later, he approached the building. Through a breezeway, he could see the Widows. As he watched, they broke formation and quick stepped across the asphalt, a movement that filled him with panic. Had he left things like telling Willow he loved her and sharing and communication until too late? Were the Widows marching in to correct that? Winnie held a basket, no doubt the pretense they’d use to get in the door. Willow would invite them to stay, and before she knew it she’d be matched up with some eligible Butternut Creek bachelor.

Not on his watch.

Boldly he entered the building and headed toward the Thomases’ apartment at the end of the wing. He knocked. Then, afraid the Widows would stride into the building while he still stood out here, he knocked again, harder.

Willow looked out the window to see if the boys were coming home from practice. The apartment had a lovely view of the flat black asphalt parking lot and a few weary bushes. She waved when she recognized Miss Birdie and Winnie out there, but they couldn’t see her. She watched as they walked off toward a house facing the parking lot, probably doing good deeds.

Then she saw Sam crossing the street.

What in the world was he doing out there?

She stepped back from the window, out of sight. Was he coming here? What would she do if he did? How would she handle it? She’d missed him, really, really missed him. When her sons talked about what they’d done with Sam, she’d actually been a little jealous of them.

Of course, he could be visiting someone else. But she didn’t think so.

Before she could gather her thoughts, a knock sounded on the door and reverberated through the apartment. Or was that the rapid beat of her heart and the fear clenching at her throat?

Of course, maybe it wasn’t Sam. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else. Could be a neighbor or a delivery person or the Widows. Who knew?

But she knew. Sam stood outside her door. He knocked again, actually hammering as if he didn’t plan to go away. Slowly she turned and opened the last physical barrier between them. “Hello, Sam. This is a surprise.” She flinched. What a cliché. Couldn’t she come up with something clever?

“A pleasant one, I hope.” He grimaced at his words and looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

She’d add another cliché to this soup of old chestnuts they both seemed to be swimming in, but her brain couldn’t come up with a thought of any kind, trite or not. Still standing in the open doorway, she said, “The boys aren’t home. They have flag-football practice this morning. They’d love for you to come to a game sometime.”

“Sure.” He nodded. “I didn’t come to see them.”

She tilted her head warily. “Oh?”

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Who? Like the Widows or all those eligible bachelors in Butternut Creek? “No.”

“Can… may I come in?”

She studied him for a few seconds. “Okay.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she offered. That would slow things down, give her time to gain control of herself and find a few brain cells that Sam’s sudden appearance hadn’t fried.

“No, thanks.” He walked around her and inside.

As she stepped back and closed the door, she glanced in the mirror. She wore tattered jeans and a burnt orange University of Texas T-shirt with matching socks but no shoes. She hadn’t combed her hair so it stood out like a giant Brillo pad. No makeup. She looked terrible.

“You look great,” Sam said. He watched her, thinking she didn’t look any more comfortable than he felt. Maybe he should accept the coffee. When they settled in the kitchen, he could tell her about how he’d started tutoring English as a second language at the library three mornings a week. He really enjoyed it, felt good to…

Good try, Peterson. Postpone whatever’s hard to face; delay the difficult.
He knew darned good and well why he wanted to chat about trivia. He didn’t want to hand the letter to Willow, but putting this off was cowardly.