Lilacs for Laura Page 16

  Like cornered mice, her nieces’ eyes filled with fright. Laura bent down and hugged them to her. Maria swayed away from Rachel, who stepped aside but steadied the woman’s arm.

  “Say hello to your grandmother,” Rachel encouraged.

  Two tiny hellos squeaked from the girls’ lips.

  “Jessica,” Maria slurred, patting Amelia on the head as if admiring a pretty china doll. “Emily,” she pronounced Jessica with a similar tap.

  Laura held her breath, certain Jess would correct her.

  “I’m Jessica,” the child muttered. “Emily’s my grandma,”

  “Yes, I’m your grandma,” the woman said absently as she tugged up her polyester skirt between thick rolls of fat, exposing the tops of snagged knee-high nylons.

  How could a grandmother forget the names of her own grandchildren? Laura wondered if the girls would see this woman again after today. Rachel made an effort to keep in contact with Jake’s family, but they hadn’t responded.

  “There’s a seat for you up here,” Rachel motioned politely. “Right beside the girls and me.” She led them to the front.

  “Come on,” Maria said to her husband, who sucked noisily on a breath mint. He followed at her command as if on a leash.

  Running a hand through the lengths of gray hair combed over his lumpy scalp, he sent a shower of dandruff to his slumped shoulders.

  Laura followed well behind to a seat where Brett waited for her. His neatly combed hair and black suit didn’t have a speck of dandruff. He glanced up with a respectable smile.

  Like a breath of fresh air, Jake’s sister walked in. Sarita Santos was tall and shapely. She shared Jake’s good looks, obviously inherited from their father. Her long hair flowed in shiny black waves around her bronze face. She wore fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, and a tiny black leather skirt. Her long legs appeared to reach her navel.

  Composed and sober, Sarita sat next to her mother and dabbed a tissue at her eyes.

  The man accompanying her resembled Snively Whiplash. Tall and lanky, he smoothed his skinny black mustache with his thumb and forefinger. His open black shirt revealed a heavy gold chain with a large dollar sign on his chest. With slicked back hair, sneaky eyes, and an overconfident swagger, Laura pictured him wearing a pimp hat and long fur coat.

  And he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. His fingers, adorned with several large rings, tangled in Sarita’s hair while he licked her earlobes.

  Laura shivered with the willies as the service began.

  “We are here to remember Jago Miguel Santos,” the minister announced. Ashamed of his Puerto Rican heritage, Jake had assumed his nickname to sound more American. Ironically, Santos was the Spanish word for saints. Jake had also abandoned the Catholic faith of his youth. Rachel had chosen her own church for the memorial service, where she and the girls would be comfortable. His mother didn’t seem to notice.

  Along with the congregation, Laura stood, sat, and sang from a hymnal. She remembered nothing of the message, distracted by Rachel’s grief in contrast to Jake’s mother.

  During the short reception in the church fellowship hall, Maria fished a flask from her humongous bra and tipped it into the plastic cups of her family members. Apparently, she’d learned nothing from losing Jake’s father and her last two husbands to cirrhosis of the liver.

  Sarita alone refused to imbibe, even when her boyfriend Ramone encouraged her. Laura watched with a pang of pity, and their eyes locked for but a moment. She felt a connection, a bonding.

  No, it was nothing. The only thing they had in common was being Jess and Amelia’s aunt. That was it, nothing more. Yet she felt a kinship in that common ground. A kinship she didn’t want.

  Jake and his family chose their lifestyle and she was powerless to change that. Rachel had tried, and it nearly destroyed her. They needed to put Jake and his family behind them for good. No more guilt, no what-ifs.

  Yet the genuineness in Sarita’s eyes haunted Laura with the feeling there was something more. She would see her again.

  ****

  Friday afternoon, Brett swept the floor of Max Carter’s shop as he prepared to go home for Labor Day weekend.

  Chad handed Brett his paycheck and leaned an outstretched arm against a stud wall. “We’ll be done with this job by mid-September. After that, it’ll be one-man side jobs all winter,” he informed Brett with sadness. “Got anything lined up yet?”

  “Not yet,” Brett admitted.

  In the office behind Chad, Max looked up from his computer as if about to say something. Did he know of a job? Then he shook his head sadly and went back to clicking away. Apparently there was no point in saying he was sorry again. It wasn’t Max’s fault he was looking for a job mid-season.

  If NASCAR didn’t need him, maybe he’d snag one of those lucrative jobs at GM. Designing new Corvettes wouldn’t be bad.

  “I have some applications out there,” he told Chad. “I’m excited about the possibilities.” Not only for the job, but for Laura and him. Detroit wasn’t that far from home.

  “Good luck with the job hunt then.” With a sly grin, Chad seemed to read something more into his excitement.

  “Thanks.” Brett headed for the door. “Have a nice weekend,” he called to both men. He drove into town to cash his paycheck, and then went home to shower before dinner with Laura. He walked in and pushed the blinking button on his answering machine.

  “Hello, Brett,” the recording greeted cheerfully. “This is Bo with the Hatley NASCAR team.”

  His heart leapt to his throat.

  “I received your resume,” the voice said in a thick southern accent. “And I think we can by-pass an interview.”

  He stared at the machine in disbelief. Then why are you calling me?

  “I spoke to your references,” the message continued, “and I’d like to offer you the position—”

  The rest of the message blurred as his head spun around the room. NASCAR! The dream job of a lifetime.

  He replayed the message, just to be sure. Yep, he clearly stated, “I’d like to offer you the position of suspension engineer at our Charlotte location.”

  Snatching up the phone, he dialed Bo’s number. A machine came on. Brett glanced at the clock. It was 5:20 on Friday night. Labor Day weekend. Disappointed, he left an excited message nonetheless.

  The pieces of his life were falling into place...

  Except Laura. He’d been on the verge of certainty, but now the scales had tipped. He knew exactly what to do.

  First, he called his mother. “Mama, I got the NASCAR job!”

  “Oh, Brett, congratulations! Come celebrate with me.”

  “But I have plans with Laura—”

  “Bring her with you—I’ll cook lasagna! I’ve been waiting to meet her,” she urged in a dreamy Italian voice. “What a bright future you can have together now.”

  “Okay, Mama, I get your not-so-subtle hint,” he said with discomfort. She read him too well. He’d wanted to surprise her.

  “Will you propose soon?” she asked eagerly.

  He pictured visions of grandchildren dancing in her head. “I haven’t even told her about the job yet,” he answered apprehensively. “Laura doesn’t want to move away.”

  “Oh.” She stopped cold.

  He left so much unsaid, knowing she understood. What difference did it make if he’d known Laura for four months or four years? She was all he’d ever dreamed of.

  But did she feel the same? Would she join him?

  Barely able to contain his excitement, he said goodbye to his mother and walked next door. It’d be easier to call, but he couldn’t wait to see Laura. He knocked at the front door.

  Her face beamed as she threw open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “Hi! You’re early.”

  “Yeah.” He blushed like a schoolboy, suddenly embarrassed that he hadn’t even showered yet. Fuzzy feelings welled in his belly. “I wondered if we could change our plans a bit.”

  “I’m o
pen for anything.” Her voice turned flirtatious. Laura seemed freer, lighter on her feet, than she’d been in months. The day after her brother-in-law’s funeral, he thought she might be sullen. Brett’s plans might have been ruined.

  “Something’s come up and I have to run into town.” His heart pounded with anticipation. “And I still need to shower.”

  She ran a finger down his neck, collecting bits of sweat-soaked sawdust. “When will you be ready?”

  More than his time schedule was implied. She wrapped her arms around his neck and batted her eyes before planting hot, moist lips on his mouth.

  With a flick of his tongue, she moaned. Brett pulled her searing body against his, swooning with a rush of desire and heady emotion. Who wanted it worse, him or her? They’d better get married, and soon. No wonder so few people waited.

  Tonight’s announcement would be a deciding factor in both of their lives, and Brett didn’t know how she’d react. One thing he knew. As surely as he’d fallen for her, she’d fallen in love with him. Love was truly blind—and possibly scent-challenged as well—if she was attracted to him in this sweaty state.

  He tugged himself away before temptation overtook him. His empty cottage was only a few yards away, and he finally had a bed. And a private shower. Now there was a thought he’d better push away. At this point, the bucket seats in the ‘Vette sounded good. Or the grass on her parents’ front lawn.

  Laura clung, laying her head on his chest. He positioned his legs back a step.

  “Give me an hour,” he blurted. That cut it close, but he couldn’t wait much longer.

  “Then what would you like to do?” she purred.

  He chose not to answer that. His heart hammered and desire swelled. First things first. She’d be more comfortable on her own turf.

  “Would you like to go riding?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes.” She snuggled against him. “The horses have been itching for a day on the trails. I’ll pack a picnic.”

  “Perfect.” He smoothed her hair. “Tell me what to bring.”

  This first day of September was beautiful and symbolic. A time of suffering had ended and autumn would usher in the beginning of his new life.

  And he’d share that life with Laura.

  ****

  Warm breezes stirred the trees. Yellow and green leaves floated to the forest floor, muffling the clippety-clop of the horses. Brett shifted in the saddle, and the old horse snorted.

  “There’s a clearing,” Laura pointed from atop her golden mare. “Grandpa brought me here for picnics when I was little.”

  “It looks like the perfect spot,” he replied, impressed by her history, her happy memories, and her love of this place. He shuddered with fear of rejection.

  Sunlight filtered down on the romantic clearing near the creek. Crystal clear water gurgled over the rocks, and a patch of wildflowers waved in the breeze.

  He dismounted her father’s quarter horse and gathered the picnic basket. He went to help Laura dismount, but she slid down gracefully on her own. She walked her mare Rosemary to the creek and Brett followed, leading mellow old Sage. After the horses drank their fill, Laura led them to a low-branched tree.

  “We’ll tie them here,” she said.

  Leaving plenty of length, Brett tied his reins to a limb. Laura fiddled with the reins around the mare’s head before tying her, and then turned to him with a knitted brow.

  “He can graze,” he defended himself.

  With an easy smile, she untied Sage. “You have to tie off the reins first. Otherwise the bit digs into his mouth every time he moves.” She demonstrated, and then knotted the reins loosely to the strap behind his ears. “See,” she said patiently. “Now the bit won’t pull.”

  Horsemanship instruction didn’t help his confidence. He couldn’t even tie a horse to a tree properly. How would he convince Laura he could provide for her if she left her home, her family, her job?

  Already dejected, he carried the picnic basket to a grassy spot and set it down. “Is this okay?” His question came out with more irritation than he intended.

  “Uh, well—” she hesitated. “It’s a little wet right there.” She walked toward a spot further from the water. “Up here might be better,” she said apologetically.

  Okay, he couldn’t choose a picnic spot either. Her dead grandpa probably knew more about romantic picnics than he did.

  Trying to calm his nerves, he spread the blanket beneath her feet. “Let’s eat,” he said with more cheer than he felt.

  His stomach growled on cue making Laura laugh. Food would definitely lighten the mood. They sat on the blanket and he uncorked his sparkling cider. She pulled two glasses from the basket. Thank goodness she thought of that, or they’d be swigging from the bottle. Women were good at these things.

  He poured two glasses and offered a toast. “To us.”

  She smiled. One sip calmed him immediately.

  Laura opened the basket and delicious aromas wafted out. “We have chocolate cupcakes, grapes.” She pulled the crushable items off the top. “Cheddar, potato salad, and fried chicken.”

  Ah, the chicken was what he smelled.

  “It’s cold, picnic style,” she said with a smile.

  Cold chicken? He hated cold chicken. Where was a microwave when you needed one? He glumly took a plate and heaped it with food. He placed it in the sun, hoping to warm the chicken.

  “The mayor came into the shop today,” Laura said cheerfully. “He ordered five dozen chrysanthemums to decorate the square for autumn.”

  “That’s a big order.” He popped a grape into his mouth.

  “Yeah, maybe it’ll bring our sales figures out of the red.” She looked more worried than convinced. “Business has really been slow. We only have one wedding booked for October, and it’s usually one of our busiest months.”

  “Well, at least the mayor is supporting you.”

  She nodded and dabbed her frown with a napkin. “We depend on fall weddings to carry us through the winter. There’s a brief burst with holiday centerpieces, but then it’s dead until Valentine’s Day.”

  If she moved with him, her parents would have one less person on payroll. Valentine’s Day would be a nice day to...

  Lilacs For Laura

  Lilacs For Laura

  Chapter 15—Wire Cutters

  “Ready for dessert?” Laura took out two cupcakes. “Valentine’s Day always makes me think of chocolate.”

  “Funny,” Brett mumbled, “women claim guys are the unromantic ones.” He couldn’t believe that slipped out of his mouth.

  Her jaw dropped. “Oh. I’m sorry. Well, chocolate isn’t the only thing—” Her face flushed.

  Taking the cupcake, he set it on his plate. Everything was going wrong, and he had to get this right. He leaned toward her. “Laura, Valentine’s Day makes me think how much I love you.”

  She shifted closer. “I love you, too.” Her face glowed pink, and her eyes turned violet.

  “I have something to ask you.” Her hand trembled when he took it. “I have an awesome opportunity to work for a NASCAR team in Charlotte. The money is unbelievable!”

  The violet drained from her eyes.

  “Laura, will you come with me?” He rubbed her palm.

  For an eternal moment, she stared at him in shocked silence. Her pulse pounded against his fingertips as he caressed her hand. Raw fear engulfed him. He reached for his shirt pocket, but froze when Laura crumbled before him.

  “No,” she moaned, pulling her hand away. “I can’t leave now. Rachel needs me. My family needs me and our business is...is struggling. I can’t leave and let everything fall apart.”

  Choking on tears, she ran for the horses.

  He chased after her.

  In a flash, she untied the reins and leapt on the mare.

  “Laura, wait!” He gripped her arm, but she yanked it away and snapped the reins hard. The horse bolted, and Laura kneed her, leaning into the gallop.

  “Laaauura!
” he hollered. She galloped through the deep woods and out of sight. He’d never catch her on foot, and unless he brought the other horse back she’d never forgive him. He packed the basket, attached it to the saddle, and fumbled with the knotted reins. At last they fell free of the tree limb and he vaulted himself onto the old horse. Sage wheezed.

  “Come on boy, let’s get her.”

  Sage lowered his head and munched some grass.

  Brett pulled the reins, only to find them still tied to the strap behind the horse’s ears. A hard yank only tightened the knot. Thoroughly aggravated, he picked at the tangled leather until it loosened.

  “Giddyup!” he kicked hard and jerked the reins.

  The horse whinnied and reared like it’d seen a rattlesnake. Sliding backward, Brett threw his arms around the horse’s neck and held on until it calmed down.

  “Okay, Sage.” Barely controlling his temper, he said through clenched teeth, “Let’s go, boy. Giddyup.”

  He squeezed his knees together like Laura had taught him and flicked the reins. With a snort of protest, Sage began to walk. At this rate, Laura could be to Springfield by the time they reached the barn. He squeezed again and flicked the reins a little harder. Sage picked up a trot, tossing a disgruntled glance over his shoulder.

  At least the geriatric horse knew which trail to follow because Brett sure didn’t.

  Laura was waiting for them, leaning against the barn door with her arms crossed. Tear tracks ran through the dust on her cheeks. Rosemary was back in her stall by the time Sage meandered to the barn. Probably brushed, fed, and watered too.

  Brett swung one leg up and over to dismount, but his other shoe caught in the stirrup. Struggling to detach himself, he hopped on one foot as Laura frowned from a distance.

  Finally he freed himself, riled and humiliated.

  “Amateur,” she said snidely and strode away from him.

  He couldn’t just let her walk away. Swallowing his pride, he tied Sage to the nearest post and chased her. “Laura, wait!”

  She turned on her heel to face him and swiped at her eyes.