Baby in His Arms. Линда Гуднайт
“Will you take me out to the farm for cuttings?”
“When you get that new knee, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
She shook her fist at him. “Oh, you are a sly one.”
From his spot in the kitchenette, he winked at her. “Love you, too, Grandma.”
The grocery bag crinkled as he emptied the contents, putting each item in its proper place in the cabinets or refrigerator. Granny kept her things orderly, the way he liked.
The talk of flowers and order sent his thoughts to Haley and her disorderly tangle of vines and plants and flowers. “Do you know Haley Blanchard?”
“Well, let’s see.” Grandma propped a palm against her cheek. “Seems like I’ve heard the name. Why?”
“No reason, really. She grows flowers like you do.”
“You sweet on her?”
In spite of himself, heat rushed up the back of his neck. “No way. She’s too hippielike for me. She takes in foster kids.”
And according to Thomas and the icy stares from Brent Henderson, Haley had a boyfriend.
“Ah.”
What did that mean? Ah?
“Don’t read anything into it, Grandma. Haley is fostering the little baby I found at church.”
Grandma’s crooked hand pressed to her heart. “How’s that precious child doing? Poor little lamb. Just breaks a body’s heart.”
“Doing good. Anyway, she was the last time I stopped in.”
“So you been visiting her? This Haley woman?”
“The abandoned baby.”
“The baby.” She rocked some more. “Ah.”
That one little, heavily loaded sound was starting to wear on him. Visiting an abandoned baby was not the result of some deep-seated, psychological need rising from his own personal situation. Nor was the visit a quest for romance.
“I brought you some peanut brittle from Evie’s Sweets and Eats.”
“Well, get it out of that sack, child. Let’s eat it. I know you want some.” She shot him an ornery grin. “I also know you don’t want to talk about this Haley or the baby.”
Creed shook his head. “How did Grandpa survive fifty years?”
Grandma snickered.
Grinning, Creed took the candy from the paper sack and handed her the smaller zippered bag of candy. While her arthritis-twisted fingers sought the opening, a white truck pulled up outside. “Dad’s here.”
“That son of mine can smell peanut candy a mile away. Better hide it quick.”
When he snorted at her, she laughed again. Grandma was a spitfire even now, and she loved nothing more than a good laugh. Strong and solid as the mountains and as full of God as the sky, she’d lost a daughter and three grandchildren, nursed a bedridden husband for ten years and still found the good and beautiful in everyday life. Even though her blood didn’t run in Creed’s veins, he hoped he’d gained some of her qualities.
His father walked through the door, also carrying a grocery sack though Creed suspected his held Mama’s home cooking. “Creed, son, I was planning to come by your office.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing in particular.” He set the paper bag on the counter next to the plastic sacks. “I thought we might have lunch if you aren’t too busy.”
Creed checked his watch. “I have a tour in about thirty minutes, but unless I get a walk-in, noon is clear. Want to meet up at the Iron Horse or Clemson’s Café?”
Whisper Falls boasted only a handful of eating places. Other than the Pizza Pan and a couple of burger hangouts, choices were thin. Some people wanted to keep it that way, to keep out the big-box stores and restaurants. Even though he appreciated the provincial atmosphere of their little mountain town, progress meant business. Business meant more people to charter his helicopter services.
“The Iron Horse sounds good. I’ve got a hankering for Miss Evelyn’s apple pie.” His father, as tall and angular as Abe Lincoln, wore black-framed glasses and still had no gray in his dark brown hair, a fact that drove his mother, jokingly, to despair. She’d been coloring hers as long as Creed could remember.
Dad pecked Grandma on the cheek. “Looking pretty today, Mama. Did Cassie come by and fix your hair?”
She swatted his arm. “Now, Larry, you quit buttering me up. I know you’re after my candy.”
“I thought I smelled peanuts when I turned the corner.”
“I knew it. Creed, your daddy is a pure-dee mooch. I swear I raised him better.” She fumbled with the bag another minute and finally managed to tug the sides apart to dole out jagged slabs of the peanut brittle. “Mmm-hmm. So good. Sticks to my dentures, but who cares.”
“Grandma wants to plant roses again.”
“Good idea.”
“Creed’s girlfriend likes to grow things, too. I think he’s trying to get my approval. Why don’t you bring her by sometime?”
Dad’s peanut brittle froze midway to his lips. “What’s this? A new girlfriend? Why didn’t I know?”
“Because there is nothing to know, Dad. Grandma’s being...grandma.” But again that flush of heat swamped Creed’s neck. “Haley Blanchard, the foster mother. I told you about her on the phone.”
“Yes, I know who she is. Your mom bought a birdhouse from her last fall at Pumpkin Fest. Isn’t she the one caring for the abandoned baby?”
Creed nodded. “I stopped by a couple of times.”
“To see Haley or the baby?”
Grandma laughed. Creed scowled.
He wasn’t a man who encroached on another man’s territory. The other night with Brent Henderson had been less-than-comfortable. Even though he’d not gone to Haley’s house with thoughts of romance, Brent clearly had. Besides, flakey Haley was not his type.
“The baby, Dad. What happened bothers me, you know. A little baby dumped like that.”
His grandma and his father exchanged looks. Dad cleared his throat and wiped his fingers together to divest them of crumbs. Creed knew what they were thinking and he didn’t like it. He also thought neither wanted to talk about his situation. His parents had always been straight with him. He’d always known, and he rarely thought about the fact that he had not been born a Carter. He was happy, well-adjusted and loved his family. End of story. Being adopted didn’t have a thing to do with his feelings for Rose Petal.
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