Baby, Drive South (15 page)

“Oh, I’m a birdwatcher,” Dr. Hannah said. “What is that in the background?”

Grateful for the change in subject, Nikki made her way around the platform back to the ladder and glanced down, wiping her eyes. On the ground Porter Armstrong was puckered up, warbling, while dropping something from a paper bag into a bird feeder. To her amazement, a pair of brilliantly colored blue birds appeared and swooped down to pluck something out of the feeder, uncaring that Porter was close enough to reach out and touch them. Nikki gasped in awe. The man could literally charm the birds out of the trees.

“Nikki, are you there?”

Nikki yanked her attention back to the phone conversation. “I’m here. I’m no expert, but it looks like bluebirds?”

“Oh! They’re the most beautiful creatures.”

She was taking in Porter’s large athletic frame, and the simple joy on his handsome face watching the birds dance around the feeder. “Yes, they are,” she murmured. Unbidden, desire fluttered in her stomach, but it sent something akin to fear rushing through her veins. She couldn’t do this again…become infatuated with a man who was out of her league.

“Nikki, are you still there?”

“I should go, Dr. Hannah. I’ll call again soon.”

“Okay. Take care, dear.”

Nikki disconnected the call, then clasped the handrail to get a grip on her emotions. She felt so unlovable and so lonely. If only she could stay on this water tower, far above the complications of people on the ground.

“Hey!”

She looked down to see Porter shading his eyes, staring up at her. “You okay up there?”

She nodded and waved, then took a deep breath and began to descend the ladder. She didn’t have to be in this place much longer. She could get through this.

When Nikki reached the bottom of the ladder, Parker was there to help her to the ground. His touch was like fire on her skin. She stepped away as quickly as she could, her face burning. Could he see how he affected her? Of course he could. Men like Porter Armstrong knew their power over women, and enjoyed it. He probably felt as if he was doing his good deed for the day, giving the plain girl a thrill.

“Were you able to make your call?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And is everything okay?”

Instead of answering, she gestured to the bird feeder. “I saw you calling the bluebirds—do you talk to animals, Mr. Armstrong?”

He laughed. “No. The birds just know when they hear me whistle, they’ll get mealworms.”

She made a face. “Mealworms?”

“We use them in our compost bins behind the dining hall, and the worms are a treat for the birds.”

She followed him back to the four-wheeler and reached for a helmet. “What other kind of wildlife do you have around here?”

“The usual—possums, raccoons, deer…the occasional bear.”

She stopped cold. “Bears?”

“Don’t worry. Black bears are more afraid of you than you are of them.”

She gave him a flat smile. “I doubt that.” One more reason to get out of here. “Not to change the subject, but any update on my van?”

He made a rueful noise as he lowered himself onto the ATV and stowed his crutches. “Sorry, no.”

She secured the strap on her helmet. “Where are we going next?”

He grinned. “To my favorite place on the mountain.”

Nikki fought it, but his excitement pulled at her. She climbed on behind him and tried to hold her body away from his. But as soon as the four-wheeler jumped forward, she was jammed up next to him. Nikki was too drained to resist, so she closed her eyes and pretended he enjoyed it as much as she did.

16

P
orter guided the ATV halfway down the mountain, then veered right and rode a ridge around to familiar surroundings. He located an overgrown, crumbling paved road and geared down to make the steep climb, inexplicably pleased when Nikki’s hands squeezed tighter around his waist. They passed mounds of rubble along the way, the remnants of former homes now covered with kudzu vines. Porter silently ticked off the last names of the families who had once inhabited Clover Ridge…the Trundles, the Boyds, the Maxwells, the Russells…the Armstrongs.

He pulled the four-wheeler to a halt next to a cleared and freshly mowed piece of land. Even as he waited for Nikki to climb off, he was second-guessing himself for bringing her here. He’d told himself he was just trying to find ways to occupy her time and delay her departure, hoping she’d form a bond with the town, but he could’ve taken her to countless other landmarks in Sweetness. Why did he choose this one?

Because he was feeling soft toward her after Rachel had told him yesterday that Nikki had come here to escape a cheating fiancé. No wonder the woman was so prickly and had that deer-in-the-headlights look. She’d had her little heart broken. Was she going back to Broadway because her ex had asked her to come home? It seemed likely.

His hands tightened on the grips of the ATV. He didn’t know the man she’d been engaged to, but he already disliked him. It was one thing to play the field before settling down, but it was something else entirely to sleep around after making a commitment. Nikki struck him as the type who took things seriously, including her relationships with men. She’d probably given her heart entirely, and was left reeling. For some reason, he felt compelled to keep her from going back to the man who’d treated her so carelessly. Plus, he wanted to show her that some things lasted…that some things could weather any storm.

“Armstrong,” Nikki murmured, pointing to a newly painted mailbox at the end of what had once been a gravel driveway, but was now mostly choked with weeds. She scanned the plot where the concrete foundation outlined the home his father had built with his own hands. Then she glanced at Porter, her green eyes wide. “This is where you grew up?”

He nodded, his chest filled with longing and nostalgia. “It’s funny. The storm leveled our house and carried away everything in it, but when it was over, that mailbox was still standing.”

She set down her helmet and wandered into what had been their front yard, then turned and looked back over the valley. Her face transformed. “What a gorgeous view.”

He turned to take in the scenery, so familiar, yet different. Some areas had grown up in the last decade, others still reflected the path of the storm that had shorn trees like a giant chain saw. No matter—it remained spectacular, sitting in a bowl surrounded by terraced levels of evergreen and hardwood trees, rimmed by peaking mountains, bright orangey-red from the clay content in the soil and rocks.

“It’s why my dad built here. He was a military brat and had never really had a home. When he met my mother, they used to drive all around and look for the place where they wanted to put down roots and raise their family. He’d said he knew this was the spot as soon as they saw it.”

“I can see why.” She gestured to the property. “You keep it cleaned off. Do you plan to rebuild here?”

“Someday,” he admitted. “I have a lot of good memories here.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, then stared at the outline of the house. “It must have been devastating to see it all wiped away. Where were you when the tornado struck?”

“Here,” he said. “It was just me and Mother. Marcus and Kendall were both overseas. I was home on leave from the Army for a few days with a buddy. I was helping Mother pick green beans for supper.” He pointed to a vine-covered field to the right. “Our garden was over there, and it produced enough to feed an army. But instead of scaling back as she got older, every year she thought of something she wanted to add. She gave extras to neighbors and friends.”

He smiled at the memory, then frowned and lumbered over to the door of the storm cellar built into the side of a grass-covered mound. “I saw the twister coming, then heard the alarm.” He tapped the door with the end of his crutch. “We took cover in the storm cellar. The ground shook and it sounded like a freight train was rolling over top of us. It seemed to go on forever.”

“Were you scared?” she asked quietly.

Porter looked at her. No one had ever asked him that question. The memories from that day still raised the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah, I was scared plenty,” he said, surprising himself. “Before my father died, my brothers and I promised him we’d take care of Mother. All I could think, while we were crouched in the cellar, is that I’d failed him—and her. I was sure we were going to be sucked out of there and blown clear to Atlanta.”

Her expression softened. “But you weren’t.”

“No, we weren’t. When the storm blew over, I climbed out, not knowing what to expect. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The house—it was just…
gone,
along with everything in it. Our vehicles were tossed over the side of the ridge. I didn’t want Mother to come out. I was afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Nikki smiled. “But she did.”

He nodded. “She shed a few tears, but said we should be grateful to be alive. And when we saw the widespread destruction, but learned that no lives had been lost, it was hard not to feel lucky.”

She looked wistful. “You still had each other.”

“Right.” His chest tightened. He couldn’t imagine being all alone in the world like she was. She looked so small and so vulnerable, her sagging ponytail a little worse for wear from the helmet, her cheeks pink from the unaccustomed sun exposure. He was overcome with the sudden urge to fold her into his arms.

Thank goodness for the crutches.

“Does this land still belong to your family?”

He gave himself a mental shake. “Yes. The incorporated town limits have been drawn up, but the land outside those boundaries still belongs to the families whose names are on the deeds as long as taxes are paid. My brothers and I located the families who owned the parcels around ours and made them a fair offer for their land. The Armstrongs now own about three hundred acres.”

“That’s nice,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes. “It must feel good to know where you belong.”

The lump that formed in his throat kept him from responding. Little lost sheep.

“What color was your home?” she asked. “What did it look like?”

He gripped the handles of the crutches and swung forward. “Come in, I’ll show you around.”

She squinted, but followed him as he made his way toward what had been the front of the house. “My father wanted a log home, but Mother had her heart set on a white house, so they compromised and he did it her way.”

Nikki laughed. The sound of it was so unexpectedly contagious, he lost his train of thought.

“They sound like a lovely couple,” she said.

“They were,” he admitted. “My dad was a rough-and-tumble guy, but when my mother walked into a room, his eyes followed her everywhere.” Porter checked himself—why had he said that? And why was he having trouble pulling his gaze away from the little lady doc?

He cleared his throat. “Step up five stacked stone steps onto the shadiest porch you can imagine. Mother had hanging flower pots everywhere, and hummingbird feeders.” He nodded to the right. “Over there was a swing painted red, that she sat on every evening to watch the sunset.” Then he pointed left. “Over there hung a hammock that I snagged many a nap on.” He stopped at the edge of the concrete foundation and swung himself over.

“Open the front door with the stained-glass window into a hallway with hardwood floors and a coatrack that held Mother’s gardening smock, and my favorite fishing vest and Daddy’s old flannel shirt that Mother just liked to touch.”

He lurched forward and turned to the right. “Here’s the kitchen where Mother always had something in the oven, something in the canner, something hanging up to dry, something setting out to cool.”

He watched as Nikki closed her eyes and appeared to inhale. Why was he suddenly seized with the thought that he wished his mother could meet her? The first thing Emily Armstrong would do is set a plate of gravy and biscuits in front of the slip of a woman to fatten her up.

But Porter’s gaze skimmed over her slight curves with appreciation. He preferred women who had something to get his hands around, but Nikki was…appealing. And those eyes of hers were like the greenest grass after a summer rain.

Porter blinked and resumed the “tour.” “Over there was our dining room with a big round table and a chandelier my mother bought in Atlanta. She was so proud of it. The china cabinet I showed you the other day sat in that corner.”

“I’ll bet you had big Sunday dinners.”

“We did—after church, of course. Looking back, I have no idea how Mother managed to feed all of us and the stray friends we brought home.” He felt a twinge of sadness and guilt that his mother had made a big production out of Sunday meals while he and his brothers had grumbled about missing out on daylight hours of fishing and swimming.

“Sounds fun,” Nikki said.

He turned to the rear of the house. “This whole back area was our family room, with a big fireplace and comfy couches. Poor Mother always had to put up with us watching sports all the time and roughhousing.”

“I’m sure with three boys, she was used to that.”

“Yeah, but rest assured, when Mother put her foot down, we listened.”

Nikki smiled. “I can tell you’re fond of her. How often do you see her?”

He laughed. “To hear her tell it, not often enough. She talks to one of us a couple of times a week, but I owe her a visit.”

“Does she know about your injury?”

“What she doesn’t know, she can’t worry about.”

Nikki laughed this time. “I’m sure that doesn’t stop her from worrying.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed, then pointed. “There was a set of stairs here that led to the bedrooms on the second floor—my parents’ room and the two rooms my brothers and I shared. Marcus had his own room and Kendall and I doubled up until he left home. Mom decorated the guest room with frilly, feminine curtains and bedspreads and kept her sewing machine in there.” He grinned. “I guess it was her only reprieve in a house full of testosterone.”

He swung the crutches forward, but hit a sinkhole in the ground and lost his balance. He pitched forward, but was saved from falling by the grace of one crutch—and Nikki shoring him up on the other side. Her touch made his body leap to attention.