Love Me Tender (17 page)

Dave felt like a fourth grader as he climbed out of the Jeep and tucked his Western shirt more neatly into his clean, belted jeans. He'd even polished his old Ropers, the boots he wore for grubby ranch work, such as he'd be doing at Sally's this afternoon.

Clasping a bouquet of mixed summer blooms, he started up the walk toward Ms. Haldenby's forest green rancher with its white trim. Of course he saw his former teacher around town. She even dined at the Wild Rose occasionally, on her own or in the company of one or two other retired schoolteachers. But he'd never set foot inside her house and would have been happy to leave things that way.

The garden, with its lawn, shrubs, and flower borders, was neat as a pin, but nowhere near as fancy as it had once been. It seemed age was catching up with Ms. Haldenby. He hoped it had mellowed her.

This morning, not wanting to wake Cassidy if she was sleeping in, Dave had texted to say that he'd called Sally and she'd be happy to have Cassidy come along this afternoon. An hour or two later, Cassidy had phoned to accept the invitation. And to issue one: “Ms. H says why don't you have brunch with us before we go to Sally's.”

Dave had never been a coward. He'd faced down the mayor to win funds for the Heritage Committee, and he'd ejected drunken brawlers from the bar at the inn. There was no reason that the thought of brunching with an octogenarian should make him quake in his Ropers.

He rang the doorbell, and a few moments later Ms. Haldenby opened it.

Automatically, he straightened his spine. “Good morning, ma'am. Thank you for the invitation. These are for you.” He thrust the bouquet toward her.

She took it from his hand. Some women, as they aged, got fragile and delicate looking; some got round and sort of fluffy. This woman had done neither. Her hair was a white version of the short, neat hairstyle she'd always had. Her tailored shirt, skirt, and low-heeled pumps might be the very ones she used to wear. Only her glasses were different: thicker lenses on the ones she wore, and another pair on a gold chain around her neck. Behind the lenses, her sky-blue eyes lit with something that might have been a twinkle. “Relax, Dave.”

“Uh, sorry.”

“Thank you for the flowers. I do love flowers and my arthritis keeps me from gardening the way I used to.”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Certain aspects of aging are hell. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” She said the words dryly, and now the twinkle was distinct.

Surprised to find himself warming to her, he said, “All right, I won't.”

“Cassidy's in the kitchen. But wait a moment, I want a private word with you.”

Uh-oh. Nervous again, he waited as she stepped onto the porch and eased the door closed.

Her words surprised him. “She tells me you persuaded her to make a doctor's appointment to see about that leg of hers.”

“I hope I have.”

“Good. I've been nagging her too. I'm glad you got her to listen to reason.”

“Cassidy has a mind of her own.”

“She does. A rather intriguing one.”

He grinned. “She's unique.” Then, realizing the stupidity of that comment, he said, “Well, of course everyone is, but she's, uh . . .”

“More so than some? I quite agree.” She studied his face. At five feet seven or so, Ms. Haldenby wasn't a short woman; the heels gave her an added inch or two; and her spine hadn't curved with age. When he was a boy, she'd loomed imposingly over him. Now it felt odd to have her tilt her head slightly to look up at him. “She says the two of you are dating.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He'd learned last night to respond as simply as possible.

He expected a probing follow-up question. Instead, she said, “Don't underestimate her.”

“I try not to underestimate people.” A memory flickered in his mind. “You told us that in fourth grade. To respect people and not to underestimate them.” He'd internalized those principles so deeply, he'd forgotten where they originated until he heard her brisk voice speak the word “underestimate.”

“I also told my students not to underestimate themselves. I gave all sorts of advice to my students. Sadly, that had the result of intimidating most of them.”

Sadly? Hadn't she intended to intimidate them? Not knowing what to say, he was relieved when the front door opened and Cassidy said, “There you are. I thought I'd lost both of you. Ms. H, the timer went off but I'm not sure the scones are done.” She looked pretty and fresh in well-worn jeans, a sage-green tank top, and a plaid Western shirt worn open over it.

“I'll take a look. You bring Dave along”—the twinkle was back—“when you've had a chance to say good morning.” She strode away with her bouquet, as sure-footed in those pumps as she'd always been. The woman might have arthritis, but clearly she wasn't surrendering to it any more than she absolutely had to.

Cassidy grinned at Dave. “So the two of you had a private chat. Did she tell you not to corrupt my virtue? Or not to let me corrupt yours?”

“She told me not to underestimate you.”

Her brows rose. “Huh. That's one of the things I like about Ms. H. She's not predictable.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I believe I was instructed to say good morning.” She was wearing yesterday's multicolored sandals, and rose up on her toes as he bent down to kiss her.

With Ms. Haldenby down the hall, and neighbors possibly watching, he kept the kiss light. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and they went inside. Off the entrance hall, he glimpsed a rather formal living room with shelves full of books.

Cassidy said, “Come and see my room. It used to be the dining room and guest bathroom.” She gestured him toward an open doorway off the hall.

He stepped in, to see a sunny, efficiently organized studio apartment. “This is nice.”

“It has everything I need.” She winked. “The sofa pulls out into a bed.”

Even though he and Cassidy were officially dating, he wouldn't want to spend the night here. He'd be too aware of every moan, every creak of the bedsprings.

They went to the kitchen, another neat, efficient, attractive room. The table was laid for three. The flowers he'd brought, now in a blue ceramic vase, occupied the fourth spot. The scents in the air made his stomach growl: maple-cured bacon, onions, coffee, and something sweet and fruity. Ah, Ms. Haldenby was sliding blueberry scones off a cookie sheet onto a cooling rack.

“Sit down and stay out of the way,” Cassidy told him, and went to help her landlady.

As the two women moved around the kitchen, it was clear that they'd prepared meals together before. Soon the food was assembled and they were all seated.

“This looks great.” The dishes were classic: crisp bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs with slivers of chive, hash browns cooked with onions. Orange juice, coffee, and those golden scones studded with blueberries.

When he'd tasted everything, he said, “A delicious meal. Thank you, Ms. Haldenby.”

“I'm no fancy cook and I realize it's rather presumptuous preparing a meal for the man who owns the best restaurant in town.”

“I'll pass that compliment along to Mitch, our chef. And believe me, it's a treat to have someone cook brunch for me.” He dug in, letting his appetite prove his words.

After a few moments, his hostess said, “I hadn't realized, when I first started teaching, how fascinating it would be to watch my students grow up and see what kind of lives they created for themselves.”

“Did Dave surprise you, Ms. H?” Cassidy asked.

“No, he didn't.” The white-haired woman gave him a smile. “You had an interest in history, you were smart, you were a considerate child. It made perfect sense that you would rescue a historic building and turn it into a lovely inn that provides hospitality for locals and tourists alike.”

“Even in fourth grade, your future was set,” Cassidy teased. “How predictable is that?”

Ms. Haldenby then asked him some questions about the inn's history and its restoration, and to his surprise he found himself enjoying the conversation. Before he could hold it back, a chuckle escaped him.

Both women stared at him.

To his former teacher he said, “I'm sorry. It just occurred to me, you're treating me like a grown-up.”

“You're acting like one,” she responded. Then she said, “Actually, I think part of my problem as a teacher was that I tended to treat children like grown-ups, and they weren't ready for it. Unfortunately, I had little experience with children myself. I was an only child and I attended a strict private girls' school. Perhaps I expected too much from my students.”

“Seems to me, most of us turned out pretty well,” Dave said. “Many of your lessons stuck with me, and I'm sure that's true for others as well.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I don't think it's a teacher's job, or a parent's, to be best friends with kids,” he mused. “Some of Robin's teachers have been too lax. It's hard to keep her motivated when the teachers seem more concerned about the kids liking them and having fun than about them learning their lessons and some discipline. Anita said the same thing about a few of her colleagues at the high school.” Each time he spoke or thought about Anita, it got easier. Sometimes, like now, it was even pleasant, as if her memory was a warm presence keeping him company.

“I met her, you know,” Ms. Haldenby said.

“No, I didn't know that.”

“It was in the bookstore. We had a nice chat. A lovely woman, and I'm quite sure she was an excellent teacher. I'm very sorry about what happened to her.”

“Thank you.” He used to hate it every time someone said that, because it sparked all those roiling dark emotions. This morning, in this sunny kitchen, all he felt was a poignant but rather mellow sense of sadness.

 

 

By the time Dave pulled up in the barnyard at Sally's, Cassidy's leg was giving her trouble again. He was glad she'd finally agreed to see a doctor.

He helped her down from the Jeep and kept an arm around her to steady her as they crossed to the barn, Merlin at his heels. Not many dogs were allowed to visit Ryland Riding, but Merlin had won acceptance with his impeccable behavior.

“Sally? You around?” Dave called.

“Hey, Dave,” her voice responded. A moment later she emerged from the barn wearing her usual jeans, boots, and T-shirt under a Western shirt. After removing a pair of work gloves, she held out her hand. “Hello again, Cassidy.”

“Hi, Sally. Thanks for inviting me.”

After they shook, Sally stroked Merlin's back, then returned her attention to Cassidy. “What would you like to see and do? Want to take a horse out for a scenic ride?”

“I'd love to, but my leg's a little sore.”

Sally glanced at Cassidy's jean-clad, now booted leg, then at Dave's arm around her waist. Her jaw tightened. “What happened to your leg?”

“A pinched nerve, maybe. It gets tingly sometimes. And yes, I'm going to see a doctor. Dave persuaded me to.”

“Did he?” Sally's greenish gray eyes fixed on his face for a long moment, and then her expression lightened. “Yeah, he'd do that. He likes to look after people.”

“You don't say.” Cassidy's teasing tone brought a flicker of a smile to Sally's mouth. “Now, how can I make myself useful? Is there some work I can do sitting down?”

Sally ran a hand through her short, reddish blond curls and pressed chapped lips together. “You shouldn't work. You're a guest.”

That was Sally's pride speaking. Dave found the quality admirable but also frustrating.

“A guest who likes to keep busy,” Cassidy said cheerfully.

That earned her an actual half smile. Sally had an attractive smile, but it rarely appeared. Her husband's death had hit her hard. Dave wished she could lighten up and find some joy in life. He squeezed Cassidy's waist. He owed her a lot.

“You ever cleaned tack?” Sally asked her.

“No, but I'm a quick learner.”

“That's true,” Dave confirmed.

He helped Cassidy into the tack room, and Sally got her set up. Then he said, “What can I do, Sally?”

“Campion panicked during that lightning storm we had a few nights ago. Kicked a big old hole in a box stall, and I haven't had a chance to get it fixed.” As she spoke, they walked to the back of the barn, trailed by Merlin.

He surveyed the damage. “No sweat. I'll deal with this.”

She gazed down at her boots. “I can never pay you back for everything you do for me.”

“Don't talk that way. We're friends.” He reached out to cup her chin, intending to tilt her face up.

Before he could touch her, she took a quick step backward. Now her head was up, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

“Sorry,” he said. He'd noticed before that she didn't like people invading her personal space. The only ones who seemed welcome were her young riding students.

“No, it's okay. I'm just, uh, a little on edge.” She sighed. “You're a good man, Dave.”

He shrugged. So were lots of folks in Caribou Crossing, as she'd find out if she gave them a chance rather than insisting on being self-sufficient.

Softly she said, “I didn't think you were looking for, you know, a relationship.”

“I wasn't.” An awkward thought struck him. “You, uh, weren't, were you?”

“God no.” Then, as if she realized how that sounded, she went on. “Not because of you. Like I said, you're great. A wonderful guy and a terrific friend. But I will never get into a relationship again.”