Summer Breeze (3 page)

“Does God have something against shorts?”

Kim pursed her lips to keep from saying something she might regret. The only thing that had caused her to doubt the wisdom of marrying Derek Finley was his disinterest in church. She had read about the importance of sharing a religious faith with your spouse, but she hadn’t realized how much it would mean to her until they were already married. Then she saw that Derek slept in on his work-free Sunday mornings, and he never made anything but indifferent comments when Kim tried to talk to him about her beliefs. He certainly didn’t try to lead the family in prayer or direct their thoughts toward heaven. Still, in every other way, he had proven himself just about perfect.

“Oh, baby, that is the best-smelling sauce in the world.” Derek sighed as he leaned over to savor the scent. “You are the queen of cooks, and I mean that. My mom could make some pretty decent spaghetti, but you have her beat hands down.”

Kim smiled as she set an extra place at the table. Derek’s mother was exactly opposite to hers. Kim’s mom had barely been able to afford the clothes she needed to wear to apply for work, while Derek had been brought up in a lovely home in Clayton, near St. Louis. Before he was killed in an automobile accident, Derek’s father had worked as an award-winning freelance photographer for various wildlife and exploration magazines. His mother always dressed in linen and pearls. She belonged to a country club and several volunteer organizations. And she never failed to point out the small flaws in her son’s chosen life partner.

“I got my spaghetti recipe from that chef I told you about,” Kim said as Derek washed his hands in the kitchen sink. She had asked him a hundred times to wash up in the bathroom. He never noticed the coat of grime he left on her white porcelain sink.

“The guy your mother worked for when you lived in Joplin?” he asked, shedding droplets across the countertop as he reached for the towel. “He taught you a lot. I owe that fellow. If we ever get down south, we’ll stop by the restaurant so I can shake his hand and thank him for turning my wife into the best cook ever.”

“You would have liked him. His name was Marcel, and he was from France. But he could make just about anything, including spaghetti.”

“He let you hang around in his kitchen?”

“Well, not at the restaurant. My mom got fired only a couple of weeks after we moved to Joplin. But she and Marcel had already struck up a thing for each other, so we moved in with him for a while. I can’t remember how long that one lasted. Anyway, he used to cook for us after work, and I would watch him.”

Derek came up behind Kim and slipped his strong arms around her waist as she checked the pasta. “I don’t know how a woman like you could have emerged from that kind of past,” he murmured. “But I sure am glad I found you.”

Kim turned her head and kissed his cheek. “God brought us together,” she told him. “And I have no idea how He feels about shorts in church.”

“Go easy on Lydia, Kim. I bet if Luke starts acting more like himself, Lydia will follow.”

Kim stepped out of her husband’s embrace and took down bowls for the sauce and pasta. She generally respected the way Derek handled the kids, but when they disagreed, it was all she could do to keep from reminding him that they were
her
children, and he ought to just back off. This time, as usual, he was right.

“I’m probably being too hard on both of them,” Kim admitted.

“I talked it over with Patsy last week, and she thought maybe Lydia’s rebellion is her way of responding to all the changes we’ve had to make because of Luke. It made sense. I know I’m overprotecting him and making both of the kids as afraid as I am.”

“Really, Lydia’s doing pretty well, considering.” Derek sat down at the table as Kim called the twins to dinner. “The shorts, the helmet, even calling Joe … none of those things is all that bad. Not like the stuff I see going on with girls just a few years older than Lydia. She’s a great kid.”

“What do you mean calling Joe is not that bad? You know what kind of a man he is. I can’t believe you think Lydia’s behavior today is okay.”

“Calm down, honey. Joe only contacts the kids because it makes you crazy. There’s no way he’s getting anywhere near them. Don’t get so upset.”

“You’d be upset too if you really understood what that man put us through. You may be used to dealing with out-of-control drunks, but I’m not! The kids and I were his victims long enough, and the thought of him being in contact with them still scares me.”

“You’re a strong woman, Kim.”

“Maybe so, but Joe is stronger.” She shook her head in frustration. “You know what he’s like, Derek, but you’re never willing to discuss it with me. You won’t do anything about it, either. You just keep telling me it’s going to be okay. Sometimes I wonder if you even hear what I’m saying. Where’s your concern for me? Where’s the protection you ought to be offering the children? Joe is out there, and he scares me to death.”

“But he can’t hurt any of you, Kim. The law protects you, I’ll protect you, and you can stand up for yourself. At some point you need to trust yourself—and the kids.”

“They’re only children, Derek. They’re ten years old.” Kim glared at him as she took the chair across the table. “Things have changed. I realize the twins are almost eleven, and I’ve left them alone in the past. Summers have been filled with camps and clubs and some free time at home. But with Joe making trouble and with Luke’s problems, I can’t imagine doing that now.”

“Listen, I had an idea—”

“Hey, Derek, did you find out who drowned the other day?” Luke skipped into the kitchen, followed closely by his sister. “Did some drunk fall out of a boat again? Or was it a murder? That would be cool!”

“He’s not going to say anything about it,” Lydia admonished her brother. “I already asked him.”

“Your sister’s right—I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” Derek told Luke, reaching over to rumple his hair. “You know that, buddy. Besides, who wants to hear that kind of thing at the table? Look at this awesome dinner your mom made.”

“I hate spaghetti,” Lydia announced. “I’m not eating it. She leaves chunks of tomatoes floating around so you can see them. It’s disgusting.”

“Lydia,” Kim began.

“Are we going to pray?” Luke cut in. “I’m so hungry I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Hunger and nausea. That’s a blood sugar imbalance!” Kim started to leap up from the table, but Derek caught her arm.

Luke scowled. “Mom, just feed me, okay? I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Just feed him,” Lydia insisted, her face going pale. “Feed him, Mom!” Suddenly bursting into tears, she grabbed her brother’s plate and ladled spaghetti sauce onto it. “Eat, Lukey,” she said, pressing a spoonful toward his mouth. “Eat! Eat this right now.”

“Stop it, you idiot!” Luke knocked the spoon out of his sister’s hand, splattering the kitchen floor and wall with red sauce. “I’m not gonna die! Everybody quit freaking out! I hate the way you guys treat me all the time. You make me feel like I’m dying, and I’m not!”

“Whoa there.” Derek laid his hand firmly on Luke’s shoulder. “Nobody thinks you’re dying. You’re
not
dying, kiddo; you’re living. You’re doing great with everything, and your mom and I are so proud of you we could just about bust. So, let’s all settle down and have some dinner. Kim, how about if I pray?”

It was the first time in their marriage that Derek had even mentioned prayer, let alone offered to ask a blessing. Kim was so astonished she couldn’t speak.

Keeping one hand on Luke’s shoulder and the other on his wife’s arm, Derek bowed his head. “We’re all a little off-balance here,” he began, “and we need to settle down and realize that someone bigger than us is in control. Please help Luke get to feeling comfortable managing his diabetes, and help Lydia to accept the change in her brother without getting too upset. And be with Kim, who trusts in You to look out for her family. Amen.”

Everyone lifted their heads at the same time. Kim swallowed in grateful amazement that for the first time, her husband had acknowledged the existence of a heavenly power. Maybe Derek hadn’t used God’s name or mentioned Christ, but at least he had offered up a prayer. It was a beginning—a huge beginning.

A smile softening her heart, Kim lifted the bowl of pasta and passed it to her husband. “Thank you, honey,” she said. “That was exactly what we needed.”

Derek grinned as he dished out a plateful of noodles. “And here’s something else that’ll help us all feel better—an answer to my prayer right off the bat. I was about to mention this earlier, but I got interrupted. Kim, you’re going to be able to go back to work on Monday, and the twins will be safe and sound right here at home.” He looked around the table. “My mother called this afternoon. Kids, your grandma Finley’s on her way down here from St. Louis for a nice long visit!”

CHAPTER TWO

W
ell, howdy-doody,” Pete said, waggling his eyebrows as Patsy settled onto the weather-beaten gray bench beside him on the dock. “I’ve never seen you without all your gear.”

“What gear?” She stretched out her legs and drank down a breath of cool air off the lake. “Pete, if you start talking about how I change my hair color all the time or the fact that I enjoy wearing makeup or how many pairs of high heels I own, I’ll go home and take a nap.”

“All right; I won’t say a word.” He leaned over and gave her a little peck on the cheek. “But I sure do like the look of those bare toes.”

It was the first time Pete had come close to even touching Patsy, let alone kissing her, and she just about fell off the bench into the lake. Instead, she grabbed the iron post that supported the dock’s roof. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.

Under normal circumstances, Sunday afternoon called for a nap. But lately the order of Patsy’s Sundays had altered, and she liked the change. Nowadays, she met Pete Roberts in the sanctuary. They sat together on her favorite pew near the front of the chapel, where the music and preaching could keep her awake. After that, she and the owner of Rods-N-Ends dined at Aunt Mamie’s Good Food in Camdenton. You couldn’t find a better place for fried chicken, roast beef, hot homemade dinner rolls, and mashed potatoes with creamy brown gravy.

Today Pete had persuaded Patsy to accompany him to Deepwater Cove’s community dock for a little postlunch fishing. It was the worst time of day for the crappie to bite, but Patsy figured the dock might be a good place to accidentally on purpose run into the Finleys. The twins loved to swim, and Patsy often spotted the family at the lakeshore in the afternoon.

Unwilling to admit that Pete’s kiss had startled her, Patsy dipped her toes into the water. “Any sign of the Finleys?” she asked, looking around. “I’d like to ask Kim how things are going with Luke.”

Aware of Pete’s shoulder next to hers, Patsy kept her focus trained on the lake. For umpteen years, she had shampooed, trimmed, dyed, curled, and styled people’s hair. She knew the feel of long hair, short hair, fine hair, coarse hair, limp hair, and overpermed, overbleached, over-blow-dried hair. But Patsy couldn’t remember the last time she had felt the brush of a man’s mustache and beard against her cheek.

Not that she particularly
liked
it, she told herself as Pete went back to his minnow. Facial hair held no appeal to Patsy. It hid a man’s best features—his mouth and jawline—not to mention the crumbs and other junk that could get caught in it.

But that kiss  …

It had caught her off guard and sent a shiver down her spine. Patsy absently stuck her hand in Pete’s minnow bucket and came up with one of the small, wriggling silver bait fish. Did her reaction to a kiss on the cheek mean Patsy’s well-barricaded heart was softening to the man?

She poked her hook through the minnow and cast the fishing line out across the open water that surrounded the dock. The afternoon sun glinted off the blue-gray surface, casting spangles of light on the dock’s corrugated tin roof. On this weekend, one of the busiest of the year, Lake of the Ozarks bustled with traffic. Runabouts pulled inner tubes, skiers, and wakeboarders. Pontoon boats drifted along, loaded down with families who were barbecuing or fishing. Jet Skis zoomed by, ripping up the water and making conversation difficult.

Despite the hectic activity on the lake, its surroundings remained peaceful. Thick forests of maple, oak, dogwood, redbud, and hickory trees draped with ivy and carpeted with layers of fallen leaves and mushrooms reached down to the water’s edge. Red and yellow limestone bluffs formed caves for bats and sanctuaries for all kinds of wildlife. Overhead, in a blue sky dotted with puffs of white clouds, ravens circled, gulls searched for fish, and flocks of geese winged toward secret nests.

Patsy would have enjoyed the scenery if not for that kiss Pete had given her. Boy, oh boy. She could not afford to let her comfortable, well-ordered life get thrown off-kilter by a man. Especially not Pete Roberts. Everything he had told her about his past made her uncomfortable—two divorces, enough DWIs to send him to jail, a stint in a rehabilitation center, and a job that barely let him make ends meet. He had been known to chew tobacco and spit wherever it was convenient, including the flower box outside Patsy’s salon. He was pudgy, hairy, and annoying. Other than that, she didn’t mind him too much.

“Nice day for fishing,” Pete drawled as he turned the crank on his reel. “What did you think of the sermon this morning?”

“I liked it.” Truth be told, Patsy had already forgotten the topic of the message, but she admired Pastor Andrew and knew he had probably preached on something she agreed with.

“Fishing for men,” Pete said. “Craziest thing I ever heard. Anyone who knows fishing knows that when you pull a fish out of water, it’s gonna die. No ifs, ands, or buts. That fish is doomed. So why on earth would Jesus tell the disciples to go fishing for men? Pastor Andrew talked on and on about it, saying we were supposed to be like that and go fishing for men too. I wanted to stand up and ask him if he was missin’ a few shingles from his roof.”

“It was a
story
, Pete. Jesus didn’t mean it to be taken exactly the way it sounds.” Patsy reeled in the last of her line, noticed that her minnow was gone, and reached for another. “It was a whatchamacall-it … a metaphor or an allegory or something like that.”