The Single Dad Finds a Wife (11 page)

“Willie?” Spring said. “From Manna?”

She knew he was partial to her sister Summer's cooking and always complimented her on the meals at Manna, the soup kitchen operated by the Common Ground ministries, whether it was a simple turkey sandwich on wheat bread or more elaborate fare.

“What is he doing way out here by himself?” Cecelia asked.

“The better question,” Spring said, “is
how
did he get out here? We're a good twenty miles from downtown. Surely he didn't walk.”

Since neither woman had an answer readily available, Spring continued driving toward him, closing the distance between them in a manner of moments.

He'd turned at the sound of the car and shuffled to the side of the road.

“I have a first-aid kit in the trunk,” Spring said. “I hope he's not injured. He's such a sweet man.”

The man known as Sweet Willie stood at the side of the road. A scowl marred his pecan-brown features; the mouth that was usually turned up in a smile of welcome didn't seem at all pleased to see them.

“What is he up to?” Spring said.

Cecelia glanced at her. “Why does he have to be up to something? Because he's a black man on a country road?”

Spring heard a note of defensiveness in her friend's voice. “I didn't mean anything by it, Cecelia. I'd ask the same question of anyone out on this road, black, white or otherwise.”

“I know,” Cecelia said, conceding the point. “There's just something off about him.”

“What do you mean?” Spring asked as they drew up alongside the man, who was suddenly smiling from ear to ear.

“Like there's another layer or layers to him,” Cecelia said as Spring put the car in Park. “It's just a vibe I get,” she added. “He's very well-spoken.”

“Now who is doing the stereotyping?” Spring asked. “An elderly black and homeless man can't be well-spoken? And are we talking about the same Sweet Willie? When I talk to him, he sounds like an older man, someone who came of age in a time when things were different.”

“That's just it,” Cecelia said, slipping on sunglasses. “I don't think he's as elderly as he lets people assume.”

By the time they got out of the car, Sweet Willie looked the way he usually looked, of an indeterminate but advanced age, slightly stooped and bearing the smile that warmed so many hearts at Manna, the Common Ground soup kitchen.

“Well, look at what the good Lord has sent my way,” he said. “Two pretty ladies to rescue me in my time of need.”

“Sweet Willie,” Spring said, giving him as thorough a once-over as she could—for the second time in two days. She was relieved to see that he suffered no visible wounds or distress. “What in the world are you doing so far out here in the country?”

“The country is a good place to think, Doc,” he said. Then, with a nod acknowledging Cecelia, he added, “Dr. Jeffries.”

The tall black woman nodded but didn't say anything, her inscrutable expression hard to read. Spring thought it contained more than a smidgen of suspicion. She wondered about her friend's reaction to the homeless man. Cecelia was a fairly decent judge of character, so her suspicion of and response to Willie were fairly disconcerting.

“Can we give you a ride back into town?” Spring asked.

Willie's gaze left hers and focused on something over Spring's shoulder. She turned to see what had captured his attention.

A motorcycle driver was headed down the road, the lone figure a dark blur at the moment. She turned back to face Willie, concerned about the elderly man.

“It's a nice day for a ride,” Willie said, watching intently as the biker approached and then passed them.

Spring and Cecelia shared a glance. Spring held out her arm, directing him toward the car. “Come on,” she said. “We can drop you off wherever you'd like.”

With a final glance toward the disappearing motorcyclist, the man let them lead him to the car, where Spring got him settled and buckled into the front seat while Cecelia slipped into the backseat.

Their conversation back into town was short. Willie fell asleep almost as soon as the car started moving. His head lolled against the window, and he issued periodic snorts and snuffles.

“He was wide-awake not five minutes ago,” Cecelia said from the backseat.

“I hope he's all right,” Spring said. “I wonder when he last had a physical checkup. I wish he'd come to the clinic for an assessment. Hand me my purse, will you?”

“Not while you're driving,” Cecelia said.

Spring met her friend's gaze in the rearview mirror and shook her head. “Between you and Summer, you could do a commercial for the DMV about distracted driving. Every time I turn around she's telling someone, ‘No texting and driving.' As if I text a lot.”

“Autumn does and can be a bit reckless,” Cecelia pointed out.

“True,” Spring agreed of her youngest sister.

“You still up to going out to the house with me after we get Willie settled?”

Cecelia glanced at her watch. “Sure. I have some papers to read, the thesis outlines for a couple of my grad students. But I'm good. Let's get those leaves in the table and see what else you might need for this ill-advised dinner.”

Because he hadn't stated a destination, Spring drove to the Common Ground homeless shelter. She parked in front and turned toward him. “Willie? We're here.”

Cecelia passed Spring's handbag up to her.

When there was no response from the sleeping man, Spring gently shook him awake. “Willie?”

“Huh? What?” the man said, rustling into a sitting position. He looked around as if not sure where he was.

“We're at the shelter. Is that all right?”

He smiled. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Darling. I was dreaming I went up to the Pearly Gates and the good Lord had two beautiful attendants there to greet me. One was tall and blonde and pretty and the other was tall and dark and had a voice that sounded like honey and molasses.”

Spring laughed as she pulled a bill and a small card from her wallet. “I'm sure it'll be a while before you're ready to meet Gabriel or anyone else at the Pearly Gates. You do have to stay healthy and well, though. You know, you can always stop by the Common Ground clinic anytime for a free checkup just to make sure everything's okay.”

“So you told me yesterday, Doc. The good Lord willing,” he said as he struggled to undo the seat belt, “these old bones will keep moving for a while.”

“Let me get that,” Spring offered, reaching to unclasp the seat belt mechanism. “Everyone always has trouble with it.”

“Much obliged,” he said. “For the ride and your kindness. Both of you.”

With the clasp loose, he reached for the door handle, but Spring halted him with a gentle hand on his arm. “Will you take this?” she said. “It's just a little something and the card has my number on it if you ever need anything or want to come in for that health assessment.”

He looked down at the twenty-dollar bill she offered. Willie smiled. “You keep giving me them cards. Keep your money, Dr. Darling. There's others out here who need it more than me.”

“Please,” she said.

He plucked the business card from her hand but left the currency. “Much obliged again for your kindness.”

He was then out of the car with an agility that seemed incongruous with the rest of him.

As Cecelia moved from the backseat to the front, they watched him. Instead of heading into the shelter, he loped off and turned onto a side street. When Cecelia shut the door, she faced Spring.

“What homeless person turns down a free twenty?”

Spring started the car. “I don't know,” she said. “He has a lot of pride.”

“He has a lot of something,” Cecelia said. “He's awfully spry for an old man. And those boots were not your run-of-the-mill discount-store type. Those were expensive.”

“When did you have time to study his footwear?” Spring asked. “Which could easily have been picked up at a clothes closet.”

“I doubt it,” Cecelia said. “And I noticed when he got in the car. I'm very observant, you know.”

“So you've told me,” Spring said on a dry note.

“Scoff if you want,” Cecelia insisted. “But there's something not as it should be about that man. I still say there's something under the surface.”

“What?” Spring asked before putting on the turn signal and pulling into traffic. “You think he's
pretending
to be homeless?”

Cecelia's brow furrowed. “I don't know. I do know one thing for sure.”

“What's that?”

“He was pretending to be asleep. He was wide-awake and heard everything we said.”

“Well, it's a good thing we didn't say anything bad,” Spring said. “And what makes you think he wasn't really asleep?”

“I'm a college professor,” Cecelia said. “I know when people are asleep for real.”

“Experience with those grad students who sleep through your esoteric lectures, huh?”

“Ha-ha,” Cecelia replied in ill humor.

“Aren't you Miss Rosy Sunshine today.”

Cecelia folded her arms with a “Humph.” When Spring just chuckled, she added, “I'm telling you—Sweet Willie is hiding something. He never answered the question of why he was out there and just conveniently fell asleep. I think it was so he wouldn't have to tell us what he was doing just walking along a country road.”

Although she was hesitant to admit it, the same thing had bothered Spring.

What was he doing out there wandering around? There was nothing to see or do that far outside the downtown or Commerce Plaza districts. But she wasn't going to give credence to the seed of Cecelia's conspiracy theory. Despite having earned multiple doctorate degrees and being a preeminent scholar at Duke University, Cecelia had a tendency to make connections where there were none to be made.

So instead of addressing that topic, she responded to an earlier comment her friend had made. “Why do you think the dinner party is ill-advised?”

“It's not the dinner or the party part that I'm concerned about,” Cecelia said. “It's your plan to ambush David Camden there that has me worried.”

* * *

The man known as Sweet Willie watched as the Volvo car continued down the street, the two women talking as they drove and unaware of his scrutiny. After the car made a turn, presumably to head back out to the Darling property off Orchard Road, he pulled out a mobile phone and stepped farther back into the side street where he'd ducked to get out of their line of sight.

He punched in the familiar phone number and skipped the pleasantries when the connection was made.

“I couldn't make the meeting,” he said, without the slow and polite drawl of a Southern gentleman of a certain age. “A couple of the city's resident do-gooders saw me on Orchard Road. They know me as Sweet Willie, and I couldn't chance arousing their suspicions any more than they are.”

He listened for a moment as he glanced around to make sure no one was nearby; then he nodded. “Yeah. I saw him. Luckily he accurately assessed the situation and kept rolling...Nope, there's no way they saw his face. He was just a guy on a motorcycle taking the scenic route. He didn't even slow down. I barely managed to get out of an explanation on what I was doing out there,” he told the person on the other end. “If a biker had stopped to chitchat, there'd be no way to explain that.”

“Yeah, I know. Time's running out. The Elmhurst Street situation is getting dire. We're going to have to make a move to get both operations...Yeah, even though we don't know that.”

He listened for a bit, then said, “Tell him to get what he can. I'll need to come up with another meet site. We can't risk getting caught out there again.”

He pocketed the phone and glanced each way before making his way back out and onto the main street.

The man assumed the lope-shuffle of Sweet Willie and ambled along his way.

Chapter Nine

S
pring felt a pang of guilt but knew that what she was about to do was for the good of a greater cause. She kept telling herself that and hoped that she would believe it...eventually.

She stared at the number David had put on the back of his business card and dialed it before she changed her mind.

It was a good plan. Nothing would go awry. It was actually the ideal way to do what needed to be done.

When David answered, she took a deep breath and plunged into the deep end.

“I'm so glad you called,” he said. “Jeremy has been asking for you.”

Immediately thoughts of subterfuge left her mind. “Is he all right? Where are you? Has he had some sort of setback? Do you need to get him back to the hospital? I can meet you there.”

David's chuckle rumbled through the line, and Spring liked the sound of it.

“Calm down, Doc,” he said. “He's fine. He and Beau wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

Spring's heart suddenly beat a little faster than it had been mere moments ago. But this was for a different cause. She thought she heard more in what he'd said than the words that came through the wireless receiver.

“And I did, too,” David added a second later.

She placed a hand over her heart, whether to feel it beating or to calm it down she couldn't determine.

“David...”

“We're still at the hotel. My mother will take him home tomorrow.”

“I'd like to see...him.”

You.

“We're in Rooms 148 and 150.”

“I'm on my way.”

Madness, that's what this is
, Spring thought fifteen minutes later as she made her way down the carpeted hall of the hotel toward the rooms inhabited by the Camden family. She could and should turn around and head to a saner locale.

But she was a doctor, and a patient needed a house call.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” she muttered as she knocked on the door to Room 148.

She hadn't even thought to bring her emergency medical bag with her. It was tucked in her trunk with other essentials like galoshes, for stomping around the areas at the farm that had vernal pools, and collapsible crates often needed to haul things from estate sales and historic sites being restored. Also apparently locked in the trunk of her car was her good sense. She'd been born with a lot of it, but she had lost it the moment she met David and Jeremy Camden.

Spring was about to turn and run when the hotel room door opened and Charlotte Camden greeted her.

“Dr. Darling! I'm so glad you could stop by. Jeremy is going to be thrilled to see you again. He's been asking about you. Come on in.”

Charlotte wore a flowing silk paisley caftan and was a gracious hostess in their temporary home.

“I just put on a pot of coffee,” Charlotte said. “It's the hotel's complimentary blend, but it's not bad. Would you like some?”

“Sure. Yes, thank you,” Spring answered as Charlotte gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa.

“The boys will be right over,” Charlotte said, nodding toward a partially open connecting door.

Spring heard a squeal and then a giggle from the other room. She smiled. The sound of a child's giggle was a good thing.

A moment later, her little patient let out a whoop and ran toward her. She saw a brown body fall on the floor and then a blur of blue launched itself toward her. Spring caught him up with practiced ease.

“My Spring! You came to see me.”

She nuzzled his nose. “Of course I did. How are you feeling?”

“Daddy keeps asking me that, too.”

“That's because we want to make sure you're all better,” she said as she walked to a chair Charlotte had pulled out at the table. “No tummy aches?”

He shook his head.

She sat with him in her lap. “And how's that bandage?”

He lifted up his pajama top so she could see. “Daddy put on a new one. He said he didn't want you to...”

“Hi, Spring,” David said from the doorway, where Jeremy had dropped his teddy bear.

Thinking of the conversation with her sisters, Spring smiled. She wondered what bit of information the little boy had been about to blab.

“Hello there,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Jeremy as if to keep him closer for just a bit longer.

“Here you go, Dr. Darling,” Charlotte said, placing a plain white mug of steaming coffee on the table, close enough to reach but far away enough to prevent an accidental spill if Jeremy squirmed. “And here's some sugar and creamer.”

“Thank you,” Spring murmured, her eyes still on David.

What was it about this man that was so compelling? He was for all intents and purposes the enemy when it came to her interests, and she knew she shouldn't be consorting with said enemy. But Spring the woman seemed to have little interest in what Spring the historic conservationist and preservationist wanted. It was a frustrating dichotomy when she let herself think about it.

So she decided that for now she wouldn't think. She would just feel. And this felt right.

She had a sweet little boy in her arms and his gorgeous father was standing there looking like a study in contradictions.

“I got new 'jamas,” Jeremy reported, holding out the top of a multicolor Care Bears pajama top. “I got new Pooh, too.”

“Did you now? And which one is your favorite?”

“Pooh!”

David approached with Beau, and Jeremy let go of Spring long enough to reach a hand out for his bear.

“Beau ate some banana,” the boy reported. The bear just barely missed the coffee, which Spring pushed farther back on the table.

“And did he like it?”

Jeremy nodded. “I had oatmeal with a banana.”

Spring glanced up at David. “Good job.”

“Jeremy, darling. I think it's time for you to say good-night to Dr. Darling,” Charlotte said.

The boy's lower lip trembled as if he might start crying.

Spring pressed a kiss to his head. “My patients have to get a good night's sleep. Doctor's orders.”

He nodded, as if hearing the go-to-bed request from Spring carried more weight than the words of his grandmother.

“It was good seeing you again, Jeremy,” Spring told him.

“Will you and Daddy tuck us in?”

Spring's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Charlotte for an explanation for the inexplicable request.

“Beau,” Charlotte said.

Spring's gaze darted up to David. He unsuccessfully tried to conceal a grin behind his hand.

“If it's all right with your father,” Spring finally answered him.

“Of course,” David said, pushing off the door frame and heading to the pot of coffee to pour himself a cup.

Jeremy gave Spring the big sloppy kiss that only a four-year-old could bestow. She hugged him close for a moment and then set him on the floor. The boy yawned and placed his hand in his grandmother's.

The two headed back through the open door, and David pulled out the chair opposite of Spring's and took a seat. He doctored his coffee and took a sip.

“Thank you for coming to see him. It means a lot. You've made quite an impression on him.”

At a loss for words, Spring nodded and reached for her own cooling cup of joe.

“And on me,” he added. “I'm sorry about the way things happened yesterday.”

“You were doing your job,” she said.

“And you yours. Or at least your other job.”

She smiled. “I wear many hats.”

“And which one are you wearing now?”

Spring wondered the same thing and thought about her response before answering. “When I called you, I was the preservationist. When I got to the door over there, I was a physician.”

“And now?”

She caught her breath.

Was she ready to jump off this cliff? She was pretty sure there was no net below, just jagged rocks on one side of the crevasse and possibly feathers for a soft landing on the other.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” she asked.

“Dinner?”

She flushed. “Well, not dinner for two,” she clarified. “I'm in a supper club, the Magnolia Supper Club. We meet once a month to try out new recipes, have some good food and good conversation. It's a small group of what my sister Winter, who is definitely
not
a member, calls ‘hoity-toity foodies.' My mother more graciously says the supper club members have discerning palates. We were supposed to meet the other night, but there was a burglary at one of the member's business.”

She snapped her mouth shut as if suddenly realizing that she was babbling.

“I'd love to,” he said. “When is your next meeting?”

“Tomorrow night,” she said. “If that's okay. I know it's short notice. I—”

“What time should I pick you up?”

She smiled. “I can drive.”

“I won't hear of it,” he said. “If you're supplying dinner, the least I can do is provide the transportation.”

“All right,” she said. “How about I swing by here at six and I'll give you the directions. Canapés are at six forty-five. It gives everyone time to arrive and for us to have our business meeting, such as it is. That lasts about five minutes as we pick the next theme.”

“What's tomorrow night's theme?”

“It's a surprise,” she said.

Charlotte's head poked through the door. “He's all ready for you,” she told them.

As Spring and David rose, Spring confided, “I've never tucked anyone in before. Exactly what is involved here?”

“Sometimes a song, sometimes a story.” He held his hand out to her. Spring slipped hers into his. “Just follow my lead.”

Despite his earlier yawn, Jeremy was sitting on his knees in the middle of the double bed when David and Spring entered the room. Beau was right next to him.

When he saw them, he scrambled under the covers and came back out with a picture book. “This one!”

“Story night,” David whispered to Spring. “We've read that one so many times, I think Jeremy can recite it word for word.”

The boy got himself and his teddy bear under the light blanket and held the book up for them. Spring watched as David tucked first Beau and then Jeremy in, smoothing the sheet and the blanket over them both.

“Face washed?”

“Check,” Jeremy said.

“Teeth brushed?”

“Check.”

“Toes tickled?” David said, easily finding the boy's little feet under the covers.

Jeremy giggled and wiggled. “Daaaddy.”

David grinned and sat on the edge of the bed. He patted the space beside him for Spring to join him. She did, and a moment later she found herself entranced in the interaction between father and son as David read a short story about a slow train, a fast turtle and a little boy.

By the time he finished, she could see Jeremy was about to nod off. He held on to Beau, though. She heard a little voice say, “Now I lay me down to sleep.”

When the prayer was completed, Jeremy turned onto his side, facing them. “I love you, Daddy. I love you, Dr. Spring.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Jeremy.”

“G'night.”

Spring rose, and wiped at her eyes, hoping David hadn't seen her sudden sentimentality.

“I'll be on the other side,” she said in a low voice, then headed toward the relative emotional safety of the next room.

David reached up and turned out the light over Jeremy's bed.

“Daddy?”

He glanced down at Jeremy. “What's up, buddy?”

“I want Dr. Spring to be my mommy.”