The Wedding Garden (12 page)

The detail had been protecting a Supreme Court justice, but
Sloan didn’t bother to correct G.I.’s story. He’d never wanted to care what any of them thought about his lifestyle, but a glow of pleasure warmed his belly at the complimentary responses.

Simmy-John, however, was stuck on getting his daughter married in Lydia’s backyard. “What if you sell the house and the new owners won’t let folks have weddings there?”

Sloan hadn’t thought that far ahead. The fact that no weddings had taken place in the garden for several years seemed a moot point. “A lawyer might be able to write up a contract to that effect.”

Simmy-John handed over the mower blades in exchange for Sloan’s credit card. “That’ll be twenty-eight dollars and ninety-two cents. Still don’t seem right selling out.”

Selling didn’t seem right to Sloan either, but what else could he do?

By the time he returned to the house, Annie had finished her work and gone, along with the two children. Sloan roamed through the big, rambling house, completely alone for the first time since Lydia’s death. Everywhere he looked memories lurked, waiting to jump out and grab him. The sooner he could sell, the sooner he could banish these feelings.

If not for the personal nature of having someone else riffle through Lydia’s things, he’d hire a service to come in and do the job. Annie had offered to help with the task of boxing and sorting. Funny, but she was the only person other than himself he trusted to do the work. She was on vacation, she claimed, taking some time off between assignments. Losing Lydia had hit her hard, too.

She should go somewhere, take a rest, enjoy herself. He thought of the trips he and Lydia had enjoyed together, a lump welling in his chest. Had Annie ever taken a vacation? Had Joey taken her and the kids to Yellowstone or Disney World?

From what he’d learned about their marriage, probably not. He wondered what she’d say if he offered to take her little family on a trip.

He wandered down the hall toward the back of the house and the library where he’d once done his homework in front of the fireplace.

If he offered to pay for a vacation, sort of as a bonus for taking such good care of Lydia, would Annie be insulted?

“Lord,” he murmured, knowing there wasn’t another soul to hear. “What am I going to do about all this? The house. Annie. Justin. Life was a lot simpler before I came home.”

Simpler, yes, but emptier, too, if he’d admit the truth. Here in this town he’d despised, he’d begun a budding relationship with God as well as with his son. He would never regret either.

The wall phone in the kitchen jangled, half a house away. Lydia had never put in an extension. He let it ring into silence, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially a telemarketer.

In the library, he found the stack of boxes he’d collected. No time like the present to begin sorting through his family, although he’d leave his bedroom and the kitchen until last. He didn’t know when he’d be able to face Lydia’s upstairs rooms, the ones where she’d basically lived until her illness forced her downstairs. He’d spent many hours in that suite of rooms, watching her quilt in the sunny sewing nook, listening to her advice or whining on her shoulder.

The house was large, with an attic and basement as well as two floors of high-ceilinged rooms and cubby holes, all filled with more than a century of stuff. Packing would take a while.

He began where he was, taking dusty books from the shelves. Some were familiar, others not. He paused to leaf
through one and found an inscription from his grandfather to his grandmother scribbled in the flyleaf. Gently, he put the volume in a box he’d marked to keep.

He reached for the photo albums, curious about the Hawkinses who’d come before him. The first volume stunned him.

“Clayton Hawkins.” Sloan ran a hand over the embossed name and a photo of a handsome young man with dark hair and blue eyes. “Dad.” The name sounded strange on his lips. “I never even knew you.”

He opened the cover and a pile of letters tumbled out, all marked with the return address of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary. His father had gone to prison for murder when Sloan was two and had died there a few years later. If his mother had kept in contact with her husband, Sloan never knew about it. But Lydia apparently had never forgotten the brother she’d babied and spoiled.

Mesmerized, Sloan put the letters aside for later reading and began to page through the scrapbook he hadn’t known existed. Photos of childhood birthday parties and circus trips gave way to faded yellow newspaper clippings that chronicled band concerts, football games and a class presidency. Clayton Hawkins had not always been bad.

Why hadn’t anyone told his son? Had the relationship between Sloan’s mother and Lydia been too contentious to allow a boy access to his father’s memory?

Vaguely, he heard a noise in the front of the house, but remained focused on stories of the Clayton Hawkins he hadn’t known. Noise in the old house was a common event.

He sneezed and a voice said, “Bless you.”

With a start, he looked up to find Annie standing in the arched doorway. As usual, his belly did that clenching thing.

“Are you okay?” She asked that a lot lately.

He dropped his propped feet to the floor. “When did you take up breaking and entering?”

“You didn’t answer the phone.”

“That was you? Were you worried?” He kind of liked the idea.

She cocked her head to one side. A lock of hair bunched on her shoulder. “No, Sloan, I drove across town late at night to borrow a cup of sugar. Of course I was concerned. You’ve had a devastating loss.”

He grinned and wiped a dusty hand down the front of his T-shirt. “I like it when you talk sassy.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

The comment slapped him. He lost his sense of humor. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Jilly says I’m getting boring.”

“You?” Sloan frowned. If she got any less boring, he would lose his mind. “Not happening.”

“What are you doing back here?”

“Packing.”

Her face closed up. “Oh.”

“I have to do this, Annie.”

Her silence frustrated him. What did she expect? That he’d keep a house he couldn’t live in and torture himself with thoughts of coming home again? “Where are Delaney and Justin?”

“In the yard chasing fireflies.”

A flood of memories came with her statement. He could almost see Lydia standing on the veranda with a fruit jar in hand while a laughing boy raced around the yard capturing the hapless insects. Only this time, the boy in his mind wasn’t him. It was Clayton Hawkins.

“Let’s go help them.”

“You’re kidding.”

But Sloan was already getting up from the sofa. “Come on, pretty girl. Come out and play.”

He stretched out a palm, waiting, hoping.

Annie hesitated only a moment. Then a slow smile elevated her killer cheekbones. “Promise not to jump out and scare me?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

She laughed and placed her hand in his.

T
hey’d stayed up too late. Annie had enjoyed every minute of chasing fireflies and her children and Sloan around the yard. She hadn’t laughed that much in years. And Sloan was the boy she remembered minus the anger simmering beneath the surface. For that little while, he’d made her feel young and carefree and silly again.

She knew she was setting herself up for a hard fall, but Jilly was right. She’d been focused on working and caring for her kids and patients for so long, she’d become boring. She’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh and have fun with the people she cared about.

She glanced across the library where Sloan was sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor going through papers. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and in the disreputably ragged jeans that Justin considered too cool for words and a surprisingly tidy white T-shirt, Sloan did things to her heart that she’d forgotten existed. Good things. Things a woman needed to feel.

Last night, she’d prayed all the way home. She didn’t want to be hurt again but the old adage that “it is better to have loved
and lost than never to have loved at all” rang in her head. She’d been down that road before. Though the aftermath had been devastating and she would certainly do some things differently, if given the choice, wouldn’t she still have loved the wild teenage Sloan?

She sighed and the sound must have been loud because Sloan glanced up and grinned. “Tired already?”

“No.” She rotated a neck crick. “A little.”

“Did I keep you up too late?”

“You know you did.” She dusted off an ancient volume of Wordsworth before opening the cover.

“I had fun.”

“Me, too.”

He tossed a yellowed envelope into the trash can at his side. “We could do it again. Maybe. If you want to.”

“I don’t know if I’m up to playing tag in the dark again.”

He laughed. “How about a movie? You, me, the kids. There’s a family film playing at the Twin Theater. Wanna go?”

Was he asking for a date?

When she only stared at him, his voice cajoled. “Let me take you out for dinner and a movie. If not here in Redemption, then wherever you say. I owe you that much.”

He could have left out the last line. Actually, he could have left out the entire last comment. She didn’t want him to feel obligated. Nor did she want him to feel embarrassed to be seen with her.

“You don’t have to repay a kindness, Sloan. I’m helping because I want to. Lydia was my friend.”

His hands stilled on the stack of papers. “Is that what you think? That I’m asking out of obligation?”

“Aren’t you?” Annie caught her lower lip between her teeth, dismayed at the hurt in her answer.

Sloan shoved the cardboard box aside. It made a scraping sound against the hardwood. He got up and stalked toward her, eyes glittering like sapphire. Her pulse jitterbugged.

“Listen to me, pretty girl. I don’t do things out of obligation. I do them because I want to. What I want more than anything is to take you somewhere nice, to see you dressed up in that jade dress again with your hair curving around your cheekbones and your face full of laughter.” He touched her cheek. Annie shivered. Sloan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I want you to be happy.”

Annie swallowed, mouth gone dry. What in the world did he mean? And didn’t he know that a portion of her happiness dwelled with him and always had?

She moistened paper-dry lips. Sloan noticed and bracketed her face with his hard fingers, holding her frozen with that single, tender action. He stared into her eyes until her bones melted and she yearned to kiss him, not in comfort but in love.

She wondered what he was thinking and why he was saying such sweet things. Was it possible he felt something for her, too? Something more than obligation and gratitude. Something that had nothing to do with sharing a son.

Resisting the urge to circle her arms around his trim waist, she hooked her hands over his biceps. The grandfather clock ticked. As if that was his signal, Sloan pulled her up on tiptoes and touched his lips to hers. When the kiss ended, far too soon for Annie, he drew her against his chest and sighed. Being held by Sloan was like coming home.

“Whoever said you were boring hasn’t kissed you,” he murmured.

Annie laughed softly. “You like my jade dress?”

“Mmm-hmm. I like you in it. Gives you cat eyes.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“That’s because you’re not a man. Thank the good Lord.” A chuckle rumbled from his chest to her ear and she giggled again.

“We aren’t getting any work done.” Not that she was struggling to get away.

She felt his breath on her hair and the undeniable touch of lips against her scalp. “Break time. Better check on Justin and Delaney before they come looking for us.”

“Oh, my, you’re right.” Stepping away, she pressed a hand to her warm cheek, horrified that for a few brief moments, she’d forgotten about her own children. Either could have walked in and found her kissing Sloan. She didn’t have answers for the questions such discovery would bring. She wasn’t sure herself what was going on. How could she explain to her children?

“I’ll go,” she said, eager to get her bearings and think about what had just transpired.

“Hey, wait a minute.”

She pivoted at the doorway. “What?”

“You want steak or pizza?”

“Steak.” A smile bloomed. “You can afford it.”

His eyes crinkled. “Nothing like a sassy-mouthed woman.”

Annie stuck out her tongue. As she headed down the hallway, she heard him call, “You kiss good, too.”

Feeling light, she took juice boxes out to the kids, where Delaney was actually helping her brother plant a small bed of multicolored flowers along the edge of the porch. “How’s it going out here?”

“We’ll never get finished,” Justin groused. “The more we do, the more we find that needs doing. Sloan should have hired a real gardener.”

“Why not take a break until he comes out to help?”

“Nah, Delaney and I wanted to surprise him by having this bed finished.”

Sloan’s voice came from the porch. “I’m surprised. Good job.”

Delaney, seeing her opportunity to escape work, dropped the trowel and skipped over to sling her arms around Sloan’s knees. He patted her back, though his gaze remained on Justin and Annie.

“Give me a second to grab my gloves and I’ll join you. Annie, do you mind working on the library without me?” A teasing grin played around his mouth and she knew he was thinking about the kiss.

For orneriness, she fluttered a hand over her heart. “I may pine away forever without you.”

The grin widened. He tugged her hair as she flounced past him on the steps. She whirled around to say something silly, saw Justin watching them with bright interest and changed her mind. She was confused enough without dragging her son into the fray.

“Mommy, who is
that?
” Delaney had gone to the picket fence and was looking between the slats. “A bunch of cars are outside. I think it’s Pastor Parker. And Zoey! Mom, Zoey is here.”

Delaney bolted through the gate and disappeared. Annie changed direction and retreated down the steps and out to the fence to determine the identity of their unexpected visitors.

“Sloan,” she said, unable to believe what she was seeing. “I think you had better come look at this.”

Sloan’s adrenaline jacked. Annie’s voice sounded weird. In a career of watching other people’s backs, he’d learned to trust his instincts. Something unusual was going on out in the street.

“What’s up?” He casually jogged to the gate, where he could already see someone approaching.

Annie unhooked the gate latch and a trail of people entered the garden area, led by Kitty Wainright and Jace Carter. Out on the street more car doors slammed and voices rose, coming nearer. Delaney and her best friend, the vet’s daugh
ter Zoey, skipped across the yard holding hands. He would forever be amazed at the blind child’s grace and ease in a sighted world.

“What is all this?” Annie asked.

Kitty, toting a rake, paused on the half-finished pathway. “We all got to talking about how wonderful it is that Sloan wants to restore the Wedding Garden in Lydia’s memory. Then Simmy-John said you needed some help, so here we are. A garden party, if you will.” Kitty laughed, a trill as pretty as birdsong. “Put us to work.”

Well, blast him with a Taser. Redemption wanted to help
him?
“A garden party? As in landscaping work?”

Kitty’s blond head bobbed with enthusiasm. “Yes, indeed. Just think how amazing it will be to have weddings here again, knowing we pitched in to make it happen. Now, what first?”

Sloan blinked at the accrued group of excited, eager faces and then at the unending landscape, too stunned to delegate. These people were here for him? To help him? He couldn’t take it in. “I don’t know.”

“I do.” The no-nonsense Mrs. Miller from the plant farm came striding up with a paper diagram in hand. “These are the plans you and I mapped out. The two of us can direct traffic and the rest can do the grunt work.” With a jolly laugh, the outdoorsy woman pointed at the half-finished path leading from the gate through the various beds. “I love telling people what to do. Jace, you start on the path and mend the back fence. That’s your expertise. Kitty and Cheyenne will help you.”

The quiet contractor, who had enough work-honed muscle to finish the job alone, arched an eyebrow toward the two women. Both nodded eagerly. Sloan noticed the way Jace’s gaze lingered on Kitty Wainright. Must be something going on there. Not that Sloan was one to pry, but he was a man trained to notice things.

“Trace will be here after work unless he has a call,” Cheyenne said. She was a pretty woman, in a dark, intense kind of way, and a total opposite of Kitty Wainright’s blond sweetness and light.

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Sloan protested. Cheyenne’s new husband, Trace, was the county’s only vet and as such worked long hours. “In fact, none of you have to do this. This is crazy.”

“You don’t want our help?” Simmy-John was already whacking at dead limbs. Pastor Parker was helping him.

“No. I mean, yes.” He raked a hand through his hair. “If the garden is ever going to be finished, we can use some help, right, Justin?” He looked to the boy, whose face was as bewildered as his own.

“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Justin grumbled.

“Then get busy, son,” the pastor said with a laugh. “You don’t get volunteers like this every day.”

Man, was that ever the truth. “I don’t know what to say. I—”

But the crowd of about twenty volunteers was already fanning over the garden grounds like worker ants while Mrs. Miller shouted orders and the men called joking insults to one another. Apparently the supplies Sloan ordered had arrived, because Hank Martinelli from the Sugar Shack and Popbottle Jones carted in the wrought iron bench. Behind them, Ida June Click, the eighty-something handywoman in hot pink overalls and high-top tennis shoes, rolled a shiny red wheelbarrow. As she passed Sloan she poked a pink-gloved finger at him. “Many hands make light work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The old woman’s energy as well as her pithy sayings was legend.

Annie came up beside him and looped an arm through his elbow. “Close your mouth. You’ll catch a bug.”

He gazed down at her pretty face, remembering the kiss they’d shared only minutes ago. Today was an amazing day. “What are they doing?”

“Showing love in the only way they know how. Being neighborly.”

Love. For him? For the Redemption bad seed? Nah, couldn’t be. They’d come because of Lydia. And for her, he’d let them.

They went out for pizza.

Once the volunteers had loaded up for the day, the children set up a howl claiming starvation brought on by overwork. Too exhausted for anything fancy, they’d settled for the local pizza parlor.

It wasn’t the romantic interlude Sloan had in mind. Annie didn’t wear her green dress, but her eyes shone bright and happy and she laughed a lot. Contentment settled on him like a comfortable old sweatshirt.

“What a great day,” Annie said as she took another slice of thick-crust pepperoni from the cardboard box. Delaney and Justin had already gobbled their pizza in favor of time at the video games. “Everyone working together like that—well, it’s typical Redemption.”

“Not to me.” He was still stunned but feeling really warm and peaceful inside. Unbelievable. That’s all he could think.

“As I’ve said before, your perception is skewed. Surely you can see that now.”

“I’m starting to.” Today had been a turning point of sorts, an answer to prayers he’d prayed in the dark of night for God to root out his bitterness. Interesting that the uprooting began in a garden full of well-meaning folks. “Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?”

He reached across and brushed dusty parmesan from her cheek, mostly for an excuse to touch her. Today had been a
turning point with Annie, too. A little voice in the back of his head kept hammering away with an impossible hope he didn’t dare consider.

Annie laughed, and the blush over her cheekbones captivated him. He loved her more every day.

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I’m stunning with my grass-stained capris and broken fingernails.”

“Yeah, you are.” And he meant it.

Delaney pranced up to her mother, white ponytail bobbing. Sloan thought she was the cutest little girl. “Can we have another quarter?”

Sloan reached in his pocket and handed her a bill. “Divide this with your brother, okay?”

“Thanks, Sloan. Wow! Justin will freak out.” And she jitterbugged away toward the row of clanging, pinging video machines.

“You’re spoiling them.”

It felt good, too. When had he had anyone to dote on but a reluctant Aunt Lydia? “They worked hard.”

“You’d spoil them anyway.”

“Probably. They’re great kids, Annie. You’ve done a good job.”

“Even with Justin?” She sipped at her straw, eyes slanted toward him.

“Especially him. He’s coming along.” Justin was a deep kid who internalized his emotions. With Sloan he’d been opening up about his anger toward Joey and about a lot of guy stuff he wouldn’t discuss with his mother. The trust had kept Sloan talking to God. Knowing what he knew about broken relationships, he didn’t want to blow the chance to make a difference in his son’s life.