Wishes and Stitches (30 page)

Chapter Fifty-two

I
t was working.

All of it. It had come together, after a long day of hard work and avoiding Rig, ducking into the office every time he carried something for the party into the clinic. The clinic had been transformed into what, to Naomi's wondering eyes, appeared to be a ballroom. Okay, a western ballroom, yes—there were hay bales along the far wall, under the windows, for sitting on. A low raised platform held the band, which consisted of a fiddler, a bass player, an accordion player, and a guitar player, each of them wearing a cowboy hat. The caller for the dance, Eric, was tall and bearded, his smooth, clear voice telling people to
form long lines up and down the hall, now alemán
right, alemán
all.

Rig and Naomi worked refreshments together, as planned. They were doing fine, professional and crisp, until Naomi spun around while reaching for extra napkins and collided full into his chest. She apologized. Rig mumbled something she couldn't catch, and then he handed a flyer on the early warnings of heart disease to a short, stout woman who took it without suspicion.

When Stephens asked her to dance, she looked at Rig, who nodded and finally spoke to her. He turned his face toward her without meeting her eyes and said, “I can handle this part.” He gave out two more glasses of wine to the Lempkes and sold a raffle ticket to Mrs. Luby, who said she was on a fixed income so he should make sure she won.

Naomi moved into Stephens's arms, her hand in his work-roughened palm, her arm at his shoulder, grateful that there was no way to keep from smiling when an old cowboy was spinning a girl around and around so fast that Naomi knew if he let her go, she'd fly across the room like an out-of-control top. She didn't know what she was doing, but he made her feel coordinated and graceful.

Elbert Romo, dapper in his new blue overalls that were creased as if he'd just ironed them, cut in as the music turned to a waltz. He smelled not unpleasantly like a cough drop and was just as good as Stephens on the floor. As they spun through the crowd, Naomi felt the grin again creep across her face.

“You're good at this dance,” said Elbert as they wheeled past Mayor Finley, resplendent in a yellow sequined gown that made her look like Big Bird in drag. “Who taught you?”

Naomi felt her smile fade. “My father. The waltz was his favorite.”

“He did good, teaching his daughter. But I gotta say, you should dance the next waltz with that new doc who's got his eye on you. You two look fine together, and I have to admit, though I'm young for my years, it's possible I'm a little old for you.”

Elbert led them backward past the refreshments table, and for one dizzy second Naomi met Rig's gaze. The blood roared in her ears and she stumbled. Elbert caught her, “Whoopsie! It's
one
-two-three,
four
-five-six.” He pulled her back on the beat, and she tried not to think how red faced she must be.

And about how much Rig must despise her. She'd never find out how it felt to waltz with him.

“Everyone's here,” said Elbert. “You done good.”

Naomi dragged her attention back to her partner. “You think they like it?”

Elbert winked. “They do. You see ever'body grinning?”

“You think they'll be back?”

“For another dance? Sure!”

“No,” she said. “For clinic services. Like I told you about.”

“Maybe,” said Elbert, looking over her shoulder. Then he met her eyes. “Maybe so. They seem to like it. But you . . . You gotta be a tiny bit more approachable.”

Naomi's heart
kerplopped
into her stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I think you think people don't like you. But they're just treating you with respect. You're a doctor. Hard for a crowd like this, mostly blue collar and local, to get past that white coat you're wearing.”

Naomi glanced down at the pale blue chiffon dress she wore. “Even when I'm not.”

Elbert swung them past Rig again, and this time Naomi counted her steps and made sure she didn't stumble.

“Show them something they don't expect,” said Elbert. “Show them you're human.”

“What about all this? Isn't this something?” Naomi glanced at the dancers, the groups of people laughing, the large circle of women knitting in the yarn area Rig had created.

“You're getting closer. But show them
you.
” The music ended, and Elbert let her go. He took a step back, and gave a brief bow. Naomi dropped into a curtsy—it felt clumsy, but appropriate. Then she leaned forward spontaneously and kissed Elbert on the cheek.

“That's more like it,” Elbert crowed.

Chapter Fifty-three

N
aomi was the prettiest girl out there, and Rig couldn't keep his eyes off her, and God knew, he'd tried. He'd made deals with himself, promises to go hiking tomorrow, to buy that enormous flat-screen TV he'd been thinking about purchasing, to do
anything
to keep from staring at her as she wove around the dance floor with that old coot, but it was impossible. No matter where she was, his eyes found her.

She was gorgeous, the way she moved, swaying and dipping in time, her curls brushing her shoulders, that old-fashioned light blue dress spinning out, showing an incredible expanse of leg . . . He thought about cutting in—the waltz was one of the few dances he knew.

And then he'd remember all over again why his father wasn't at the dance. Frank was still in the hospital, recovering from the insertion of his stent. He was doing well, and enjoying the opportunity to flirt with nurses every chance he got. Shirley sat at his side during the hours she wasn't at work, sometimes even sleeping in the chair next to him, and Rig could see true affection between them.

What the hell was happening to the men in his family? As he handed a glass of lemonade to Lucy Bancroft and gave a beer to her husband, Owen, he looked over their shoulders to watch Jake leaning solicitously over Anna, who was seated on a hay bale on the opposite side of the crowded room. In between the whirling dancers, he could see that Jake had that look, the one he'd had with Megan. His face was soft, unguarded, and it reminded Rig of the way Jakey had looked when they were kids, when they were falling asleep in the tent in the backyard in summer.

He looked completely happy.

Lucy and Owen were obviously waiting for him to answer something they'd asked. “I'm sorry, what?”

Lucy just smiled and said, “I'll take the table for a while. You should get out there.”

“Oh, that's okay . . .”

“Go. Owen, come help me. Let's play bartender. Here, Rig, why don't you take these lemonades over to Jake and Anna? Their hands are empty.”

To their encouragement, Rig took off the half apron he'd been wearing for more than two hours, and walked around the edge of the room. His eyes scanned the dancers.

He didn't see Naomi.

Which was
fine
, he told himself. He didn't need to know where she was every second of the night, for cripe's sake. He made his way to Jake and Anna, the lemonade sloshing a little as he handed it over.

“Thanks,” said Anna. “I needed something like this. Look, I even brought my own table.” She rested the glass on top of her belly.

“Looking almost ready there,” Rig said. It was an automatic response, and he heard the distance in his voice. He brought himself back and looked at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said. “A few Braxton-Hicks that haven't been fun, and obviously I'm not going to dance tonight, but I'm okay.”

“She's letting me take care of her.” The pride in his brother's words was practically visible, and Anna lit up like neon.

“He does a great job.” They held hands, their fingers laced together.

“Mmmm,” said Rig. What else could he say when both his father and brother had gone off the deep end into the whirlpool of love?

“I see Mom and Buzz over there with the snowbird group. Where's Naomi?” asked Anna.

Rig tried to shrug as casually as possible. “Haven't seen her.”

“Did you two make up yet?” asked Jake.

Surprise coursed through Rig, and he consciously stilled his jaw, which had clenched automatically. “You think we should? You, of all people?”

Picking up Anna's hand, Jake said, “Hey, I was pissed as hell the other night. She obviously knows better than to medicate a patient without getting a history. But she made a mistake, and she knows it. She told Dad she was sorry, and she personally apologized to me, too. Looked like she really meant it. Didn't she talk to you?”

“When did she apologize to you?”

“Wednesday morning. She's come by the hospital every day at lunch this week. Brought Dad a dirty crossword book yesterday. And a Bible.” Jake grinned. “I think she's got his number.”

“I . . . didn't know.” Naomi had done that? She'd been seeing his father and no one had told him?

“She sits on the bed and holds his hand when Shirley isn't looking.”

She sat with Frank?

The image of Naomi slid sideways in Rig's head, shifted into something . . . different. He needed to see her in order to regain his anger. He hadn't planned on falling in love with her. But he could fight it. He was strong. And what she'd done was just plain wrong. She'd committed the cardinal sin: she'd hurt his family. He scanned the room, but still didn't catch sight of her.

Anna leaned slightly forward, pushing her heels into the hay. “I know she's my sister, so I might be biased. But when Naomi does and says thoughtless things, it's because she's so far inside her own world she doesn't really understand sometimes how they translate in the real one. But that doesn't mean her intentions aren't good. She wants the best for people. She always has. That includes your father.”

Shit
. If he let his righteous rage cool for even a second, Rig knew the mistake hadn't been malicious. Hadn't been planned. Anna was right.

He'd tried ripping Naomi out of his heart as if he was tearing off a Band-Aid. But it wasn't working. At all.

Maybe because it
shouldn't
work. Maybe it didn't have to. Jake didn't hate her, and apparently his father didn't, either. They'd forgiven her.

Something small and warm bloomed in his chest, something he couldn't identify for a moment. The tiniest tendril of hope crept in, took root, and started to grow.

Chapter Fifty-four

N
aomi's heart beat triple time as she approached the group of women, the bag she'd quickly grabbed out of her office slung over her arm. Abigail, Lucy, Trixie, Whitney from the bakery, Janet, Toots, a few more Naomi didn't know—they were all here. They'd found the knitting area, of course, as if they were cats drawn to a winter hearth. Their work spread out over laps, yarn trailing over fingers, balls of wool haphazardly dancing on the floor in time to the fiddle music: all the women knitted while they chatted and laughed.

There was one chair left open.

Naomi walked toward it, then her feet stalled. She could keep walking. They hadn't noticed her yet—

Trixie had. Her perfect red lips parted in what looked like a genuine smile. “Come sit with us,” she said. “Tell us how Frank is doing.”

Ouch. Was it a dig? Did they all know what she'd done?

But Naomi took a deep breath and sat. Looking around the circle, meeting their eyes, she realized that, no, they didn't know. No one did. But it seemed as if they were all leaning forward, waiting . . .

“He's going to be fine. He's got to take it easy for a while, but the surgery was successful, and he's healing well.”

As one, all the women leaned back in relief. Needles flew again, yarn bobbing at their feet.

Naomi reached forward, pulling her shawl out of her bag. She tried to do it as if it were nothing, which really, she knew, it was. Just knitting.

The circle exploded.

“Darling!” exclaimed Janet.

“You big
sneak,
” said Trixie, a note of admiration in her voice.

“And lace!” said Lucy, her eyes glowing. “It took me forever to get lace.”

Naomi draped the shawl over her lap. Suddenly, it looked as if it wasn't awful. It was kind of pretty, in fact. She fingered the yarn-overs and touched the bit of the picot bind off that she'd managed. “This is taking me forever, though. I don't know if I'm getting it right.”

“Is that the wedding shawl from Eliza Carpenter's third book?” asked Lucy.

Naomi nodded, biting her bottom lip.

Janet laughed and drawled, “Who's it for, darling? Any plans you want to fill us in on?”

“
No,
” said Naomi but her eyes fell on Anna and Jake just then, as Jake leaned forward for a kiss from her sister, his hand resting on the curve of her belly. Anna would look gorgeous in this shawl. Maybe. . .

Abigail leaned forward to touch Naomi's yarn. She studied the stitches for a moment. “It looks right to me, but it always feels a little off until it's done, right? This is gorgeous. What
is
this?”

Naomi took another deep breath.

But Abigail leaned closer, looking at the fiber. She touched the working yarn, her face a question. “May I see . . . the ball you're working from?”

“Oh, it's just—I wound it by hand. I don't have a ball winder or a—what do you call that thing that spins?”

“A swift.” Abigail's voice was preoccupied as she examined the fiber. “I recognize the hand of this yarn . . . Who spun this?”

It was time.

“Eliza Carpenter.”

Gasps followed her pronouncement, but not from Abigail, who was still staring at the yarn.

“I know I should have made my connection with her clearer earlier, but . . .” What was Abigail
looking
for so intently? Naomi put out her right hand to take the yarn back. Abigail was making her nervous.

But instead, Abigail put the ball in her lap and grabbed Naomi's hand. “Where did you get this?” She touched the small ring.

Oh, God, would they think she
stole
it from Eliza? Thank God she still had the note, but—

“It's the same as mine. Look.” Abigail put out her left hand, holding it next to Naomi's. Sure enough, the bands were identical, from their gold circlet to the little platinum leafy stems that held the tiny diamond chip in place.

“How—?” Naomi couldn't make things fit together in her mind for a moment.

“Eliza Carpenter gave hers to Cade a long time ago, even before he met me. It was for his wife, she said. But . . .” Abigail's voice trailed off. She looked into Naomi's eyes.

Then Abigail's filled with tears, and Naomi had never been as surprised as she was when Abigail placed her palm on her face, touching her cheek softly.

“That's where I know you from. The hospital. You were Eliza's favorite. She talked about you, but I was too sad afterward to put it all together. Oh, God. Did you know then? How did you find her?”

Naomi bit her inner cheek. She hadn't found Eliza. Eliza had found her, in her Eliza way.

Abigail went on. “I can't believe I didn't see it before. I look at these eyes every night before I go to sleep. Then I wake up to them. Oh, Naomi.” Abigail swept her into the biggest hug of her life, and Naomi still didn't understand.

Mildred and Greta both said at the same time, “What's going on?” Mildred had her iPhone in hand, ready to tweet whatever it was.

“I don't . . . know,” said Naomi. “Abigail, what do you mean?”

“I can't believe you didn't tell us this before,” laughed Abigail, wiping her eyes. She looked overcome by joy, and she kept hold of Naomi's right hand. “How were you related to her? I got a glimpse of it when I saw that fiber, that's
our
Corriedale, I can tell. And I know Eliza's hand in the spin of it like I know my own. But when I saw the ring, the one I knew she was saving, and your eyes—”

“Eyes?” Naomi interrupted. “What do you
mean
?”

“You and Cade both have your great-aunt Eliza's eyes.”

From behind her, Naomi heard a gasp that echoed the one sounding in her chest.

She knew that gasp. She'd heard it a million times in her life, usually when she'd let her mother down somehow.

Maybelle said, “Stop. Don't, please—”

“Mom, what does she mean?”

But the answer came to her, like water flooding over a riverbank. Her eyes resembled Eliza's because they were related. Naomi, who'd always thought she'd known her father, hadn't. Her father . . . must be Cade's father. And that would explain why her mother hated Cypress Hollow, why she'd been so dead set against Naomi moving to the town—there was a resemblance that could be seen, identified.

That made Cade MacArthur, Abigail's husband, her half brother.

She had a
brother
. Her eyes scanned the room, ignoring her mother grabbing her arm, not hearing anything of the words that fell from her mouth.

There was Cade—she could see him through the dancers when they parted. The way he was laughing, with his head back, at that forty-five-degree angle—she did that exact same thing when she laughed hard—she'd seen it in pictures.

Cade was talking to Rig. Anna, her eyes sparkling at Jake, sat next to them on a hay bale.

God, Rig was talking to her brother.

Abigail said softly, “I've always wanted a sister. Trust Eliza to give me one. From out of the blue.”

Naomi stood, the lace falling on the ground, unheeded. Their hands still clasped, they crossed the room, hardly noticing that they broke through the dancers' long lines, causing Elbert to almost drop Mrs. Luby. Behind them, Maybelle sputtered.

In front of them, her family. And a man she loved. A future that nothing Eliza had ever written could help Naomi divine.

She'd never been more scared in her life. She'd screwed so much of this up, and she'd been blind to the rest. But her sister-in-law gripped her hand, and she wasn't alone.