Her Small-Town Hero. Arlene James
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and started heating the oil in the frying pan.
“Should I set a place for Ace?” Holt asked. “We don’t have a high chair.”
“No, that’s all right,” she answered without looking at him. “He’ll sit in my lap, eat off my plate.”
Holt went out, carrying dishes and flatware.
Cara’s hands shook as she reached for the skillet, but a glance at her son stiffened her resolve. She could do this. She had to do this. Everything depended on it.
Chapter Two
Hap sat at the end of the table in his usual chair, reading from his Bible, when Holt carried the dishes to the table. He looked up, waggling his eyebrows and jerking his head toward the kitchen, but Holt didn’t know what to make of Cara Jane Wynne yet. Shrugging, he began to deal out the plates onto the bare table. Charlotte had always kept the table covered with a fresh cloth and place mats, like their grandmother before her, but Holt and Hap had quickly found them a deal of work to maintain.
Hap crooked a finger, and Holt stopped what he was doing to lean close. “So? Tell me ’bout her.”
“Not much to tell,” Holt muttered. “She came in off the street, says she hasn’t worked since high school and grew up in Duncan but last lived in Oregon. My guess is she’s homeless and desperate.” Hap made a compassionate sound from deep in his chest, and Holt frowned. “That doesn’t mean she’s trustworthy,” he pointed out softly, then stiffened when she spoke from the doorway behind him.
“Excuse me. Are there serving dishes you’d rather I didn’t use?”
Hap smiled and shook his head. “Use what you like. She that cooks gets to make the decisions in the kitchen, I always say.”
“Okay.”
Frowning some more, Holt laid the flatware, then went back to the kitchen to fill three glasses with ice and water.
Holt toyed with the idea of calling his brother to come over and evaluate Cara Jane. The satellite cell phones that their new brother-in-law Ty had given them for Christmas made it much easier to keep in touch, but Ryan often could not be called away from whatever activity currently required his supervision. As an assistant principal, history teacher and all-around coach, Ryan wore many hats. If they saw Ryan tonight at all, it would be briefly.
Holt could have used Ryan’s input, but he understood only too well what it meant to be busy. His own drilling business and ranch and now the motel kept him tied up. Maybe, just maybe, Cara Jane was God’s answer to that dilemma. He wondered if hoping so made him selfish or if not quite trusting her made him unfair. He didn’t want to be either.
He took his time ferrying the glasses from the sink to table, making two trips of it. She never once glanced his way, but he found it difficult to take his eyes off her and the boy, who had pulled himself up and wrapped his chubby little arms around his mother’s knees. Was she the poor little widow woman she seemed or something much more dangerous?
Holt felt sure that Cara Jane and Ace Wynne were going to be around until God had accomplished whatever purpose had brought them here. If that meant Holt could soon get back to his own life, so much the better, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that all was not as it should be with her.
Cara placed the last platter on the table, Ace on her hip, and took a final survey of the meal: golden-fried okra, pan-grilled steak, buttered potatoes, green beans and carrots straight out of the can. Nothing fancy and nothing fresh.
You’re not in California anymore, Cara.
Suddenly that warm and sunny place called to her. She’d left with no regret. Nevertheless, she suddenly found herself missing certain aspects of her old life, such as the warmth and sunshine.
Cara pulled out the chair and took a seat at the table, shifting Ace onto her lap.
“Gracious Lord God.”
Hap’s gravelly voice jolted Cara. She looked around to find the Jefford men with bowed heads. To her shock, Holt and his grandfather had linked hands. More shocking still, each of their free hands rested atop the table as if they’d reached out to her. Embarrassed, she pretended not to notice, holding Ace tight against her midsection and bowing her own head as Hap prayed.
“We thank You for this food and the pretty little gal You sent to cook it up for us. And thank You for bringing our Charlotte and Ty back safe from their honeymoon. We look forward to them coming home. You know we want only their happiness and Your will. Amen.”
“Amen,” Holt said. “Let’s eat.”
The two men practically attacked the food.
“My stars!” Hap declared, sliding a piece of pan-grilled steak onto his plate. “Will you look at that.” He shot a grin at Cara, displaying a fine set of dentures. “Haven’t had a piece of cooked meat I could put a fork in since our Charlotte up and married.”
Over the course of the meal, Cara began to have doubts about her cooking, mostly because of this Charlotte of whom they spoke so glowingly. Charlotte, it seemed, was nothing less than a chef. They spoke of “good old country cooking” and such things as dumplings, chitlings and black-eyed peas.
“Speaking of black-eyed peas,” Hap said, “good thing we’re not superstitious.”
“Why is that?” Cara asked idly, pushing Ace’s hand away as he grabbed for steak and offering him a piece of carrot instead.
Holt braced both forearms against the tabletop and stared at her. “You grew up in Oklahoma and you haven’t heard of eating black-eyed peas on New Year’s for good luck?”
Cara dropped her gaze back to her son and tried not to tense, hoping the question would simply pass.
“Would that be New Year’s Eve or New Year’s Day?” Hap interjected. “Never was sure myself.”
Relieved, she poked a green bean into Ace’s babbling mouth with her fingers.
Holt stabbed potatoes with his fork, saying, “Well, if you want them for tradition’s sake, I’m pretty sure there’s a bag in the freezer, and since we don’t believe in luck anyway, we might as well have them tomorrow as tonight, you ask me.”
“You don’t believe in luck?” Cara heard herself ask.
Holt looked up, eyeballing her as if she’d just beamed in from another galaxy. “As Christians, ma’am, we believe that God is in control of our lives, not random luck.”
“Oh. I—I see.” Except, of course, she didn’t. God could not have been in control of her life or it would not have turned out like this.
Hap winked at Cara. “For tradition’s sake, then. I like my black-eyed peas. Reckon if you stuck around you could rustle up a mess for us, young lady?”
Cara blinked. “Oh, I, um…”
“If you can cook beans, you can cook peas,” Holt put in impatiently. “Just throw in a ham bone and make some corn bread.”
“Now, Holt,” Hap scolded mildly, “if it was that easy, we’d be doing it our own selves, wouldn’t we? ’Sides, maybe she and the boy will be spending the holiday with family. Did you ever think of that?”
“Is that right?” Holt asked her. “You have folks around these parts?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Well, that’s a shame,” Hap said, shaking his head. “But if you got no family around, what brung you here? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”
Cara opened her mouth, but Holt supplied the information before she had a chance to speak.
“Cara’s a widow,” he announced. “Looking for more cheerful surroundings.”
Hap sat back in his chair, wiping his mouth with