Her Small-Town Hero. Arlene James
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other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”
“Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.
Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”
Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.
The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”
General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”
Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.
She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.
“We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”
“Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.
“I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”
“Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”
Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”
Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”
“That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.
To her surprise, Holt slid it into his pocket before grabbing his coat from a peg on the wall. “I’ll just see you settled in.”
“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to keep you from your guests.”
“Hap’s guests,” he said, shrugging on the leather-trimmed canvas coat. “They’ve got enough to make up a table. They won’t miss me.” He lifted a brown cowboy hat from another peg and fitted it onto his head, suddenly seeming ten feet tall. Nodding toward the kitchen, he said, “We can go out through the back.”
Cara put on a smile and moved ahead of him, holding Ace closer to her chest to keep him warm. He babbled in a singsong voice to himself as they stepped out onto the pavement, cold enveloping them.
Shivering, Cara hurried ahead of Holt to the car parked beneath the drive-though. At least, she told herself, they’d gotten a meal out of this and would sleep warm tonight. Tomorrow would just have to take care of itself.
Chapter Three
“I’ll, um, move the car later, if you don’t mind,” Cara Jane said.
Holt shrugged. It seemed odd to him to leave the car sitting there under the drive-through, but a great deal seemed odd about Cara Jane Wynne. He reached into the trunk of her car for the two bags there.
“You can park your car in that space just to the left of the door to your room,” Holt told her, hoisting their two bags. Neither of them, he noted, weighed enough to tax a child, let alone a grown man. A wise woman wouldn’t pack more than she could tote herself, but Holt figured that starting a new life would require a great deal more than Cara Jane seemed to be carrying.
All that remained in the trunk was a lightweight baby backpack, which told him just how Cara Jane intended to manage her son while she worked. Trying to do such work with a baby strapped to her back seemed foolish to him, but he supposed she’d figure that out soon enough.
While he carried their bags to the room, Cara Jane closed the trunk lid and went to rummage around in the car.
Opening the door, Holt entered and hit the light switch with his elbow. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he hoisted the bags onto the long, low dresser, then went to turn on the heat. The place could best be described as utilitarian, he supposed, but at least it was clean and neat.
She came in moments later carrying Ace, a stuffed diaper bag and a small plastic tub of groceries. Holt took the tub from her and closed the door so the place would warm up. Already the air that blew from the vent above the closet felt toasty enough to take the immediate chill off.
“Should be comfortable in here soon,” he told her. Nodding, she dropped the diaper bag on the bed and turned to face him. “Furniture’s bolted down,” he informed her.
She shrugged. “Safer that way. Ace likes to pull up on whatever he can find.”
“You’re traveling light,” Holt commented, waving a hand at the suitcases.
“I live light,” she replied.
He had no idea what that meant, but he intended to make sure that she had a clear picture of what she would be getting into if Hap hired her. “A job like this requires hard work,” he told her. “Take it from me.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not trying to discourage you, and God knows we can use the help. I just want you to be aware of what you’d be getting into.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I’m not sure you can,” he said, rubbing his ear. “You and the boy want to come along, I’ll show you one of the kitchenettes so you can get a better idea of what you’d be up against.”
For a moment, he thought she might refuse. He had to admit that if he was standing here in nothing more than a jean jacket, he might have balked himself. Where, he wondered, was her coat? Didn’t they wear coats in Oregon?
Cara nodded, held the boy close and headed for the door. Holt followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him and trying not to watch the sway of her hips.
Holt used his passkey to let them in the room next door and snapped on the light. The kitchenettes basically contained two rooms, pass-through closet and bath in one, bed, sitting area and tiny kitchen in the other. Cara stood in the center of the room, the boy on her hip, and looked around. Holt couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes lit at the sight of that puny kitchen. Then she swept her fingertips along the arm of the tweedy sofa.
“It makes into a bed,” he told her, “but because of the lack of space, it’s usually folded up when we get here to clean, so you always have to check the sheets, even if only one person is supposed to be in the room.”
“I see.”
“Then there’s the kitchens,” he went on. “The regulars usually do their own dishes, but if they don’t, you have to. The kitchens have to be meticulously cleaned to keep the bugs out.”
“Good policy.”
“Half