Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby
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her head, she turned back to the others. “We need dry clothes and a telephone so we can call our families and let them know we’re safe.”
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Tricia said, tugging at her mother’s damp blouse.
“I’ll start a pot of soup or something,” Banner said, and once again he sounded glumly resigned. “The telephone is on that table. Make yourselves at home.”
As he turned away, Lucy thought she heard him add beneath his breath, “It’s not as if there’s any other choice.”
Chapter Two
Following the scents of food, Lucy wandered into the kitchen a short time later. She had changed into a dark-red sweater and dry jeans, and her feet were clad in thick red socks. She’d left her boots by the fire to dry.
Still wearing the damp jeans and gray sweatshirt he’d worn earlier, though he had kicked off his rubberized boots, Banner stood at the stove, stirring something in a large stockpot.
“That smells delicious. What is it?”
“Vegetable-beef soup,” he answered without turning around. “I hope no one’s a vegetarian. If they are, I’ll rustle up something else.”
She peered over his shoulder into the pot. “That looks homemade.”
“It is. I had a couple of containers stashed in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw and heat.” A timer dinged, and he reached for an oven mitt, then bent to pull a large pan of corn bread from the oven. It smelled as good as the soup.
Lucy stared at Banner in astonishment. “You made all of this?”
He shrugged. “I like to eat, and I’m the only one here to do the cooking.”
“I see.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
Just as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind threw ice pellets against the kitchen window. The lights flickered but remained on.
Relieved that they hadn’t been plunged into darkness, Lucy released the breath she had been holding. “Pop and Miss Annie are changing clothes in your bedroom. Joan and the children are using the guest room. Bobby Ray waited while I changed in the bathroom, and now he’s in there.”
“I’m surprised he fit.”
Lucy laughed. The bathroom was rather small and Bobby Ray was notably large. But Banner wasn’t smiling. Did he ever?
One half of the big country kitchen served as a dining room. A double trestle oak table filled most of the area on the other side of a sit-down bar fitted with two oak stools. The table was surrounded by six ladder-back oak chairs—a lot of seating space for a man who lived alone, she mused. “Would you like me to set the table?”
He pointed. “Dishes are in that cabinet.”
Lucy carried an armload of functional brown stoneware to the dining area. She paused to run a hand appreciatively over the smooth surface of the table. Bending, she studied the solid but graceful pedestals, then took a moment to admire one of the beautifully contoured chairs. She glanced up to find Banner watching her, and she smiled a bit self-consciously.
“I have a thing for nice furniture,” she admitted, “and you have some beautiful pieces. This dining set is wonderful. And that rocker in the living room is gorgeous. And I couldn’t help but notice the tables in the living room and the furniture in the bedrooms. So much nice wood.”
“Thanks.” He turned back to the stove.
She stroked a hand over the smooth grain of the tabletop again, envying him the opportunity to do so every day. “I really admire the quality of this dining set. Do you mind if I ask where you shop for your furniture?”
“My shop’s back behind the house.”
“No, I meant—wait a minute. You made this set?”
“Yeah.” He tasted the soup, nodded, then set the spoon in the sink.
“And the other furniture? You made all of it?”
“My great-uncle made the furniture in the bedrooms. I built the rocker and tables in the living room.”
She rubbed her hand over the back of a chair again, loving the feel of the wood. “Is this what you do for a living? Build furniture?”
“Mostly outdoor furniture. Swings, Adirondack chairs, outdoor rockers. The stuff that’s sold in tourist towns like Branson and Eureka Springs and Mountain View.”
“You’re very talented.”
“Thanks. The food’s ready. I guess we should bring everyone in.”
He cooked and he built furniture. But he didn’t make small talk, Lucy decided. Who was this guy?
It was a subdued group that gathered around the beautiful table a few minutes later. Bobby Ray had given Miss Annie his arm for the short walk to the table, but she looked so tired that Lucy worried about her. The storm still raged outside, making the lights flicker periodically, and she knew everyone was wondering when they could leave this place. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and there were places they all wanted to be for the holidays.
Banner wasn’t by any means a jovial, put-everyone-at-ease type host. He sat in silence at the head of the table, eating his soup and corn bread without looking up much. Was it possible that he was shy? Or just not particularly friendly?
Joan and the children sat at one side of the table, opposite Lucy and the Carters. The kids had pulled the bar stools to the table, raising them high enough to easily reach their soup bowls and keeping them close to their mother.
They were quiet, well-behaved children, Lucy mused. Perhaps they took their behavioral cues from their mother, who seemed to take great pains not to call attention to herself. Was she simply shy—or someone who had been beaten down by circumstances until there was little spirit left in her?
It seemed that it was again up to Lucy to try to raise everyone’s spirits. “Did you all get through to your families to let them know you’re safe?” she asked the table at large.
She was answered with a silent round of nods.
Okay, new tactic. She smiled at Tyler. “How old are you, Tyler? I would guess around seven.”
“I’ll be eight in February,” he replied.
A complete sentence. She was making progress. “So you’re in second grade?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m in kindergarten,” Tricia supplied, not to be left out.
“Are you? Do you like it?” Lucy asked encouragingly.
Tricia nodded. “My teacher’s nice. I like music time best.”
“Where do you live?” Lucy looked at Joan this time, hoping to draw her into the conversation.
“We’re from Mayflower,” Joan murmured. “That’s north of Little Rock…”
“I know where Mayflower is,” Lucy said with a smile. “I live in Conway, practically next door to you.”
“Mother and I have a little place outside of Jacksonville,” Pop supplied, patting his wife’s hand. “We’ve lived there more than forty years.”
Lucy wondered about the wisdom of a man in his mid-eighties making a three-hour drive in an old pickup truck, especially in weather that had promised to be cold and rainy at best. What was his family thinking to let him make that trip?
Because that was really none of her business, Lucy spoke to Bobby Ray. “Do you live in Little Rock or was that a business stop?”
“I live there. I was hoping to make it home this evening. But my boss just told me on the phone that the weather guys are saying it could be day after tomorrow before the roads are passable.”