Baby in His Arms. Линда Гуднайт

her credit for the improvements she’d done. Brent was not inclined to appreciate her labors.

      “Why don’t you sit down and relax, Brent? I’ll get the tea. Thomas will entertain you. Won’t you, Thomas?”

      She widened her eyes at the boy to telegraph her meaning. Thomas was smart and intuitive. He’d get the message. The last time Brent had followed her into the kitchen he’d crowded her against the sink and kissed her. She didn’t want to lose her home, but there would not be a repeat of that episode.

      Trooper that he was, Thomas slid down beside the coffee table. As she hurried into the kitchen, she heard him ask, “Want to play UNO?”

      * * *

      An hour later, Haley leaned against the front door and sent a prayer of thanks as Brent drove away. Thomas, who’d played the innocent chaperone, yawned.

      “Are you gonna marry him?”

      Haley’s eyes widened. “What? No. Never. Why would you ask that?”

      “He brought flowers. Guys on TV do that when they want to get married.”

      “The flowers were an apology for saying something he shouldn’t have.” And for kissing me without my consent.

      “I like Creed better, anyway. If he brought flowers, would you marry him?”

      “Thomas! I’m not going to marry anyone. Ever.” She pressed both hands against her cheeks. Foster kids often asked the craziest questions. She supposed all kids did, but her experience was with the temporaries. “Now, go take your bath and head for bed.”

      “Can I invite Creed over again?”

      Her belly quivered. “I’ll think about it. Now go on. School comes early.”

      He emitted a resigned huff and slouched out of the living room.

      Once she had him settled in his bed and had checked on Rose Petal, Haley made her way to the small room off the side of the kitchen. In the original farmhouse, this space had been a screened-in porch. Over the years, the room had been remodeled into a sunroom which served her needs as an artist. Plenty of good, natural light, enough space to spread out and the soaring vista of Blackberry Mountain in the distance. At this time of night the sun was gone and Blackberry Mountain was an invisible promise. Not that either mattered when the paints and ideas called to her.

      Even though tired to the bone, working relaxed her enough to sleep. At least, she hoped she got to sleep tonight. That was up to Rose Petal.

      She pulled out her paints and the birdhouse in progress. With meticulous care, she painted in a flower she’d outlined earlier in the day. One of her more ambitious projects to date, when she finished, the once-dull, brown gourd would be transformed into a glossy, whimsical birdhouse cottage befitting a fairy-tale character. Anyway, that was her plan. The work didn’t always turn out the way she imagined.

      Tongue between her teeth, she stroked a cluster of tiny green leaves. Her fingers felt stiff tonight. So did her shoulders. Tension, she supposed. Brent had that effect on her. So did Creed, come to think of it, but in a different way.

      She painted a vine, curling the greenery up and around the brown, oval door, trying hard to concentrate on the art, but her thoughts kept turning to the two men. Thomas’s questions had given her pause. Poor little kid. He wasn’t comfortable with Brent, and she understood that. She wasn’t, either. For the most part Brent ignored him. He’d rebuffed Thomas’s offer to play UNO and had barely glanced at the kite Thomas had eagerly brought from his bedroom. The latter annoyed her to no end.

      The tip of her brush slipped. Paint streaked down the front of the gourd. With an exasperated sigh, she put the brush in solvent and carefully wiped down the mistake.

      Maybe she was too tired to create tonight. She rolled her head around her shoulders, muscles tense and achy.

      When she’d made that telltale motion earlier this evening, Brent had offered to massage her neck. She shuddered, pretty sure where that would have led. Her landlord was too pushy, too obvious, and she wasn’t sure if he wanted to abuse their landlord-tenant relationship or if he honestly liked her.

      Either way, she wasn’t attracted enough to find out.

      Creed Carter’s face flashed in her memory. Okay, so she’d liked him better than she’d expected to. But she’d probably seen the last of him. Like a good Christian he’d done his duty. He’d come to see the baby. He’d kept his promise to Thomas. Now the flyboy could forget them all. Upon Brent’s arrival, he’d slithered away like a threatened snake. Typical. So typical.

      Men, like foster children, were only passing through, a nasty truth she’d learned from experience. Don’t get too involved. Prepare for the inevitable goodbye and guard her heart. Be careful. Be oh, so careful.

      For some reason, maybe a combination of fatigue and worry over the rent, tonight that hard-learned truth settled in her chest like a boulder.

      * * *

      On a damp Saturday, a few days later, Creed parked along the curb outside Whisper Falls’ senior citizen housing complex. With a scenic tour booked in an hour, he hurried up the neatly trimmed walkway to Grandma Carter’s apartment, a bag of groceries in tow. As always when he paid his visits, Grandma was waiting at the front door. Leaning on her walker with one hand, she unlocked the glass enclosure with the other.

      Love warmed Creed’s chest.

      Once inside, he bent to kiss her soft paper-thin cheek. She smelled exactly as she had for as long as he could remember—of face powder and Chanel No. 5. He should know. He bought the perfume for her every Christmas. “How’s my best girl?”

      “Fit as a fiddle. Did you get my medicine?”

      “Yep. Stopped at the pharmacy on the way. Your pills are in here, along with the groceries on your list.”

      She scooted the walker around, leaning more heavily than she had last week and slowly scraped along toward the plaid blanket-clad lift chair. With a twinge of guilt, Creed regretted not coming by all week. But with his business hopping and the two evenings at flakey Haley’s house, he hadn’t. Last evening, a couple had booked a romantic sunset flight, and by the time the heli was serviced and put away, he’d not gotten back to his apartment until late.

      “Your daddy took to me to see Dr. Ron yesterday,” Grandma said, the words whooshing out with a grunt as she lowered herself into the recliner.

      “What did he say?”

      “My knee’s shot. Just as we figured. He wants to send me down to Little Rock for a knee replacement.”

      Creed set the bag of groceries on the counter. Her tiny apartment had a combined living room and kitchen with a bedroom and bath off one side. That was it. A tiny place that was easy for her aging body to maneuver in.

      “When?”

      “I’m still deciding, honey. Your old granny is wearing out. Putting a fake knee inside of my leg won’t turn back the clock.”

      “But a new knee will keep you mobile.”

      “Oh, I reckon.” She nodded, the still-thick hair as iron-gray and fluffy as a storm cloud. “But all that recuperation time, I’ll be stuck in a strange city in some rehab center.”

      He smiled, understanding. Granny had lived her whole life in the rural mountains, had drawn water from a well and lived without electricity or modern convenience. A depression-era hill woman, cities scared her. “I’ll come visit you and bring Mom and Dad in the chopper. Aunt Darlene lives close to Little Rock. She and her kids will come.”

      “I know it, but I still don’t like to be gone from home that long.” She rocked a little. “You think I should do this?”

      “Do you want to work in your roses again?”

      Chuckling, she pointed a gnarled finger at him. “You know right where to get me, don’t