Page 29 of The Promise in Poppies
Rhett pushed his heels against the pinewood planks, more as a nervous tick than because he found the gentle sway of the rocking chair relaxing. Donna hadn’t looked at him once all evening, almost as if she wished he wasn’t there. But in his defense, when Bill asked him over for a slice of pie, he hadn’t known Irene had invited Donna, too. If he had, he wouldn’t be here.
When she’d shared her story during the meeting, he’d been alarmed by how badly he’d wanted to comfort her, to wrap his arm around her and smooth back the dark waves that brushed against her cheeks. He wasn’t short on empathy, and cared about others, but it felt different with Donna. More personal. More immediate. More visceral. He wanted to be the one to soothe her pain, to make her smile again.
He knew the knight-in-shining-armor gig was outdated and old-fashioned. He also knew he was woefully, embarrassingly unqualified for the position. But the desire lingered all the same. And sitting beside her on Bill’s wide veranda, with the romantic hum of crickets and gleaming moonlight casting a silver glow over the sprawling farm, wasn’t helping matters.
Determined to wrangle his unwanted thoughts into submission, he focused on a small structure in the distance, tucked into the back corner of the property. The metal siding of the renovated grain silo glinted like a warning beacon, conjuring an image of the quirky home’s inhabitant—his son, Vick.
Lucky for him, Vick had plans with his friends that night and would likely be home late. Which meant he wouldn’t run into him and Donna hanging out for the second evening in a row. He could tell from Vick’s shocked expression last night that he’d witnessed their almost-kiss. To his son’s credit, he’d recovered quickly and returned the book he’d borrowed without saying a single word about it. But Rhett knew his own guilt had registered all over his face. How could it not? After the way he’d devastated Vick’s mother, shattering her heart and hopes for the future, there was no way Vick would forgive him for falling for another woman.
Not that Rhett had fallen for Donna. He barely knew her.
Even as the thought sailed through his mind, he knew it wasn’t true. He may not have known Donna for long, but they’d connected on a level many couples didn’t reach even after months of dating.
Dating…The word conjured a sharp longing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to ask Donna on a proper date, with all the bells and whistles and clearly communicated intentions. He also wanted a solid, unshakable relationship with his son. Two opposing desires that, at times, felt equally unattainable.
“What brings you to Poppy Creek?” Irene asked Donna. She set her empty plate on the table by the flickering kerosene lamp and reached for her coffee mug.
“My daughter, Cassie.”
“You’re Cassie’s mom?” Irene smiled. “I should have guessed. She has your eyes.” Irene took a sip, leaning back against the headrest of the rocking chair where Bill had helped her get situated earlier. Rhett couldn’t help noticing how the rugged, soft-spoken giant of a man treated Irene with the utmost care but also with a deep and abiding respect.
“I moved here to be with my son, Landon,” Irene shared. “But in my case, I didn’t have much choice, since we live together.” She laughed softly. “At first, I thought he’d lost his mind. Who moves from a mansion in Pacific Heights to some hole-in-the-wall most people have never even heard of? Reginald was absolutely appalled.” She smiled at her portly dachshund, who snoozed in a large, luxurious dog bed beside Bill’s pudgy pink pig, Peggy Sue. The two lay snout to snout, both snoring in a staccato rhythm. “And yet,” she said fondly, “it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.” Her gaze flitted to Bill, and they shared an intimate glance. “This town gave me my life back,” she told Donna. “And I have a feeling it will do the same for you.”
Donna shifted in her seat as if she didn’t know what to say.
An awkward silence ensued, interrupted by the urgent ring of Irene’s cell phone. Bill dug it out of the side pocket of her wheelchair and passed it to her.
“So sorry,” Irene said, holding up the phone. “This is my work cell. I have to take this.” While she answered, Bill helped her back into her wheelchair, and she slipped into the kitchen for some privacy. Rhett caught only snippets of the conversation, but Irene sounded concerned. Cementing his suspicion that something was wrong, she returned a few minutes later with an apologetic expression. “I hate to do this, but I have to make a house call. Bill, would you mind driving me to the Nelsons’? Their rooster got stuck in the doggy door again. He might have some mild abrasions on his sides when we get him out.”
“Happy to.” Bill’s eyes brightened, and Rhett recognized the look of a man who enjoyed being involved in his partner’s endeavors. There was something special about being a team. Not that Rhett knew from personal experience. When they’d had money trouble, he’d cut his wife out of the equation, not wanting to worry her. At least, that was part of it. In hindsight, he realized it had also been about his own pride. He’d wanted to solve the problem himself. And look where that got him.
As Bill stood, so did Rhett and Donna.
“No, no.” Irene waved her hand, shooing them back into their seats. “You two stay. Finish your coffee. No reason to ruin the night on our account. Right, Bill?”
Bill tipped the brim of his cowboy hat. “You folks make yourselves at home. There’s more coffee in the pot. Stay as long as you like. No need to lock up.”
“Thank you, but that’s really not necessary,” Donna said hastily. “If you’re leaving—”
“Stay. I insist.” Irene wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’d hate to see such good coffee and a beautiful evening go to waste.”
For the first time that night, Donna met Rhett’s gaze. They were both trapped and knew it. Except, he wasn’t quite as bothered about it as she was.
“Thanks, Bill.” Rhett shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate the hospitality. You bake a mean pie.”
“The secret’s in the crust,” Bill said with a straight face.
They exchanged goodbyes, and Rhett found himself alone on the veranda with Donna, save for their slumbering companions. An owl hooted in the distance, filling the silence.
Rhett rocked his heels, setting the chair in motion again, and Donna did the same. They swayed in tandem, communicating in the creaking of the rails. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, only one thought came to mind. One question he couldn’t bring himself to ask. What else had happened the night of her father’s funeral? He could tell she’d left something out. Something that had plummeted her even deeper into the abyss of addiction than her father’s death. She had wounds, raw and bone-deep, that she kept so well covered, they could never heal. He knew because he had one of his own. Maybe it was time they both peeled back the bandages? “Donna, I—” His words stopped short at the squeaking of a wooden slat.
A throat cleared, and his gaze darted toward the back steps. His son glanced between them then offered a sheepish smile. “Guess I need to work on my timing, huh? I’m a third wheel two nights in a row.”
“We were just—” Rhett paused. Just what? At a loss, he switched gears. “I thought you were out with friends.”
“I was. But I have an early morning. Frank wants to finalize the special blend for the festival.” He turned to Donna. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Donna’s discomfort and unease melted away, revealing a genuine smile. What had he missed?
