Country Heaven (19 page)

There it was. That famous expression.

“Rye, I don’t want that woman playing with Annabelle. I will tolerate her as a guest, but that’s the extent of it. I expect you to make that plain to her since Tammy failed to do so.”

Rye bit his cheek to keep himself from raising his voice. “Mama, Tory is not some cheap woman you can order around. Like I told you, she’s a doctoral student and a friend. She’s a good woman, and Annabelle clearly senses that. Let it go.”

“She’s your cook, and God knows what else.” Margaret’s spine straightened. “Am I supposed to believe that you didn’t bring her here just to needle me?”

“She’s my friend, first and foremost.” Rye curled his lip. “Mama, any woman other than a carbon copy like Emeline would needle you.”

“Emeline was the best choice for you, and you threw her away,” she said harshly.

“No, Mama. She was
your
choice for me.”

“So I’m supposed to believe this Tory is the best choice now?”

“As I said, she’s my friend.” His mind momentarily flashed to that moment in the kitchen last night. She was more than that, but he wanted to protect her. “As for why I brought her here, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you. Don’t give yourself airs.”

Margaret sucked in a breath. “You are as rude and common as ever.”

He bowed. “Thank you, Mama. That’s what every son wants to hear from the woman who gave birth to him. I’m here for Daddy. Understand that.”

Margaret fingered the gold necklace around her neck. “I am against this reconciliation. And whatever you say, I don’t want that woman you brought making attachments with my grandchildren or
anyone
in this family.”

Rye chuckled bitterly. “No surprise there. I don’t know where this will lead, but Daddy’s making an effort. The least I can do is to make one too.”

“It doesn’t change anything between you and me.”

“Fine, but understand this. If Daddy and Amelia Ann want to see me, you will not stand in the way. I won’t have you setting Daddy’s health back because of your hatred for me.”

Her mouth pressed together in a hard line. “How could you think I would hurt him? He’s my husband.”

The old wound up and bled on him again. “Well, I’m your son, and you’ve done plenty of damage to me.”

He strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Chatty voices and giggling spilled out of Tammy’s old room when he reached the second floor. He peered inside. Tory and Annabelle were sitting together on the antique brass bed in the middle of a mass of dolls, talking in animated voices. It was good to see her happy after her horrible confession this morning. Hearing how her parents had died had near broken his heart, even more so because of the brave way she’d held back her tears.

Just then Tory ran a hand down Annabelle’s blond hair, and Rye froze. Emotions he couldn’t identify clamored through him, sending off alarms in his brain. But he couldn’t look away. The peaceful, happy looks on their faces made his heart clutch.

She was good with kids. Why was he surprised? Worse, why did it affect him so?

He jumped when he saw Rory standing in the next doorway—his old bedroom—looking like he was doing the same thing Rye was, watching them. How many times had he stood alone in that doorway dressed like a perfect boy instead of getting dirty playing outside with the other kids? Rory stared at him and then turned away, his shoulders slumping.

Rubbing his chest hard, as if to stop the emotions roiling through him, he realized he was going to have to toughen up if he wanted to survive this visit. Then he realized he was being too hard on himself. He’d known all along that coming here would be hell. There was no reason to get confused by the unexpected way watching Tory with Annabelle had affected him. Or how seeing his sister’s lost little boy had reminded him of himself. He straightened, preparing for his sit down with Daddy, and ran a hand through his hair before opening the door.

Hampton smiled when he saw him, and Rye let loose a breath of relief. His daddy looked less pale today. “Good to see you, son.”

Hearing the endearment today was less jarring than yesterday, and he took it as a measure of progress. “You bored yet?” Rye asked. “How about we pass the time by playing some poker?” He pulled the cards he’d brought from the back pocket of his jeans.

When his Daddy nodded with a grin, Rye drew a chair next to the bed. “I hate to warn you, sir, but I play a ton of poker on the road. And one of my best friends is Rhett Butler Blaylock, who’s won—”

“The World Series of Poker,” Daddy finished. “I told you I’ve kept up with you. But to give you fair warning in return, where do you think I go on Wednesday nights?”

The cards felt good in his hands as he shuffled them. “I thought you always worked late on Wednesdays.”

Hampton grabbed the cards from him, shuffling the deck like a professional in a Vegas casino. Well, well.

“I have a standing poker game. Seems we have something in common.”

Rye gave his first easy smile of the morning. “Seems so. Why don’t you deal the cards? Just don’t cheat. I can’t abide cheaters.”

Hampton chuckled. “Neither can I, son.”

As his father shuffled the cards, Rye caught sight of Mama peeking through the crack in the door. He turned away, giving his Daddy his full attention.

“I’m glad you’re home, Rye.”

Rye picked up his cards. “Me, too.”

And in that moment, he meant it.

***

After making sure his Daddy was settled for a nap, Rye headed downstairs and followed voices into the kitchen. Amelia Ann was standing next to Tory, and Annabelle was perched on the kitchen island, her feet swinging. They all had spoons in their mouths and were making humming noises.

“Oh, my gosh. This has got to be the best cookie dough I’ve ever tasted,” Amelia Ann cried.

Annabelle waved her spoon like it was a magic wand. “Let’s not make cookies. We can eat it all like this.”

Tory caught sight of Rye. “Want a taste?”

His eyes immediately went to her mouth, which was slightly wet from licking dough. Yeah, he was going to have to talk her into kissing him again—and more. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather taste.”

Her whole body seemed to ripple. Good, he was getting to her.

Amelia Ann crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek. “Hi sugar. How’s Daddy?”

“Great. He’s taking a nap now.” It seemed like a good idea not to mention that Daddy had won two hundred dollars off him in poker. The man had to have been counting cards.

Tory offered him a spoon, and he ran a hand down her arm before taking it. “Thanks.”

“What have you two been doing up there?” his sister asked. “Mama looked pretty upset when I returned from town. She promptly announced that she had some errands to run, and she never runs errands on Wednesday.”

Rye winked at Annabelle, who was gazing up at him with big eyes, her spoon back in her mouth.

“Daddy and I were…conversing.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Then he took a bite of the dough. “Sugar cookies,” he purred.

Sheer bliss couldn’t describe it.

“Miss Tory thought we could make them into shapes and decorate them while Mama’s out,” Annabelle told him.

“That sounds like a great idea!” He spooned some more batter for Annabelle and handed it to her.

After taking it, she scooted across the counter and hugged him. “Will you help us, Uncle Rye?” He froze when the little arms reached around him, breathing in the smell of children’s shampoo and baby powder.

“I know where Grandmama keeps the cookie cutters,” his niece announced with a smile. “Help me down, Uncle Rye.”

He caught her as she pushed off the counter. “Where’s your brother?”

Her shrug made him want to tweak her nose, it was so cute. “He doesn’t like cooking or tea parties.”

“I’ll bet he likes to eat though, right?”

She nodded her head, her thin, silky blond hair swinging around her heart–shaped face.

After opening a few drawers, Rye found a spoon and swiped some more batter. “I’ll go find him.” He hadn’t been able to shake the image of that solitary boy while playing poker.

He strode past Amelia Ann, whose eyebrows rose in surprise. When he found Rory sitting at a small white desk, quietly reading a book, Rye’s insides gripped like wrung–out sheets. His Mama had updated his room, but the perfect order and sterility were the same as they’d ever been. Messiness had
never
been tolerated, and to this day, he couldn’t stand places that were this…orderly.

The boy stood up, his posture as stiff as the toy soldiers displayed on the shelf. “Sir?”

Rye waved the spoon. “Your sister said you like cookies. I thought you might like some batter.”

“Food’s not allowed upstairs, sir.”

“We had that rule when I lived here,” Rye said as he dropped to one knee in front of his nephew, “but sometimes it’s okay to break it. Don’t worry. It’ll be our secret.”

Rory narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious.

“Well, if you don’t believe me, you can always come down to the kitchen and eat it there.”

Silence descended, and the boy looked at the spoon he held. Finally he nodded after a long pause.

“Let’s go then.”

Laughter spilled from the kitchen as they entered the room. When Annabelle saw Rory, she raced forward.

“Rory, we’re making sugar cookies. Did Uncle Rye give you some batter?”

“Annabelle, you know that we aren’t allowed to eat food outside the kitchen.”

She frowned. “I forgot.”

Rye shoved the spoon at Rory. “Well, you’re in the kitchen now.”

After he took the spoon, the boy turned away like he was hiding a bad secret.

The dough was being rolled onto the kitchen counter by Tory, who kept sprinkling flour on it between passes. “Rory, Annabelle already picked out her cookie cutter. Do you want to pick one out too?”

“Boys don’t cook.”

Amelia Ann put her hands on his shoulders, but he jerked away. She bit her lip as she met Rye’s eyes.

He had needed to unlearn a whole heap of bullshit like that when he left this place behind. Maybe he could help the kid.

“Well, that’s mostly untrue. Haven’t you ever heard of chefs, son? Granted, Tory here is a lady chef, but there are plenty of men who cook.”

The boy’s spoon was perfectly clean when he set it down. “My daddy and granddaddy don’t cook.”

“No, they don’t, but I’m going to help Tory make cookies with your sister and Amelia Ann. And we could use your help.”

He was grateful the boy hadn’t asked him about his culinary skills. Part of him couldn’t believe he was offering.

Annabelle grabbed Rory’s hand. “Come on. You can sit with me. Uncle Rye, can you help me up again?”

“Sure, darlin’.” He hefted her onto the counter and then reached for his nephew.

“I can do it myself.”

There was anger in his tone, so Rye didn’t offer again.

For the next two hours, laughter was the main sound in the kitchen. Tory orchestrated the entire production, helping them roll dough, cut cookies, and then peel them off the flour–dusted counter and onto a cookie sheet. Coloring the frosting added another piece of fun with Annabelle trying to achieve the perfect shade of pink.

Rory finally relaxed and was swept away. He didn’t get the giggles like Annabelle, who was clearly on a sugar high, but he smiled more and acted less guarded. Rye couldn’t hold back a grin as the boy settled closer to him, announcing that the two of them were making
manly
cookies with
manly
icing.

When Tammy and Mama walked into the kitchen, cookies covered every surface. Rye was helping Rory finish decorating his soldier while Amelia Ann and Tory were adding the last silver ball to one of Annabelle’s princess cookies. Rye braced himself for a return of the tension.

“What is going on?” Tammy asked, a frown on her mouth.

Annabelle held up her princess, smearing the pink frosting with her fingers. “We made cookies, Mama.”

Rye watched as Rory walked over to Tammy, his posture as stiff as it had been in the room upstairs.

“Daddy needed to rest, so we brought the kids down here to make sugar cookies,” Rye said. “Tory has a family recipe. I’ll be sure to get it from her, Mama.”

Rather than replying, Mama smoothed a crease in her pale yellow suit. “Your daddy was no doubt exhausted from playing poker with you.”

Silence descended, and Amelia Ann and Tammy stared at him open mouthed. So he’d broken another of Mama’s rule: no gambling in the house. He had to grip the counter to hold back a nasty reply.

Annabelle’s eyes teared up, the tension clearly upsetting her. “Mama, would you like to have one of my princess cookies?” She carried it over to Tammy, the princess bobbling in her shaking hand. “Grandmama, do you want one too?”

“Annabelle, you and Rory have spoiled your supper,” Mama said, her voice cool, reminding him of what it had been like to be disciplined as a child.

The ice in her voice could be as cold and punishing as hail when she had a mind. Like she did now.

“No, we didn’t, Grandmama,” she said, her voice trembling. “We only decorated them.”

That was it! Rye stepped forward, but Tory grabbed his hand, clenching it tightly. He didn’t heed the squeeze. “Amelia Ann, why don’t you take the children upstairs for a little while? Tory and I will clean up. We’ll see you kids later.”

Annabelle and Rory looked over their shoulders as his sister led them out, her mouth grim. The remaining adults stood silent until the sounds of them going upstairs faded.

“Look,” Rye said, waving his hand across the room. “I don’t care what you do or say to me, but don’t bring the kids into it. This is no big deal. They were only making cookies.”

“Rye, I think we should excuse Miss Simmons,” Mama said, calmly crossing her hands across her chest.

Tory started to leave, but Rye stilled her with a hand. “Right, we don’t discuss family matters in front of guests.” Even to his ears, his laugh was cruel. “Who gives a damn? She saw what happened.”

Mama’s mouth thinned. “Well, we can only hope she is discreet. It would be bad for your
career
if she were to talk about her visit here, right? Or would it help? Making cookies with children after you made those disadvantaged little ones cry? Your fans haven’t been too happy with you. At least Miss Simmons appears to be helping your image.”