Lover's Knot (28 page)

“’Course this one doesn’t have anybody’s signatures. Like the ones you like so much.”

“Diversity is my middle name.”

“You learn anything more about that quilt of yours?”

Kendra filled her in on the visit to the park and her trip to Luray to attend the Way We Were meeting.

“Well, you’re making progress, I’ll give you that,” Helen said. “Now, what kind of progress have you made on those blocks I gave you?”

Kendra tried to figure out how to say “none” in a way that wouldn’t bring Helen to her front door to snatch them back. But she had reached the final exit. There was no escape. “None, but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. You come to the next bee. Wednesday morning. Bring those blocks. We’ll have everything else you need.” Helen nodded as if the matter were settled, and marched off.

“She looks happy. Was it something you said?”

Kendra turned to find Elisa coming up behind her. They exchanged quick hugs, and Kendra told her that she had just given up the fight to avoid learning how to quilt.

Clearly Elisa had expected this. “I’ll probably see you on Wednesday. They have me working on a new quilt. Something for the church nursery, although I think they’re hoping Sam and I will need it ourselves.”

Kendra’s throat tightened. “You’re not…?”

“No, I’m still trying to work out a residency, but we’re not getting any younger while I do.”

Kendra and Elisa were about the same age. Kendra knew that time was a factor for her friend. In three more years, getting pregnant would be less likely.

“But we will adopt, if that’s the best way to make our family.” Elisa’s gaze settled on her husband, who had just joined the crew at the grill and was setting chicken quarters in place. Sam wore a chef’s apron that read “May the Forks Be With You.”

“You’d be okay with that?”

Elisa turned back to her. “Absolutely. We’ve talked about it even if we have babies. We’d like more than one or two. There are always children who need families. My own country has many.”

Kendra thought of Colonel Grant Taylor. “Any child you adopted would be lucky.”

“No, we would be the lucky ones. It’s a wonderful way to make a family.”

Kendra heard the unspoken message. A way she and Isaac might want to consider. Only she and Isaac weren’t discussing children.

Elisa left to take her place beside her husband. Kendra felt a twinge of sadness as she watched Sam put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and squeeze in the seconds before Elisa set to work. Kendra wished she and Isaac had that same unquestioned affection, that easy level of comfort that Elisa and Sam probably already took for granted.

She went to look for Caleb, a child whom adoption had failed. Only with Caleb, there was still time to help turn things around. Caleb, unlike Isaac at the same age, had people who wanted the best for him.

She was fast becoming one of them.

Isaac felt odd about going inside the cabin without Kendra. He’d arrived at noon, expecting to find her back from the fair, but fifteen minutes later he was still alone on the porch. The cabin had belonged to his grandmother, yet he was the stranger here. Kendra had taken his inheritance into her heart. He still felt like a trespasser.

He checked his watch and debated what to do. She would be back. He had no doubt about that. And it was silly to wait outside. He wanted to check on Ten. He wanted a drink of water.

Aware he was acting like a fool, he retrieved a bag from his car; then he strode up the steps and opened the door into the living area. Inside, he stowed the bag in the refrigerator, then went to the sink and filled a glass. As he drank, he leaned against a counter, searching the room for the cat. In one of their phone calls, Kendra had told him that Ten was still skulking under furniture and generally hiding his existence. Isaac was sorry he couldn’t reason with the cat. He would explain that everyone had Ten’s best interests in mind. They would shake, paw to hand, and Ten would stroll outside for a look at the new world that was his to explore.

That being impossible, he wished his personal alley cat would deign to show a paw or the tip of his tail. Just for reassurance.

As if on cue, Ten peeked out from under the sofa. Isaac didn’t move, all too aware that Ten might disappear again.

Ten looked right at him. Then, with his gaze riveted on Isaac, he slipped out and padded slowly to the bowl of food Kendra had placed about six feet from where Isaac was standing. Ten glanced down at the food, then quickly up at Isaac again.

“I’m not going to snatch it away,” Isaac said quietly.

As if the sound of his voice reassured the cat, Ten bent his head to the task and began to eat. When he was satisfied, Ten looked up again. Isaac squatted slowly and held out his hand. Ten didn’t move. For a moment the cat and the man regarded each other with the intensity of rival gang leaders. Then Ten turned and streaked back to his hideout under the sofa.

“Progress is progress.” Isaac rose. He understood only too well how slowly trust had to be acquired.

He didn’t know when Kendra might return, but he did know he didn’t want to spend more time inside. He and Ten were facing the same problem. Neither of them was willing to admit that life as they’d known it had changed. Ten still believed the world outside these doors was a maze of mean streets, and Isaac still believed that the cabin where his mother had been raised could harm him. Neither he nor Ten seemed capable of reason.

Despite Isaac’s promises, Kendra hadn’t been sure when he would arrive. From experience, she knew he became absorbed in his work; hours could pass before he realized he had another commitment. She didn’t feel guilty when she arrived home at two to find Isaac’s car already in the driveway.

After she dropped her purchases inside and combed her hair, she went outside to look for him. She found him calf-deep in a hole where there had never been a hole that size before. He was just downhill from the house, level with what would be the bottom section when it was completed. He was digging exactly where Jamie had said they needed a meditation pond.

For a moment she just watched. Having Isaac involved in the renovations was more than she had hoped for. Yet here he was, either preparing to make supersize mud pies or fulfilling her sister’s vision.

When he stopped to wipe sweat from his forehead, she spoke. “You didn’t even hear me coming. What if I’d been a bear or a bobcat?”

He looked up and flashed a smile just faintly tinged with fatigue. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to think you need a cold glass of lemonade.”

He leaned on the shovel and gestured to what he’d done. “What do you think?”

First she admired the way his navy blue ACRE T-shirt stretched across his chest. “New family graveyard? Rumors of gold?”

“Rainwater drains down that slope.” He pointed above him. “And it pools here before it spills down the hill. The force of the flow carved an indentation, so it’s constantly marshy. You need to either fill the hole and channel it past this point, or dig a deeper hole and make a small pond.”

“Let me guess which I’m doing.”

“Not necessarily. I can fill it with rock and build it up for better drainage. Either way’s better than mud, which is what you have now.”

“Which would you like to see?” Though the question sounded simple, she was asking Isaac to choose, to stamp this renovation with his own preferences. She was asking him to help make the cabin and land into a home.

He tossed off his answer. “You’re the boss lady. I’m just the hired help.”

“No, you’re not.”

He was silent a moment; then he shrugged. “Digging is therapeutic.”

She felt a rush of pleasure. “A pond not a lake, right?”

“This may look simple, but since you’ve been light on rain lately, the ground is as hard as rock. Actually, too much of this ground
is
rock. It’s going to take me a long time just to get this hole deep enough for goldfish.”

“Fish?”

“Intellectual stimulation for Ten. He can sit at the edge and plot the best way to catch his supper.”

Clearly he’d given this some thought. She was encouraged. “Just so I don’t have to perform fish rescue missions.”

“Deep enough for fish safety, shallow enough for cat fantasies.”

She noted the way his hair glinted with gold highlights in the sunshine. “Sounds perfect. What about that lemonade?”

“I’d love a glass, but then I’m going to work a while longer. I have a rhythm going.”

“I’ll make a pitcher. Then I think I’ll change and work in the garden. Somebody at the fair told me it’s not too late to put in tomato plants.”

“Right before they sold you a couple?”

“Six big ones. And a pot of basil.” She headed for the house, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll yell when the lemonade’s ready.”

In the house, she changed into denim shortalls so she could hook her hand hoe to the belt loop and fill the deep pockets with other gardening paraphernalia. In the kitchen, she prepared a pitcher of lemonade, cheating by using a mix and squeezing only two lemons. She sliced the last one and added half the slices to make the pitcher more appealing.

Isaac didn’t seem to mind that the lemonade wasn’t one hundred percent authentic. After washing his hands, he joined her on the porch and finished a glass before she’d taken more than a few sips of her own.

“Hot work.” He smiled his apology.

“That’s why I made a pitcher. The pond’s going to be beautiful.”

“We’ll see.”

Throughout their marriage, they had avoided household projects. In their first apartment they’d hardly taken the time to unpack and fill the closets. She wondered if she’d just been waiting to make sure her marriage survived. Had she subconsciously determined that the odds weren’t good enough for much of an investment?

Isaac reached over and pulled the bib of her shortalls away from her chest so he could see the T-shirt underneath. His fingertips brushed a breast as he did, and fire streaked through her.

“Farmer Taylor? A Toms Brook fashion statement?”

She gazed down at his hand. “Aren’t I cute?”

“I was just thinking that.” His hand slid up to her neck; his thumb caressed her chin. “You can hoe fields and pick cotton for me anytime.”

Her eyelids drifted shut. “Corn. We’re too far north for cotton.”

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

She wondered.

She felt his hand move away, and she opened her eyes.

“Right now you can give me a refill,” he said. “But later will be a different matter.”

Kendra weeded a new patch of the garden and got the plants in the ground before she called it quits for the afternoon. Inside, she took a long shower to ease the knots in her neck and back. Every day she seemed to grow stronger. The physical therapist she now saw biweekly was pleased with her progress. The irony of using a garden once filled with healing herbs as a way to restore her own health wasn’t lost on her. Leah would have approved.

She set out fresh towels for Isaac, and he arrived soon after, sweaty and dirty and altogether appealing. She was standing in front of the refrigerator, taking stock, when he emerged from the shower wearing clean shorts and his favorite generic green shirt. Isaac shopped for clothes with only two criteria. Easy care and no advertisements.

He stood behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Hoping the ingredients will assemble themselves?”

“I should have done some shopping. I guess we’ll have to go out for dinner. I’m afraid I eat very simply.”

“Example?”

“Sandwiches. Yogurt. Fruit. Sometimes a salad, if I’m feeling energetic after an afternoon in the garden. I don’t eat a lot of salads.”

“I have groceries in the car.”

She faced him. “Really?”

He turned her toward the open refrigerator again. “And there’s something in there behind the milk and orange juice.”

She pushed aside a milk carton and saw a bag. “I didn’t notice.”

“You’re going to relax, and I’m going to take care of everything.”

“What have you done with my husband?”

“What have you been hungry for since you got here? Something they don’t have right around the corner.”

She chewed on her lip. “Nothing you have in a bag in your car, I’m afraid.”

“What?” he repeated.

“Thai food.”

“How does shrimp pad thai sound?”

“You brought takeout all the way from D. C.?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders when she faced him again. “K. C., you’re refusing to get it. That’s a pound of Gulf shrimp in the fridge. I’m going to make shrimp pad thai. Right here, in your kitchen.”

“You don’t cook.”

“I do now.”

She tried not to smile, but she wasn’t successful. “Since when?”

“Since my wife moved away. The Food Network keeps me company late at night.”

“You’ve started cooking? Food Network recipes?”

“More like I’m going to start right now. How hard can it be? I did the shopping. I’ve seen it made. I have the recipe. I have the perfect victim.”

“You’re experimenting on me?” She leaned over and kissed him. “I’m enthralled. Cook away. Can I help?”

“You can pour the wine. I brought a very good merlot. I’ll bring it in.”

She was still mulling over this miracle when he returned with two brown grocery bags and set them on the table. “A large glass for the chef, please. I’ll be chopping for a while.”

She found the corkscrew and took down two glasses from the cabinet. Then, as he got out what looked to be half the wares of an Asian market, she opened the wine to let it breathe. The vintage was indeed a good one. Wine important enough for serious seduction.

Isaac examined everything he’d laid out. “Looks like I’ll be chopping for, oh, about three days. Stay nearby and talk to me.”

Part of her wanted to rescue him, and part of her wanted to see exactly what he had in mind. She could feel anticipation stirring. Anticipation of the wine, of the conversation, of the meal…of the aftermath.

He filled the teakettle and set it on a burner, turning on the heat beneath it. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since the last time I was here.”