Their Small-Town Love

Ace smacked the tray of his high chair.

“Settles what?” Ryan asked in confusion, unaware of anything that needed to be settled.

“We’re inviting her to dinner, that’s what,” Charlotte answered briskly. Charlotte had been thirteen when their parents had died and, with both of her older brothers out on their own, she’d moved into the motel with their grandparents. At twenty-seven, having lived more than half her life with Hap Jefford, she could practically read the old man’s mind. Charlotte and their grandfather had grown especially close after the death of their grandmother a few years ago, so close that her brothers had feared she would devote herself to Hap and never marry.

“You’ve got to take her key over anyway,” Cara told Ryan from the kitchen doorway, an apron cinched around her slender waist. “That’s what she said when I let her in the room earlier, that you were holding her key for her and she’d forgotten to get it back.”

That and the shawl, Ryan reflected unhappily. Shifting in his chair, he pressed his elbows to the tabletop and spread his hands, saying, “I’m not sure I’m the one who ought to speak to her.”

“Of course you are,” Charlotte retorted dismissively. “Who else?”

“Maybe she’d rather have a woman to talk to,” he suggested hopefully.

“Instead of a strong shoulder to cry on?” Cara asked in a skeptical tone. “I don’t think so.”

Exasperated, Ryan sighed, knowing he was on the hook but still squirming. “Well, she might need a little more time to compose herself.”

“Nothing raises the hair on the back of a man’s neck like a woman’s tears,” Holt observed wisely, “because he’s either got to run or let her use his shoulder for a hanky.”

“Running would be cowardly,” Charlotte sniffed.

“And the other doesn’t sound very heroic, either, put that way,” Cara chided lightly.

Holt lifted his eyebrows. “That’s because you’re not a man, thank the sweet Lord.” That won him a warm smile and the glint of a promise from his wife’s big, worshipful eyes. He smirked at Ryan. “Coward or hero? Your choice, little brother.”

“Maybe because you’re so experienced, you should do it,” Ryan snapped.

Cara waved a hand to let them know she would be making that decision. “Uh. No.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a smugly grinning Holt behind her.

Ty cupped his hands behind his head and looked at Charlotte, who snorted and said, “Don’t even think about it.”

Ty turned to Ryan. “Sorry, pal. It’s you or Hap.”

“You took her to sunrise service,” Hap grated out.

Rolling his eyes, Ryan pushed up to his feet, snagged his coat from the back of his chair and tossed it on. Obviously, he would get no peace until he’d done what they wanted. Why had he wanted their advice, anyway?

“Just for that,” he scolded, wagging his finger between his brother and brother-in-law, “you two can set the table without my help.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jefford, sir,” Tyler quipped, winking at Holt. “He does love that mantle of authority, doesn’t he?” Holt chuckled.

Ace put back his head and laughed, not having the least idea what might be funny.

Ryan didn’t dignify their laughter with a reply, but it was clear that no one here gave one instant’s consideration to his discomfort. Didn’t they realize that a small-town assistant principal and coach lived in a fishbowl? He couldn’t be caught in the middle of a public family dispute—even if it wasn’t his family.

“I’ll get an extra place setting,” Charlotte announced as Ryan turned toward the front room, adjusting his collar. “Way this family’s growing,” she went on, “we’re going to have to buy more china soon.”

Shaking his head, Ryan gathered up the paisley shawl and went out into the lobby, pulling the door closed behind him. Once alone, however, he paused to close his eyes and send up a quick prayer. He felt mixed emotions—guilt about his reluctance to face Ivy, yet a growing excitement at seeing her again.

Lord, I’ve always liked Ivy, and I can’t help feeling sorry for her. I’ll help her if I can, but please don’t let me get sucked into something that I have no business getting involved in. I saw the hurt on her face and felt the sting of Olie’s words, and I know that she needs comfort and support. I want to be her friend, I really do. And yes, I have to admit she’s beautiful. Just show me how to help her without… He bowed his head a little lower, suddenly feeling chastised, and went on. Just show me how to do it in a way that honors You. Amen.

Couldn’t go wrong with that, he told himself, patting his pocket to be sure the key hadn’t gone missing and heading for Ivy’s room.

This had to stop, Ivy told herself, sighing. She’d put it out of her mind for fifteen or twenty minutes, then she’d think of the look of contempt on her father’s face, of the acid tone of his voice, and the pain would return. Feeling so hurt was stupid, because she’d expected him to react as he had. She wouldn’t have believed it if he’d acted any other way. Still, it felt as if her heart had been cut out and handed to her on a platter, and all she seemed able to do, besides cry, was pray for strength.

Squaring her shoulders, she faced her image in the mirror over the dresser and took several deep breaths. She was in the midst of giving herself a stern, mental talking-to when the telephone beside the bed rang.

She’d noticed as soon as she’d arrived that her cell phone didn’t have reception, and she hadn’t made any calls from the room, so she couldn’t imagine who besides her sister would be calling her. It wouldn’t have been difficult, of course, for anyone who knew that she had taken a room at Heavenly Arms to reach her. Warily, she walked across the industrial-style carpeting and lifted the old-fashioned, corded receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Rose.”