That Marriageable Man!

The moment Holly pulled her overpacked Chevy Cavalier into the driveway of 101 Deer Trail Lane, a young boy came running across the front yard to meet her.

“I’m Lion,” he announced as she climbed out of the car. “I live right next door.” He pointed his finger. “See, our places are connected. If me and my brother pound on the walls, you can hear us real good.”

He seemed pleased by this fact. Holly wondered, a little apprehensively, why and how often the brothers pounded on the adjoining walls.

“Me and Tony—that’s my brother—can do Morse code,” Lion continued, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Not only SOS, either. All the letters!”

“That must have taken a lot of practice,” Holly said politely.

“Yeah. We’ll teach you and then we can send messages. What’s your name?”

“Holly.”

“Can I call you that? Or are you Mrs. Somebody?”

“You can call me Holly. I’m not Mrs. Anybody.” How ironic. to be quizzed on her marital status moments after setting foot in her new neighborhood. Was this child an agent of her mother’s?

Holly smiled and tried to appear more enthusiastic than she currently felt. The exhaustion from the long drive was seeping through her, and the prospect of learning Morse code by pounding on her walls did not enchant her. She felt hungry, stiff, and more than a little frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to move in today as planned.

Lion brandished a golf club like a sword while he chattered on. Holly tried to listen, to respond to his many questions, but her head was still ringing with all the directions and suggestions provided by the friendly real estate agent, who had just given her the keys to her rented duplex town house... Along with the unwelcome news that the moving truck had been delayed and wouldn’t be arriving with her furniture and other household essentials until sometime tomorrow.

Hopefully, the truck would arrive tomorrow. The agent’s perky parting comment, “You know how it goes with moving, there aren’t any guaranteed timetables,” didn’t offer a whole lot of reassurance.

“Watch my chip shot!” exclaimed Lion, placing a golf ball on a wooden tee in the grass along the edge of the driveway.

Holly watched as he whacked the ball with surprising strength. As it sailed through the air, she noticed that an obstacle—her new home—stood directly in the ball’s path. Inevitably, a split second later the ball crashed through a window, shattering it.

“I hate it when that happens!” Lion sounded aggrieved. “How come glass always busts like that?”

Holly stared resignedly at the smashed window. “You have a powerful swing, Lion. But you really ought to practice your chip shots at a golf course or a driving range. In fact, it’s probably a good idea to practice all your shots there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rafe says, too.” Lion sighed.

“Trent, I heard glass break.” A deep adult male voice sounded behind her.

Holly turned around to see a very tall, dark-haired man in jeans, moccasins, and a white T-shirt approaching them.

“Uh-oh. That’s Rafe.” The boy lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “Would you tell him that you broke the window?” He shoved the golf club into Holly’s hand. “And can I go get my ball while you’re telling him?”

Rafe joined them before any escape could be attempted. He stared from the broken window, to the boy, and finally at Holly, holding the golf club in her hand. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” There was a wealth of subtext in his tone. “I’m Rafe Paradise.”

It struck Holly as strange that his name was Paradise while his cryptic “welcome to the neighborhood” sounded more like a warning heard at the gates of hell. Or maybe she was simply delirious from all the driving.

Nevertheless, she attempted to maintain conventional etiquette. “Thank you. I’m Holly Casale. Uh, from Michigan.”

“She loves golf!” Trent exclaimed winsomely. “Her chip shot is awesome!”

“Give me a break, Trent, I know you broke her window.” Rafe took the golf club from Holly’s hand. “Now, how are we going to arrange to pay for it?”

“You’re mad at me!” wailed Trent. “You hate me! You’re going to send me away, I just know it!” Howling at the top of his lungs, he raced down the street.

Holly was nonplussed. “Should you go after him? Is he running away?”

“No, he has nowhere else to go and he knows it. Trent’s mother would send him back if he tried to go to her place. Looks like he’s heading for the Steens’, who truly take the concept of neighborliness to the highest level.”

They both watched the boy run to the front door of one of the condos halfway down the block. The door was opened by a woman who greeted Trent with a smile and allowed him to enter.

“Yeah, the Steens.” Relieved, Rafe nodded his approval. “God bless them.” He shifted the golf club from one hand to the other. “I want Trent to accept responsibility for breaking your window. How about if he cuts your grass for the rest of the summer? Of course, I’ll assume the expense of replacing your window.”

“I’m confused about something.” Holly glanced up at him. He towered over her, something that rarely happened at her five-foot-eight height. But Rafe Paradise was at least six foot four, and he was definitely towering.

“You have a perfect right to be.” His dark eyes glinted. “Feel free to ask whatever question that needs answering.”

“The little boy called himself Lion. You call him Trent.”

“He’s been Lion for the past few months, since he decided to be a golf phenom like Tiger Woods. But his real name is Trent Krider. He’s my Little Brother.”

“Oh.” Holly was embarrassed to hear how astonished she sounded.

The astute Rafe Paradise reacted immediately. “Think capital letters. Trent is assigned to me by the Big Brother/Big Sister organization. Does that satisfactorily explain how a blond, blue-eyed child could be brothers with a half-breed Indian?”

Holly’s face turned scarlet. As if of their own volition, her eyes dropped to his well-worn moccasins.

Rafe noticed that, too. “They were handed down to me by my great-great-grandfather, Chief Lightning Bolt, who once ruled the Plains,” he drawled. “Being August, it’s too hot to wear my buffalo skins, but I keep them and my headdress in the wigwam out back.”

Holly was aghast. She had unwittingly insulted him and his proud ancestors!

“I—I never meant to imply...or...or...to—to disparage your Native American heritage in any way, Mr. Paradise. I apologize. I—I never intended to be so tactless and I am deeply sorry that—”

“All you said was ‘oh,”’ Rafe said dryly. “How was that tactless or disparaging?”

“I was nonverbally disrespectful,” Holly lamented, horrified by her lapse. She would not spare herself. “I—I looked at your moccasins.”

“Since when is that a crime?”

“Tone of voice, staring, or even silence can be offending and offensive,” Holly persisted frantically.

“I was just kidding, okay? Trying to make a joke, although judging by your reaction, I obviously didn’t succeed.”

Holly wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Look, I don’t feel offended.” Rafe shrugged.

“You are very understanding, Mr. Paradise.”

“It’s Rafe. We might as well dispense with formalities since we’ll be living next door—and my Little Brother has already started breaking your things.”

“Accidents happen.” Holly smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it.”