Mom In The Middle. Mae Nunn

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СКАЧАТЬ coming! Hold your horses,” a male voice called from behind the front door.

      Guy shifted the box of bulky plumbing supplies to his left arm and stuffed his right hand into the front pocket of his store apron to deposit his keys. He glanced toward the driveway where he’d parked the Hearth and Home truck. He’d planned to bring the purchase by after church the previous day but his phone calls had gone unanswered. Since he’d concluded Abby and her father must be spending all their time at the hospital, he was surprised to get a response when he’d punched the doorbell three times in quick succession.

      The door creaked open an inch but no face appeared. Guy squinted to see inside the dark house.

      “Down here, drugstore cowboy,” the aggravated voice grumbled an obvious reference to the fancy boots.

      Guy glanced down, his gaze locking with dark eyes beneath an overhang of bushy gray brows.

      Abby’s father.

      Guy estimated the man to be in his late seventies, but the long, thin body sunken into the inexpensive low-slung wheelchair could have made him look older than his years. Guy extended his hand.

      “Guy Hardy, sir. Hearth and Home Super Center.”

      “Pete Reagan. Friends call me Shorty, mostly because I’m not.” His eyes raked Guy up and down. “Guess you can, too.”

      The old fellow kept the handshake brief.

      Needing an excuse to be standing on the man’s porch, Guy nodded toward the box he carried. “I brought the supplies your wife and daughter left at the store on Saturday. Thought you might need them.”

      “Women.” Shorty shook his head. “You can’t live with ’em, can’t trade ’em for catfish bait.” A rusty hinge complained as he pushed the door wider and maneuvered his chair to the left. After moving a few feet he stopped, leaned to one side and pulled a thin wallet from his hip pocket.

      “How much?”

      Guy watched as bony hands counted out several bills.

      “That’s covered, sir. I’m just making the delivery.”

      The bushy brows drew together. “Then how much for the delivery?”

      “There’s no charge, Mr. Reagan.”

      Shorty folded together a couple of one-dollar bills and thrust out the offering. “Then take this for your trouble. I insist.”

      Guy suppressed a smile as he accepted the modest tip. “Why, thank you, sir. May I carry this inside for you? The parts shift pretty easily so this box might be hard to manage.”

      “Well, since you’ve decided I’m an invalid, and you’ve already got my money, you might as well haul them all the way back to the laundry room yourself.”

      Guy winced. He hadn’t meant for the comment to come across as an insult, especially since he was normally so conscientious. Life with a houseful of women had taught him to choose his words carefully. That was even more important with customers.

      “Lord, keep me mindful of my words,” he muttered.

      “Say what?” Shorty snapped.

      “Nothing, sir.”

      “Well, stop talkin’ to yourself and come on.” He spun the chair, offering a good look at the back of his mostly bald head fringed with wisps of silver.

      “And for pity’s sake try to keep up, Roy Rogers,” he grumbled over his shoulder as he set his chair in motion.

      Thinking Abby’s sweet disposition deserved high marks after growing up with a stern mother and grouchy dad, Guy hefted the carton and stepped across the threshold. He hurried to follow the man who was quickly disappearing down the long hallway. When Shorty stopped abruptly at the door of what appeared to be a utility room, Guy slipped inside the small, musty-smelling space. A washer-and-dryer pair were positioned to the left, and to his right a deep utility sink was installed in the countertop. Open cabinet doors beneath the sink exposed a bucket that caught the puddle created by a dripping faucet.

      “Just sit it down there,” Shorty gestured toward the floor. “Maybe Abby and I can get around to it tomorrow after we visit Sarah.”

      “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how is Mrs. Reagan?”

      “Doc put a pin in her hip yesterday morning.”

      “Oh, I thought that wasn’t going to be necessary.”

      “It was a last-minute decision,” he explained. “Surgeon says it’ll get her back on her feet sooner.”

      “Is she in much pain?”

      “She’s holding up. Won’t complain. Never does. But it’s driving her crazy that she’s not here to tell me what to do.” A trace of a smile glimmered for the first time. His gray eyes lit with mischief and Guy caught the resemblance between Dillon and his grandpa. Hadn’t Abby said her parents had rarely been separated in forty-some-odd years of marriage? The old guy was probably missing his wife like crazy. No wonder he was out of sorts.

      Guy deposited the box filled with brass pipes and silicon gaskets for replacing the trap and waste elbow of a sink, and then glanced toward the plumbing repair efforts.

      “Okay if I take a look?” Guy asked permission.

      “Knock yourself out.”

      He squatted to get a better view of the work in progress. Actually, not much work had been done at all. Beyond dismantling the old pipes and stuffing a bucket under the open drain, nothing more had been accomplished.

      “You do much plumbing, sir?”

      “Back in the day. My legs are mostly useless now so it’s impossible to get up and down like I once did. My baby girl helps me.”

      “Abby?” Guy couldn’t quite envision the head covered with soft golden curls studying the workings of a rusted drain.

      “Don’t sound so surprised. She’s pretty handy with a wrench as long as her old man is giving the instructions.”

      As intriguing as the image of Abby Cramer wielding a tool was, Guy realized home repairs were just one more area where she probably had to take charge for her parents.

      “I have a little experience with plumbing. How about if I finish this up for you?”

      Shorty opened his mouth to speak, most likely to object. But then he snapped it shut and glanced at the clock on the laundry-room wall.

      “Won’t your boss be expecting you back at the store?”

      “No, sir. The company encourages employees to assist customers anytime we can, and I happen to be free for the rest of the afternoon.”

      Shorty squinted, seemed reluctant to accept the offer.

      “You gonna charge me by the hour?”

      “There wouldn’t СКАЧАТЬ