Her Small-Town Hero. Arlene James

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      “Work she did, though,” Holt added. “More than I ever realized until I had to take over her job myself.”

      “Then essentially I’d be replacing you?” Cara exclaimed, pointing. Ace burbled something unintelligible and copied her gesture. Cara quickly pushed both their hands under the table, cheeks heating.

      “That’s the idea,” Holt said dryly. He seemed to doubt she could do it. Just the way he swept his hard gaze over her seemed to pronounce her lacking somehow.

      Hap waved a hand. “Now, now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” He pointed his fork at Cara. “You and the boy stay the night, take a good look around, think on it, and we’ll all pray this thing to a conclusion. How does that sound?”

      Cara smiled, feeling cautiously hopeful for the first time in months. “That sounds fine.”

      “Does that mean we get black-eyed peas tomorrow?” Holt asked, digging into his food again.

      “Mmm, maybe some greens, too,” Hap said longingly. “There ought to be a can in there. I hope there’s a can in there.”

      “I think I’m not used to the same kind of cooking you’re used to eating,” Cara confessed.

      “Oh, it’s simple fare,” Hap said, “nothing you can’t manage, I reckon.”

      “It’s sure to beat his cooking,” Holt said, wagging his fork at Hap.

      Hap pretended to take offense, frowning and grinning. “My cooking’s what’s kept these skin and bones together these past weeks, son, and don’t you forget it. How many meals have you cooked since your sister married? Answer me that.”

      “None,” Holt admitted. He grinned at Cara, grooves bracketing his mouth. Suddenly he looked heart-stoppingly attractive, sitting there in his faded chambray shirt that emphasized his strong, wide shoulders. “I like breathing even more than eating,” he quipped and went back to doing just that.

      “There you are!” Hap declared, slapping a hand lightly against the edge of the table. He looked cajolingly to Cara. “So do we get them black-eyed peas?”

      “Black-eyed peas,” Cara promised, gulping. “For tradition’s sake.”

      But, oh, she thought, watching Holt chew a big bite of steak, I could use just a little luck, too.

      Cara looked around the tiny, crowded bedroom with dismay. It still contained much that belonged to its previous owner: books, photos, various other keepsakes, even a yellowed set of crocheted doilies. An old-fashioned four-poster bed, dresser, domed-top trunk and wicker laundry hamper left only a narrow corridor of walking space around the bed.

      She felt Holt at her back, watching her judge the room, and fought the urge to curl into a tight little ball. She’d hoped never again to live in someone else’s space, meeting their standards rather than her own, always the outsider, never truly belonging or having control of her own life.

      Hitching Ace a little higher on her hip, their outer garments clutched in one hand, she bucked up enough courage to say, “I think we’ll be more comfortable renting a room for the night.”

      After a moment of silence, Holt replied, “I’ll get a room key for you.”

      Relieved, Cara watched him stride for the lobby. After she’d taken a look at those frozen black-eyed peas—and thankfully found the preparation a simple matter of stewing in water for an hour or so—Hap had suggested Holt show her where she could stay the night. She’d never expected to be offered a room in the apartment.

      A chime sounded as Holt crossed the room. Hap, who was stacking dishes in the kitchen, having insisted on helping her clean up after the meal, exclaimed, “Tell ’em I’ll be right out!”

      Just then the door opened and two elderly men appeared, their happy voices calling, “We’re here!”

      One of the newcomers wore dark pants and a white shirt beneath a sweater vest. More portly than the other, he boasted glasses with heavy black frames and a luxurious head of snow-white hair. The other, dressed in denim and flannel, possessed neither. Spying Cara and Ace, they stepped forward.

      “Looks like y’all started the party without us,” the flannel-shirted man said.

      The other elbowed him and, without taking his eyes off Cara, commented, “Justus, your idea of a party is a bag of potato chips and a root beer.”

      “Yessiree-bob, ’specially if it comes with a purty gal.” He nodded at Cara, eyes sparkling.

      Holt laughed, and the sound resonated from the top of Cara’s head to the very tips of her toes. He looked over one shoulder at her. “This is Teddy Booker and Justus Inman, two of the best domino players around. Otherwise, they’re harmless. Fellows, meet Cara Jane Wynne. And the little guy’s Ace.”

      Cara nodded, and the men nodded back, speculation lighting their eyes.

      The chime came again, and Holt looked past them into the outer room. “Land sakes, Marie,” he said, going forward, “is all that food? Come here and let me kiss your feet.”

      General laughter followed, during which a woman remarked, “Well, I know you poor things are still missing Charlotte, and it’s no party without fixings.”

      Holt went out into the other room, followed by Misters Booker and Inman. Holt seemed an altogether different fellow than the one she’d known thus far, Cara mused. Why, he could be downright charming when he wanted to be.

      She carried Ace to the table and began dressing them both for the outside. She’d tossed on her own jacket and had just pulled the sweater over Ace’s head when Hap hitched his way into the dining area, grinning happily.

      “We’re having a few friends in for dominoes,” he announced. “That’s our chief pastime around here. Figured we might as well usher out the old year that way. You two are welcome to join us.”

      “Oh. No, thank you,” Cara refused quickly, stuffing a little arm into a sleeve. “He needs a bath and then bed.” The ripe smell of her son told her that he was more than ready for a fresh diaper, too.

      “I have your room key right here,” Holt said, reappearing. He looked to Hap. “Cara Jane thinks she’d be more comfortable in a rental unit tonight.”

      “Sure,” Hap agreed, heading off to join his guests. “No charge, on account of that dinner. We got plenty of space, and these jokers do tend to be a mite loud. You change your mind about the party, though,” he told her, “you come on over, you hear?”

      Cara nodded and smiled, tugging Ace’s sweater down. Hap disappeared into the other room, where someone shouted, “Let the games begin!”

      Holt closed the door behind him, saying, “I’m going to put you in Number Six. There’s just one bed and more room for the portable crib that way.”

      “That’s fine,” Cara said, wrapping Ace’s jacket around him and gathering him against her chest. She’d found sharing a bed with her little son like sleeping with a whirling dervish. Pleased with the unexpected luxury of a crib, she reached for the key.

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