The Blessing Read online

  “I always liked Billy,” Jason said softly.

  “I know you did, and you were always good to him. And that’s why I came by to see how you and Amy were getting along. Amy is the best. She sees the good in people. Don’t get me wrong. She’s not one of these idiots who thinks that everyone who doesn’t have a tail and horns is a good person. It’s just that Amy can see good in a person when others can’t. And her belief in them makes them try harder. Maybe if Billy hadn’t died, she’d have made something good out of him. But then . . . Oh, well, it’s better not to speak ill of the dead. Billy left behind a beautiful wife and Max.”

  Her head came up. “So now, you want to tell me what’s going on and why you’re living with my daughter-in-law in this falling-down old heap?”

  Jason ignored her question. “You want to baby-sit tomorrow? I have to go somewhere.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, a lot of odd things have been happening lately, like someone buying Baby Heaven and Candlelight Gowns and—”

  “What? Someone bought a dress shop?”

  “Yeah. That shop in Carlton that put on the drawing today for that Dior gown. Now, we may be pretty country in Kentucky, but we do know that a place like Candlelight Gowns doesn’t carry a one-off Dior gown. Do you know what that dress cost?”

  “I imagine I’ll be told,” Jason said heavily. “Tell me, did you hear the name of the buyer for this dress shop?”

  Mildred smiled at him as she shook a rattle for Max. “Only that he was from New York. Did you know that the owner of the shop was an old football rival of yours? I seem to remember one game where you were to pass him the ball, but you didn’t. Instead, you ran with it, and made the touchdown that won the game. What was that boy’s name?”

  “Lester Higgins,” Jason said heavily.

  “That’s it. He married a girl whose father owned that shop, and Lester tried for years to make a go of it but couldn’t.” She was watching Jason’s face and her smile was broadening. “So now maybe he finally found someone to take that shop off his hands. Someone who can afford it.”

  “Don’t look at me. I used to be rich, but then I came to visit Abernathy and my resources have plummeted.”

  “Can’t make a profit on a dress shop in Kentucky even when you give away twenty-thousand-dollar gowns as a sales gimmick?”

  Suddenly, Jason grinned at her. “You are still the nosiest gossip in four counties. You want to baby-sit tomorrow?”

  “So you can go to the Bellringers’ Ball? I hear that that jet of yours is paying so much to Jessie Green to use his landing strip that he’s thinking of retiring.”

  Jason groaned. “All right, you win. You get your gossip, but I get someone to take care of Max tomorrow. Deal?”

  “Sure. You call and order pizza while I get the bottle of bourbon from the car. It’s no use looking to see if Amy has any in the house. She’d probably be afraid that Max would drink it.”

  “You haven’t changed, Mildred. Not one bit.”

  “Neither have you,” she said, smiling. “And you were always my favorite.”

  “Along with all the other boys in town,” he said, smiling as he picked up the phone.

  “And you should see him play with Max!” Amy was saying. “He’ll spend twenty minutes encouraging Max to crawl; he has endless patience. And everything good seems to happen when he’s around. I win things, find great bargains, and did I tell you that he does the ironing and lets me sleep?”

  “Twice,” David said, looking down at his salad.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s just that I’ve never lived with anyone so unselfish. Not that I’m really living with him, but, you know . . .” She trailed off, moved her fork around in her lettuce, and wondered what Mr. Wilding and Max were having for dinner.

  “Amy, would you rather go home?” David asked, leaning across the table to her.

  “No, of course not. I’m having a wonderful time. It’s great to get out of the house.”

  “You certainly look nice. That color suits you.”

  “Mr. Wilding bought this for me,” she said before she thought. “All right, that’s it. I promise not to mention his name again. Tell me, did you save any lives today?”

  “Half a dozen at least. Would you like to go dancing after this?”

  “Can’t,” she said, stuffing her mouth full, trying to make up for lost time, since David was nearly finished and she had been talking too much to eat. “Milk,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  Amy took a drink of her lemonade. “Milk. I have to feed Max. I told him that I should work in a dairy, since I can’t get a job anywhere else.”

  “You told Max that?”

  “No, uh, I told . . .”

  “Jason. I see.” For a moment David was silent; then he looked up at Amy. “Did he tell you about the ball tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, but not until after I’d won a dress by Dior.”

  “You won a dress? And by Dior, no less. You have to tell me about this.”

  Amy couldn’t help herself as she rattled off about the whole day, starting with Jason’s ironing, then seeing Julie Wilson in the mall and how Jason bought Max all those clothes. “Of course he has to take them back,” she said, her mouth full of steak, “and he will, but he hasn’t done it yet. We just have to talk about it.”

  “What about the dress?”

  “Oh, yes, the dress.” Amy told him what Sally had said about the store in Carlton going out of business, then having been bought by a new owner, so they were giving away a dress. “And I won it. And a makeover, so tomorrow I should look presentable.”

  “You always look presentable,” David said, but Amy didn’t seem to notice the compliment.

  “In my case I’m glad the dress is strapless, as it makes for easy access.” She had meant that as a joke, but when she looked up at David’s intense stare, she turned red. “Sorry. I’m forgetting where I am. I make breast-feeding jokes all the time and I shouldn’t. They’re tasteless.” Heaven help her, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Well, maybe not tasteless to Max. Especially after I eat something hot and spicy.” She gave David a weak smile. “Sorry.”

  “Do you and Jason share jokes?” David asked softly.

  “Yes. He’s a good audience, and he laughs at my jokes no matter how tasteless they are.”

  “But not to Jason.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You just said that your jokes weren’t tasteless to Max, and I said they weren’t tasteless to Jason either.”

  Amy looked at him blankly, still not understanding. “Yes, of course. This is good; what is it?”

  “Beef.”

  “Ah, yes. Did I tell you about Charles?”

  “This is another man?”

  “No, silly, he’s the one who makes the baby food you gave me. He’s a beautiful man, and you should have told me the truth.”

  “Yes, I should have. Why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  “You’d be bored.”

  “No, honest,” he said. “I’m beginning to find this whole story fascinating. I’m meeting new people I’ve never met before. There’s the very funny and unselfish Jason. And there’s Max the Huggable. And now there’s Charles the Beautiful. Who else is in your life?”

  Amy jammed a piece of meat the size of a golf ball in her mouth, then made motions that she couldn’t talk until she’d chewed it.

  “Amy!” came a masculine voice from beside them. “Don’t you look divine? Are we still on for New Year’s Eve?”

  Amy waved her hands and pointed toward her full mouth as she looked up at Ian Newsome.

  “I think Amy is going to be busy on New Year’s Eve,” David said firmly, glaring up at the man.

  “Is that so? Did you get my Christmas gift, Amy?” Ian asked, smiling down at her.

  Amy, still chewing, shook her head no.

  “Oh? Then I’ll have to bring it over myself on Christmas morning. Or maybe I should say that I’ll drive
it over.” He turned to David. “How’s that little clinic of yours doin’, Doc? Still beggin’ people to donate to it? And are you still livin’ in that tiny house over on River Road?” Before David could reply, he turned back to Amy, winked, waved, and was gone.

  “I really hate that bastard, don’t you?”

  Amy found that she hadn’t yet finished chewing the huge piece of steak.

  “You want some dessert?”

  “Milk,” Amy mumbled. “Max.”

  “Yeah, sure,” David said, then signaled for the waitress to bring the check. “Might as well leave. What a night!”

  Amy wouldn’t allow David to walk her to the front door. She felt guilty that she didn’t, since, after all, he had paid for such a nice dinner for her and he was taking her to the ball tomorrow, but still, she just wanted to be inside. “I’m home,” she called out softly, and when there was no answer, she had a moment of panic. Had Mr. Wilding gone? Had he taken Max?

  But in the next second Jason appeared, Max in his arms, tears on the baby’s face. “Gimme, gimme,” Amy said, stretching out her arms. “I’m bursting.” In seconds, she was on the couch and Max was happily sucking.

  “Have a good time?” Jason asked, standing over her.

  “Oh, sure. Great. Is there any of that casserole left from lunch?”

  “I think so,” he said, smiling down at her pleading look for a moment; then he went into the kitchen and filled a plate full of cold salad and cold meat. “You need one of those quick ovens,” he said as he handed her the plate.

  Amy took the plate with one hand, but she had no lap to set it on. While looking about, Jason took the plate from her, cut off a bite, and fed it to her on a fork. “A microwave,” she said when her mouth was empty. “But Charles’s food is good cold or hot. Did you have dinner?”

  “Yes, and I thought you did too, so why are you hungry?” He fed her a piece of potato in a dill sauce.

  “You know,” she said, waving her hand; then she turned sharply. “What’s that?”

  “The coffee table,” he said, scooping up cold beef cooked with red wine. “Or it’s supposed to be, I guess. Maybe we could find a furniture store that’s going out of business.” He was referring to the big electrical spool that she had in the middle of the room.

  “No, that,” Amy said, mouth still full.

  “The glass? It’s a glass. Haven’t you seen one before?”

  She ignored his attempt at humor. “What is on the glass?”

  Jason turned, stared at the single glass sitting on the table; then, with his back to Amy, he smiled. He was sober when he looked back at her. “Lipstick,” he said. “Red lipstick.”

  “It’s not mine.” She was looking at him as hard as she could as he put more food into her mouth.

  “Don’t look at me. It’s not mine either.”

  “I know that all gays aren’t cross-dressers,” she said. “So whose lipstick is that?”

  “Ahhhhh.”

  “Jason!”

  “What happened to ‘Mr. Wilding’?”

  As she switched Max to the other side, she still glared at him. “Did you have a guest?”

  “I did, actually. Nice of you to ask.”

  “I don’t think you should have,” she said tightly. “You never know what a person has in mind when a baby is involved. I am very concerned about Max’s safety.”

  “Me too, but then this was a woman I’ve known for a while.” He fed her the last bite on the plate.

  “I think you should have asked my permission before you invited a woman into this house. Into my house, that is.”

  “I’ll do that next time. You want something to drink? I have some beer. Max would probably like it.”

  “So who was she?”

  “Who was she who?”

  “The woman who left red lipstick on that glass, that’s who.”

  “Just a friend. What about a Coke? Or a Seven-Up?”

  Amy glared at him. “You’re not answering me.”

  “And you’re not answering me. What do you want to drink?”

  “Nothing,” she said, inexplicably feeling very angry. Max had fallen asleep before he’d finished nursing, and she knew she should wake him, but she didn’t have the heart to do it. Instead, she just wanted to go to bed. What business was it of hers if he had visitors, male or female? “I’m very tired,” she said, picking up Max and turning toward her bedroom. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” he said cheerfully, then went to his own bedroom.

  Hours later Jason awoke to the sound of glass breaking and immediately swung his long legs off the bed. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, the light still on as he went over a market report for a company he was trying to buy.

  In the kitchen he found Amy, a broken glass on the floor, and she was trying to pick up the pieces with her bare hands while walking about in her bare feet.

  “Get back from that,” he said, annoyed. “You’re going to cut yourself.” When she looked up at him with pain-filled eyes, he knew that something was wrong. Striding across the glass in his bedroom slippers, he swept Amy into his arms and carried her to a chair by the kitchen table. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Just a headache. It’s nothing,” she managed to whisper, but even that slight sound made a look of pain cross her face, and she shifted uncomfortably on the seat.

  “Nothing?” he said. “How about if I drive you to the emergency room of the hospital and let a doctor have a look at you?”

  “I have some pills,” she said, then gestured vaguely toward her bedroom. “They’re in—”

  She broke off because Jason had left the room, but in seconds he was back with his cell phone to his ear. “I don’t care what time it is or whether you ever get any sleep,” he said into the receiver. “I’m not a doctor, but I can see when someone is in serious pain. What do I do with her?”

  “Right,” Jason said into the phone. “And how long has she had these? Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. I’ll call you if I need you again.”

  Jason put down the phone and looked at Amy. “David said hot compresses and massage. And he’s given you pills that you were to take at the first sign of pain. Why didn’t you take them?”

  “I was busy,” she said, looking up at him with mournful eyes. “I’m sorry to keep you up, but my head hurts so much.”

  Jason went to the sink, turned on the tap, let it run to get hot, then soaked a tea towel in the hot water. “Here, now,” he said, handing it to her. “Wrap this around your forehead and tell me where the pills are.”

  But when Amy started to speak, she had to close her eyes against the pain, so Jason bent, swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. In her bathroom medicine cabinet he found a bottle of pills that were labeled “For migraine,” so he brought two of them and a glass of water to Amy.

  He meant to leave her then, but she was curled into a ball and he knew that tension and lack of sleep had as much to do with the headache as anything else. David said on the phone that new mothers often got headaches and what they needed more than pills was TLC.

  When Jason sat down on the bed beside Amy, she started to protest, but he didn’t listen to her. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard and pulled her up so she was leaning against his chest. The washcloth had grown cold, and her hair around her forehead was damp, either from the compress or from sweat, he didn’t know which.

  Gently, he put his long, strong fingers to the back of her neck and began to massage. At the first groan from Amy, that was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he stroked her neck and up to her head, and as the minutes ticked by, he could feel her neck and head relaxing. “Trust me,” he said when she didn’t want to seem to relax completely.

  But his deep strokes made her forget any awkwardness of their being in bed together, and seemed to make her forget everything else in the world. His hands moved down her back, running along her spine, then outward over her ribs, then back up her arms. There
was a lot of tension in her upper arms, and he managed to release it.

  After about thirty minutes she was limp in his arms, fully supported by him, as trusting of him as Max was.

  In another ten minutes Jason realized that she was asleep, so he gently put her down on the pillow and eased his long legs from under her body. When he was standing by the bed, he pulled the cover over her; then, on impulse, he kissed her cheek and tucked her in as though she were three years old.

  Smiling, he turned away to leave the room.

  “Thank you,” he heard Amy whisper as he started back to his own bedroom, and Jason smiled in answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHEN JASON FIRST HEARD THE SOUNDS IN THE KITCHEN and knew they weren’t the sounds of Amy and Max, he frowned. Already it had become part of his life to hear Max’s high-pitched squeal and Amy’s laughter at the morning antics of her son. But then, on second thought, maybe it was just Amy in the kitchen.

  With a wicked grin on his face, he got out of bed wearing only the bottom of his pajamas and sauntered into the kitchen. Then, to his pure disgust, he found it was Charles in there, puttering around with the knobs on the stove.

  “Expecting someone else?” he asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked Jason up and down, noting his bare chest.

  Jason returned to his bedroom to pull on jeans and a shirt before he spoke to his chef. “What are you doing here at this hour?” Jason growled as he sat down at the table and ran his hand over his unshaven face. “And how did you get in here?”

  “I’m trying to work this powerless range, and you told Cherry that there was a key under the mat, remember? And, besides, it’s after nine in the morning. And what were you doing last night to make you sleep so late?” Charles asked with a lascivious little smirk.

  “I remember telling Parker where the key was, not you,” Jason said pointedly, ignoring Charles’s insinuations.

  Charles was unperturbed. “She’s not really your type, is she?”