New Man in Town Page 12

  She said uncertainly, “Will you tell me about being adopted or would you rather not?”

  “No, I don’t mind.” Regret tugged at him. He hadn’t told Alanna. In the end, the confession had driven a stake into their wedding plans. “When I talk about my childhood, I sometimes feel like I’m talking about someone else.”

  She understood. She felt the same way about the years before her mother had died.

  Peter steeled himself for Thea’s possible reaction. “My mother was ill. She suffered from severe mood swings, manic depression. At the time, there were very few drugs available to help her. Not as many as there are now.” He could still hear an echo from the past—Alanna’s mother’s horrified voice exclaiming, “Mental problems! They can be inherited!”

  “How awful for her, for you.”

  He paused, touched by Thea’s quick sympathy for his mother. “Mom took good care of me. When she had to be institutionalized off and on, she left me with my grandmother. But when my grandmother died, my mother had no other relatives who would help.”

  “How sad.”

  “So when I was seven, my mother went into a state institution. I ended up in foster care.”

  “But Irene and Aldo said they adopted you when you were thirteen.”

  “I was in the foster care system in Milwaukee for about four years. No one wanted a troublesome kid with an attitude.” He grinned wryly.

  But Thea wasn’t deceived. He’d been hurt. A kid with an attitude. She said gently, “I bet you were a cute kid with an attitude.”

  He gave her half a chuckle.

  “Here’s the turn,” Thea murmured.

  He turned down a narrow, evergreen-lined road. Several winding turns brought them to a dead end beside a lake where a small dilapidated café huddled. Its weathered roof looked like it leaked. He glanced at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes, they have the best burgers in the county.”

  The many vehicles already parked outside reassured Peter slightly. “Okay, I’ll pull up by the door and let you out.”

  “No, I’m already wet.” Thea gave him a teasing grin. “Besides I’m sure I can outrun you.”

  A large spontaneous smile took over his face. “I don’t believe that.” He parked as close as he could to the entrance, then reached for the door handle.

  “Wait!” Thea strung her purse over her shoulder and put her hand on the door release. “Ready, get set, go!”

  They threw open their doors and sprinted toward the bright pink neon sign which glowed, The End of the Road Inn.

  Thea screamed with pleasure as she beat Peter by a hair and shoved open the door. He crowded in behind her, pushing her in farther.

  “Well!” a contralto voice announced, “another couple of drippy customers.”

  “Franny, we’re drenched!” Thea called back happily.

  “Got just what you two need.” A tall, bony woman in blue jeans and a frayed sweatshirt tossed them each a large bath towel. “There’ll be a towel charge added to dinner tonight. Also a ‘you’re nuts for coming out on a night like this’ charge. Now stand there till you dripdry some.”

  In between quick breaths, Thea giggled at this welcome, then turned to Peter, “You see, a little rain is not a problem at The End of the Road.” She hung the towel over her shoulder with her purse.

  Peter, his pulse still racing from the dash through the rain, only shook his head. Beads of water from his wet hair dripped down his forehead. As he rubbed the towel over his hair and face, he watched Thea bend forward and twist her hair like wringing out laundry. Then she did the same to her skirt, gathering it to one side and wringing it out onto the linoleum. Appearing in public, disheveled and drenched, only made Thea laugh!

  Thea smiled to herself. As always only the garish neon beer signs around the bar and candles on each table illuminated the restaurant. She didn’t have to feel as though she were on display or that her clinging dress would be immodest Even so, when she finished wringing all the excess water from her cotton dress and hair, she draped the damp towel around her shoulders modestly like a shawl.

  After hanging up his sodden sport jacket to dripdry, Peter rid himself of rainwater by shaking his legs to fling moisture from his slack hems.

  “You do that just like Molly.” Thea teased, leaning toward him.

  Oh, he wanted to kiss her sweet mouth. Thea, could you care for me? Restraining himself, he grinned wryly. “Thanks. Being compared to a dog completes this charming evening.”

  “But Molly’s such a sweet dog.” The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. What did this man possess that loosened her shy tongue?

  Leaning close enough to kiss her, Peter asked in a low voice, “Well, I have been known to be a loyal and faithful companion.”

  “Okay, you two have dried off enough,” Franny interrupted. “I got a lake-view booth for you.”

  “Wonderful!” Thea introduced Franny to Peter.

  “Nice to meet you,” the woman said gruffly. “Glad to see Thea out for a change.”

  Thea blushed. Even though it might be true, she didn’t appreciate her lack of dates announced to the world.

  Peter responded, “The guys around here must be blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other.”

  Franny hooted with laughter. “You said it. But mostly it’s that grandmother of yours, Thea. She made sure she scared everyone away so you wouldn’t run off and marry someone she didn’t approve of.”

  The older woman’s frankness shocked Thea.

  Franny tossed down the two menus on the table of a booth along the lake side of the restaurant. “You strong enough to stand up to that old battle-ax, Peter?”

  “I have already.” Peter let Thea slide in, then he sat across from her.

  “Good.” Franny marched away.

  Peter looked at Thea. “Is she always so outspo-ken?”

  “Franny’s always unpredictable, but not usually this outrageous.”

  “Maybe it’s the weather. The negative ions or something.” The high-backed wooden booth lit by the flickering candle looked cozy and private to Peter and he began to think better of The End of the Road.

  Thea smiled tightly.

  “Now, you said the burgers are great here?”

  “Yes, and the waffle fries.” Fortunately they’d come to a familiar place. She would have been frozen into high politeness at the Hunt Club Inn. Peter’s effect on her had grown, leaving her off-kilter.

  “Waffle fries! Oh, woman! How did you know they’re my favorite!”

  As he teased her, Peter’s intense gaze never left her face. Heady awareness of him flowed and pooled inside her.

  She slid forward against the table. Peter, come closer.

  Franny stomped back to them. Thea pushed back against the back of the seat.

  While Peter gave Franny their orders, he looked across the scarred, worn table at Thea. In spite of her sodden condition, she looked lovely and unruffled. Her hair, pulled back wet and sleek, drew even greater attention to her large eyes, high cheekbones and delicate mouth.

  He wanted to tell her that her beauty left him breathless, but he knew she’d only be amazed at the comment. He’d been drawn by her elegance, but her naturalness and lack of coquetry were even more valuable. Thea, you’re one in a million.

  Plumbing the depth of these thoughts, he sat drinking in the sight of Thea, as he sipped his soft drink through a long straw. He listened to the thunder and watched the flashes of lightning outside the windows, feeling the same kind of tumult inside himself.

  As Thea listened to the voices of the other diners, the rattle of the windows with each clap of thunder and Franny barking orders to the cook, she and Peter sat together, cozy and content within the high-backed booth.

  Peter’s wet hair was drying into a jumble of black curls. One fell onto his forehead. How she wanted to reach out and arrange it for him. With his olive skin and high cheekbones, he made her think of a Renaissance painting of an Italian gent
leman. Fancifully she imagined him holding out his hand to draw her into a dance. A minuet played in her mind.

  Peter relaxed completely. All he needed was to hear Thea’s melodic voice to make him totally happy. “What were we talking about when the storm hit?”

  She played with the straw in her glass. “You were telling me about your being a foster child. How did Irene and Aldo come to adopt you?”

  “I was sent to them as a last resort.” As he told her the truth, a frisson of anxiety went through him. Better now than later. “I’d gotten into trouble. I was twelve by then and pretty much unmanageable. You see, I was afraid that my mom’s illness would come out in me and I couldn’t handle that. And I felt worthless—my dad didn’t even stay around long enough to marry my mom.” He waited for her response to the fact he was illegitimate.

  Thea touched his hand for just a moment.

  He breathed a silent sigh of relief. Alanna had been upset he hadn’t been honest earlier. And her parents had been terrified of the less-than-perfect genes his mother had given him. “The social worker gave me to the Dellas as a last chance. I tested them to their limits, but they didn’t give up on me. Not even when I was picked up for shoplifting and suspended from school repeatedly for getting into fights. None of it mattered to them.”

  Now Thea understood why highrisk boys were so important to him. Peter had been a highrisk kid. She inched her hand across the wooden table and let it rest next to his. “They seem like those kind of people.”

  “They taught me about God’s love, showed me how to live, how to love myself and others.” His hand tingled at the nearness of hers.

  Thea pursed her lips, then bent her head. “I wish my grandmother had taught me those lessons.” She surprised herself again with her own frankness.

  His hand closed over hers. His voiced sounded husky in his own ears. “Someone must have taught you those.”

  She glanced up, giving him a look of gratitude.

  He lifted her hand, intending to kiss it.

  Franny brought the basket of hot onion rings and plopped it down in front of them. “Those are fresh from the fryer. Don’t burn yourselves.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Peter teased, flashing the woman a smile to distract her while he lowered Thea’s hand, but he didn’t release it.

  Franny punched his arm. “I like this one, Thea. Keep him.”

  Thea blushed. Franny, please!

  Alone again, Peter ventured to taste an onion ring, but they were too hot to touch. “I find it hard to believe your grandmother raised you.”

  Comfort like warmed honey flooded Thea. Peter had lived the loss of a parent, too. And he held her hand as if she were precious to him. Could I be special to you, Peter? Though her mind whirled with ideas and sensations, she made herself chuckle dryly. “On that she would agree with you. But I didn’t lose my mother until I was ten.”

  Franny plunked down two baskets with huge burgers nestled in the heart of sizzling, golden waffle fries. “Enjoy.”

  Peter let go of her hand. For a few moments, he devoted himself to his juicy burger.

  Thea enjoyed his enthusiasm over the viands Franny had delivered. A little juice trickled down the side of Peter’s mouth. Boldly she dabbed it away with a paper napkin.

  Peter grinned. “Thanks.”

  She ducked her head. To cover her slight embarrassment, she asked, “I can understand now why you want to help young boys. But why a camp?”

  “The summer after I was adopted I went to a church camp. That’s where I became a Christian. Knowing Christ changed my life. God finished healing my broken heart. He healed my soul. I began to want the same for other boys like me, ones who didn’t have great adoptive parents like I did.”

  Thinking of all the conflict over the camp, Thea shook her head.

  “Doesn’t that make sense to you?” Peter asked.

  “It makes a lot of sense to me,” she said firmly. “It’s just too bad Mr. Crandon can’t hear this.” She picked up her burger and took a bite.

  Peter looked up, startled. “Does that mean you are changing your mind about staying neutral?”

  “You said you wouldn’t ask me that.” She put down her burger.

  “Sorry. I thought that’s what you meant.”

  Thea groped for words to explain her hesitance. “I want to be thought of as an individual, not just a shadow of my grandmother or someone else.”

  “But I wouldn’t do that.”

  Oh, really? But aloud, she said, “Not on purpose. But, Peter, you’re like a tidal wave!”

  He chuckled. “My mother has called me a tornado in the past.” He popped a French fry into his mouth and chewed it cheerfully.

  She gave him a slight grin. “Do you understand then?”

  “Not really. But that is part of your charm.” He reached over and took her hand again. His touch persuaded her more than his words.

  Much later that night, Peter drove up Thea’s road. The evening had taken unexpected turns, but Peter had learned much about Thea while he changed a tire, then teased her in the booth at The End of the Road Inn. What a name!

  He drove with one hand because Thea held his other. She made him feel as though it were the very first time he’d held hands with any woman. Everything about her drew him—her natural fragrance after the rain had washed away the Lily of the Valley. The softness of her hands. The feeling of rightness—he was meant to be here, to hold her hand, to let her know how special she was.

  He’d told Thea the truth about his background and she’d understood and accepted the past for what it was—events which had gone before, separate from the present and the future. A flat tire, a storm and a humble café had set the evening apart, made it memorable.

  A formal dinner—all politeness and decorum— would have been an empty, sterile experience in comparison. He’d asked God for a perfect evening with Thea and his prayer had been answered—though much differently than he had anticipated.

  He stopped beside Thea’s door and turned to her. Now, the perfect ending to their first evening together—a first kiss. Still holding her hand, he pulled her toward him. He brushed her lips with his. “Thea,” he whispered.

  Thea pulled away. “Peter, something’s wrong. Look!”

  Hearing real alarm in her voice, he looked over his shoulder where she pointed to his camp.

  “I see the county sheriff’s car.” Fear came through her voice.

  Then Cynda’s voice shouting, “Thea! Peter! Come quick!”

  Chapter Nine

  His heart racing, Peter shouldered open his door. By the time he’d jumped out of his vehicle, Thea had reached the front and halted near him. Even though the high yard lights illuminated the camp, Peter could only see the sheriffs car distinctly. What could have happened?

  Panting loudly, Cynda reached them.

  “What is it, Cynda?” Thea caught her stepsister by both arms. “Are you hurt?”

  Thea voiced Peter’s overriding thought.

  Cynda swallowed. “I was away with Thad. We got back when the storm calmed down a little. Thad dropped me off because he had to get home. His mom’s a real…stickler about getting home—”

  “Tell me what happened?” Peter asked impatiently.

  “Oh!” Startled, Cynda looked at him. “The sheriff’s waiting for you, Peter.”

  Frustrated by Cynda’s wandering style, Peter nudged Thea toward the fence.

  Thea took her stepsister’s arm gently and drew her along with them. “Tell us while we walk over. We shouldn’t keep the sheriff waiting. First of all, was anyone hurt, Cynda?”

  Peter held his breath, ready to sprint ahead if harm had come to his parents.

  Cynda said, “No, just some more vandalism.” Cynda’s tone became more lively, “Hey, Thea, you didn’t tell me about the first time there was vandalism before I came. Wow—you must have been scared to death!”

  Thea replied in her unruffled voice, “Yes, I was a bit nervous.”

  Peter picked up h
is pace, running now. First Thea had been terrorized, now his parents. The yard lights around the camp were alight, etching the landscape with ominous-looking shadows. While his parents had gone about their business, what had lurked in those shadows? His mind refused to take it in. He’d never have left tonight if he’d had any inkling of trouble. He reached the sheriff, standing in the doorway of the lodge, first.

  “Peter!” Mom peeked around the sheriff. “How was your dinner? The storm didn’t spoil it, did it?”

  Peter blinked his eyes as he walked into the light. Mom and Dad waited inside the lodge’s large living room. He noted his mom had made a pot of tea, her answer to all crises. Everyone looked unharmed. “What’s happened?”

  “Your vandal or a new one damaged the camp’s canoes,” the sheriff replied.

  The news slammed Peter full force. The canoes! It would cost hundreds to replace them! His fists clenched and clenched again. When he surfaced from the haze of his stormy thoughts, his mother was explaining, “Your father and I went out to the fish fry at the VFW hall. When we got home, we didn’t notice anything. It was dark by then, son. Then we heard Thea’s dog barking.”

  Peter started pacing to release his inner commotion.

  Mom offered Thea a cup of tea. Thea accepted it. “And Molly doesn’t bark without a good reason.”

  Peter’s dad picked up the story. “I went out. Molly ran back for me and took me right to the canoes stacked against each other by the boathouse.”

  Peter jammed his hands into his pockets.

  Irene said, “Dad yelled up to me to get the sheriff on the line.”

  The sheriff leaned back against the doorjamb. “It’s just the canoes. A quick puncture in the bottom of each one. Wouldn’t have taken someone long.”

  I should have been here. I should have expected something tonight, my first night back.

  Thea glanced up at her stepsister. “Did you hear Molly barking?”

  “When Thad brought me home, Molly greeted us. Everything was cool. But a while later Molly started barking, then she got quiet and I heard Aldo shouting to Irene about the sheriff. So I started to run over, but the phone rang.”