RafeHeroes at Heart Page 3

  Parking in the driveway, they barely made it halfway up the front walk before the door opened and a group swarmed out, led by Zander with Miss Ethel on his arm. A light pink, belted shirt-dress hung on her thin, but strong, body, her fingers clinging to Zander. Her hair, now white, was still pulled back in a bun and her eyes, more grey than blue, twinkled just as bright.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she cried out, her hand already reaching for him as he rushed into her arms.

  Towering over her slight frame, he inhaled deeply, the light scent of her rose water perfume filling his mind with memories, as he blinked at the moisture pooling in his eyes. She finally leaned back, peering up at him, her eyes assessing.

  Before she could ask, he assured, “I’m good, Miss Ethel. Now that I’m back home, I’m good.”

  Patting his cheek, she nodded and said, “Well, let’s not stand on the porch. Come on through. We’ve got a nice lunch for you…out in the back where there’s some shade.”

  Rosalie tossed him a smile as she moved to walk with Miss Ethel toward the back of the house and into the kitchen.

  Zander grabbed him in a bear hug, pounding his back as he said, “Good to see you, Rafe. Been too long.”

  As he stepped back, the twins, Jaxon and Jayden, welcomed him in equal fashion before Asher shoved them aside, gaining his hug as well. Zeke, one of Miss Ethel’s later boys who now worked with Zander, was there as well. The men followed the women, making their way into the large kitchen, where platters of fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans, biscuits, and several pies sat ready to be taken outside.

  They made quick work of transporting the food and soon everyone was settled at a long picnic table, Miss Ethel ensconced at the end in her comfortable wicker chair. The table was placed under a large tree, the spring leaves already providing some cover. Looking around, he was pleased to see the backyard had been tended, but knew it was time for fresh mulch. Casting his gaze around, he saw a few jobs that he could help with. Satisfied with that knowledge, he dug into his food.

  “Miss Ethel, you make the best fried chicken I’ve ever tasted,” Rafe enthused. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “Well, thank you, but I’m afraid you need to thank Rosalie. She did the chicken.”

  His eyes widened as he peered down the table at Zander’s beautiful fiancé. “Seriously?”

  Shaking her head, her cheeks pink with a blush, she said, “Well, Miss Ethel taught me her recipe.”

  “And, if I have anything to say about it, they’ll teach me and we’ll start having Miss Ethel’s wings at Grimm’s Bar,” Zeke called out.

  Whipping his head around, he stared at Zander. His best friend had opened his bar when getting out of the military and had been satisfied with just an old-fashioned, no-frills bar. “You finally adding some food?”

  Zander shrugged, his lips twitching. “Not my thing, but if Zeke wants to take it on, we’ll see.”

  “Man, it’s only been a few months since I was last home and things are moving along,” he said, digging into more of Miss Ethel’s and Rosalie’s food.

  “So, how’s California?” Rosalie asked, her sky-blue eyes peeking around Zander as she looked at him. “I’ve never been to the West Coast.”

  Swallowing, he replied, “I was mostly in the mid to southern part. Beaches are pretty…they’ve got palm trees which we don’t have here, but I prefer the beaches here in Virginia. Less crowded.”

  “Well, if you weren’t Mr. Army July Hunk, then you woulda missed out on all that California sunshine.”

  Laughing on the outside, Rafe inwardly cringed. “Yeah, who knows what my life would have been like if it hadn’t been for that calendar.”

  Looking around, he did not mind his friends’ assumption that his modeling career must be a rewarding life, but as his gaze slid to the end of the table, he halted. Miss Ethel’s eyes were focused on him. Offering him a small smile, she simply nodded and continued to eat.

  “So how long are you planning on staying this time?” Asher asked, pushing back from the table as he patted his stomach.

  Wiping his mouth, Rafe looked around the group before pronouncing, “I’m not going back for a while. I’m taking the summer off and spending it here.”

  Rafe looked at Miss Ethel, bent over with the hose in her hand, watering the newly planted flowers. He smiled, the memories of many hours spent in this yard assailing him. For the past two days, he had stayed with her, working in her yard.

  “While I’ve been gone, it looks like the others have done a good job,” he admitted, looking at the yard with a critical eye. The space was not very large, but when she stopped taking in foster boys she added a few more flower gardens along the fence, since there were no more impromptu baseball games to be had.

  She pushed her white hair back into its bun and nodded. “Cael comes to mow and Jayden helps to keep the bushes trimmed. Jaxon always makes sure to keep the sidewalks clear and Zander, along with Asher, takes care of odd jobs. When I need some extra help, Zeke will come over as well.”

  They worked side by side, in silence, for a little longer before she asked, “You want some lemonade?”

  Grinning, he said, “I’ve never turned down your lemonade and don’t plan on starting now. I’ll take the tools back to the shed and meet you in the kitchen.” Taking the small spade from her, he headed off to the shed in the back corner, replacing the implements in their places. Stopping in the mudroom at the back of the house, he washed his hands, splashing cold water over his face and neck.

  With a quick wipe with one of the towels, he headed into the kitchen, noting the plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies sitting on the dining room table next to two glasses of lemonade.

  Waiting until she was seated and served, he sat and helped himself to several cookies. After a moment of companionable silence, he looked over, seeing her observing him carefully. Leaning back, he said, “You’ve been awfully patient, Miss Ethel.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, she grinned, “Oh?”

  “Now, don’t play coy,” he laughed. “You’ve got questions in your eyes.”

  She patted his forearm, saying, “Do you have any gardens to look after in California?”

  Her question caught him off guard, but he answered honestly, “No, ma’am. I live in a tiny apartment over a friend’s garage.”

  “I would have thought a big-time model, like yourself, would have a house with a view…and maybe a yard to tend.”

  Leaning back, he shook his head slowly. “Believe me, I’m not nearly as big-time as you think and, while I could afford something larger, I guess I just never felt at home in California. Plus, I travel so much, it would have been hard to have a house with a yard.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back? To stay?”

  He fiddled with his napkin, his thoughts swirling in his head. “I don’t know, Miss Ethel. I’m twenty-eight years old and you’d think I’d have this all figured out, but life just has a way of taking over.”

  “Yes, yes,” she agreed. “When I first decided to take in a young boy, I had no idea that the next twenty years would be spent raising foster boys.”

  “You definitely found your calling.”

  “Do you think you’ve found yours?” she asked, taking another cookie, munching politely.

  With a definite shake, he replied, “No. Not at all. The military was never going to be my forever career but I figured something would come along when I got out. Since I was a mechanic when I was in, I thought about working as one, but then…well, the Army calendar came out and modeling contracts started rolling in.” Shrugging, he said, “Figured I’d do a few shoots, see where it went. But now, two years later, it’s like my life isn’t my own anymore.” With a self-recriminating chuckle, he admitted, “You were right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you look like, people are going to see what they want to see. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to grow out of that awkward phase but, now that I
have, I’m still being treated a certain way just because of how I look. You were right, you have to be proud of the person you are, because that’s what really matters. That’s how you find happiness.”

  “You have always been a good person, son,” she smiled warmly at him.

  “Thanks, Miss Ethel. I think it’s about time I start surrounding myself with good people, too.”

  Easy quiet settled over them as they finished their treats. Rafe took the glasses and plates to the sink, washing and drying them while Miss Ethel moved to the living room. By the time he joined her there, she was in her chair, the ever-present knitting in her hands. He watched a moment as her fingers worked so quickly, the needles appearing to move of their own volition, making the strings of yarn into a shawl.

  The motion was calming, and he thought back to the many evenings in this room, her spirit seeming to take the random strings of their lives and bringing meaning to them.

  “I have a proposition for you,” she said, startling him out of his musing.

  His gaze jumped to her, but she was still staring at her needles.

  “A proposition?” Intrigued, he could not imagine what she had in mind.

  Laying the knitting down in her lap, she held his gaze. “I’ve heard about someone who needs help…a friend of a friend. You might not be looking for anything to do, but since you have a few months and appear to be at loose ends, I thought you might be interested, since you enjoy working outdoors.”

  She now had his complete attention as he leaned forward, his forearms planted on his knees. “Okay…I’m all ears.”

  “Well, one of the ladies from my church’s knitting circle knows that there’s a woman, a shut-in, living outside the city. Supposedly her house has a large yard and gardens that have now gone unattended.”

  “And you want me to work in her yard?”

  “Well, as much as I love having you here with me, I feel bad knowing there’s someone else who could use your talents and, if you’re not going back to California for a couple of months, you’d have time to whip her gardens into shape.”

  He leaned back and said, “You said she lives outside of town. Sounds like quite a commute.”

  “Oh, goodness me, I forgot to mention there’s a groundskeeper cottage on the grounds.”

  “Groundskeeper cottage? Grounds? How big is this place?”

  “Well, I don’t know, but I don’t think it would be anything you couldn’t handle.”

  “This woman has no family? Sons or grandsons to keep her yard up? Or hire a lawn service?”

  Shrugging slightly, Miss Ethel said, “I don’t believe there is family. I just hate the idea of someone coming in and taking advantage of her. But, please, don’t feel obligated. It was just a thought.”

  He watched as she smiled pleasantly, picking up her knitting, the needles once more clacking. Rubbing his chin, he pondered the situation. I’ve got the time. I’ve got the knowledge. I like the work. I’d have a cottage to myself for the whole summer…no agents, no photographers, no fans.

  “I’ll do it,” he announced suddenly, startling Miss Ethel.

  She jumped slightly, laying her knitting down once more. “My goodness, you didn’t have to make up your mind so soon,” she exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, he admitted, “I need a break, Miss Ethel. I think this just might be exactly the thing to help me figure out the next phase of my life. Even if I go back to California in the fall, at least I’ll have had some time alone to be outside…to think, while helping an elderly lady.”

  Leaning back, he let out a sigh of relief, missing Miss Ethel’s lifted brow and the slight smile curving her lips.

  4

  The dark, rain-filled sky inhibited Rafe’s view, making the drive slow. After having turned onto a winding, narrow lane, several miles off the main road, he peered through the windshield as the wipers swished, slinging water to the edges of the glass. The drive was lined with woods on either side, thick and already green. The narrow lane would make it difficult for two cars to pass, but with a dirt shoulder on either side, he assumed it would be possible with caution, though he hoped he would not have to take that chance.

  The drive wound back and forth, gently leading upward. Coming to a clearing, he slowed the truck to a halt, leaning forward to gain a better view. He stared at the scene in front of him, his mind having difficulty catching up to what his eyes were seeing.

  The grass showed no signs of having been mown lately. The shrubs were overgrown and unshapely. The trees sported dead limbs amongst the ones bearing leaves. What was once flower beds, now lay in complete disregard. As his gaze continued up the continuing long driveway as it rose up the hill, his breath caught in his throat.

  A dark, stone house rose from the edge of a cliff overlooking the James River, shrouded in overgrown trees. The foreboding building had an ominous appearance, almost castle-like with a rounded turret on one corner. For an instant, he wondered where he had seen the house before, then remembered a picture from Zander’s storybook.

  With a shake of his head, he continued up the drive, observing the turnoff for the groundskeeper’s cottage. The gravel lane followed the curve of the wood, ending with the small, one-story cottage, created from the same dark stone as the main house. Sitting near the edge of the surrounding trees, the windows were covered with wooden shutters painted blue, metal latches securing them from the elements.

  The sun was hiding, the rain pouring, and he longed to get inside. Might as well get settled first, so I’m ready to go to work tomorrow. Once he had decided to take Miss Ethel up on her offer to help the shut-in, it took a couple of days for permission to be granted, directions to be given, and instructions to be sent. He was to live in the groundskeeper’s cottage, provide his own food, have full use of the tool garage, and under no circumstances was he to bother the owner. Whatever, he shrugged. A spring and summer, in peace and quiet, working outdoors, not having to make conversation, and not being fawned over…heavenly!

  Parking in the front, he reached for the bag in the seat next to him, making sure to take out the cottage key sent to him. Jogging to the wooden door, he unlocked it quickly, stepping inside. Flipping on the light switch nearest the door, he moved his gaze around, a grin spreading across his face.

  The living room was to the left, a dark blue, overstuffed sofa and striped chair taking up most of the room. A wooden coffee table sat in the middle, but his eyes were drawn to the opposite wall. Where most homes would have a large TV with an entertainment console, instead the wall was floor to ceiling built-in bookshelves, filled with books, surrounding a stone fireplace. A woven rug graced the wooden floor, making the room homey. A flash of living in a Hobbit hole flew through his mind as he swung his gaze around.

  Immediately to the right sat a wooden table and two chairs, with only a short counter separating the room from the small kitchen. From where he stood, he viewed an older model refrigerator and stove. The only nod to modern conveniences was a microwave on the counter.

  A short hall was in front of him, with only three doors. As he moved forward, he found the single bedroom, the bathroom and a room designated as a mudroom, containing a washer and dryer, sink, and hooks for coats and a place for boots near the back door. Peeking into the bathroom, he shook his head at the small space, wondering how his large body would fit into the narrow tub and shower.

  He stepped into the bedroom, spying a single bed, dresser, and small closet. Dropping his bag, he turned and went back to the front door. The rain was still pouring, but he wanted to get his groceries in, so he darted back to the truck, unloading it in haste. Closing the door behind him, he shook his head, sending water droplets all about. Wiping his hand over his face, he moved to place the groceries into the refrigerator and cabinets. Walking into the living room, he stared at the fireplace, wondering how long it had been since it had been lit. Not cold, he still felt like a fire would be perfect in the storybook room.

  Dropping his chin to his ch
est, he wondered what was coming over him. Storybook room? Get a grip, man! Moving to the window, he remembered the wooden shutters were closed on the outside. Opening the front door, he looked through the rain up toward the main house. Every bit as imposing as when he first laid eyes on it, he sighed, thinking of the elderly woman living in that monstrosity.

  Checking the weather prediction on his phone, he saw the rain was supposed to end during the night, making tomorrow the perfect time to investigate the tool garage and begin reclaiming the gardens. Knowing there was nothing else to be done that day, he walked back into the bedroom and unpacked.

  Later, after fixing dinner in the kitchen, he sat at the table eating spaghetti, garlic bread, and salad. He grinned, knowing the carbs would be worked off the next day out in the sunshine and not in a gym. Relishing his meal, he leaned back, patting his stomach when he was finished.

  It felt odd being alone after years of rarely being by himself. He would disappear to his California efficiency at night, but his days were packed with people…lots of people. The incessant noise became background chatter, but without it, he heard every sound—the tick-tock of the clock on the wall and the rain hitting against the glass windows. But mostly, there was peaceful quiet.

  Washing his plates and the cooking pans, he took the extra time to dry them, not having anything else to do. With the kitchen tidy, he moved into the living room, drawn to the bookshelves. Stuffed with hardbacks and paperbacks, he drew his finger along the spines as he studied the eclectic titles. Classics…British, American, French, and a few German. Mysteries. World studies. Religious. Hemingway, Dostoevsky, Wilde, Homer, Dante, Steinbeck, Twain, Dickens…the list went on.

  Humbled that he was standing before a treasure trove of books, he almost dropped to his knees. Miss Ethel had instilled in each of them the power of the written word and he was awed at the fortune found in this tiny cottage. Upon closer inspection, he observed the books were not just someone’s collection, left to gather dust, but they had been lovingly handled. Their spines showing the faint marks where they had been opened, it was not hard to image someone’s fingers turning the pages as they read.