Samantha's Gift Page 7

  “Thank heavens for small favors.”

  Martha sighed. She eyed the petite blond girl clinging to her daughter’s hand and gazing up at her lovingly. “Speaking of small, how did you two like Children’s Church?”

  “We had a lovely time, didn’t we, Samantha?”

  The child nodded.

  “Hannah and I were talking about going out for Sunday dinner at Linden’s Buffet,” Martha said. “Would you like to join us?”

  “What about Hank?” Rachel asked. She knew Hannah’s husband well enough to be sure he wouldn’t appreciate being left out of any meal, let alone an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  “Went fishin’ out to the lake,” Hannah said. “Serves him right for leavin’ me home alone. ’Sides, he took every bit o’ the chicken I’d fried. Didn’t even leave me a cold ole drumstick.”

  “In that case, I think you definitely deserve a restaurant meal,” Rachel said, smiling. “I’d love to come along.” She felt the child’s grip on her hand tighten. “We both would. Wouldn’t we, Samantha?”

  “Okay,” Hannah said. “But she rides with me. That’s the rules. I been at this fostering business long enough to know better’n to break ’em.” She held out a hand. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go.”

  The little girl hesitated. Rachel looked down kindly. “She’s right, honey. She’s responsible for you. I’ll meet you at the restaurant. I promise.”

  Instead of arguing as she’d expected, Samantha went straight to Hannah. She trusts me, Rachel thought. Completely. And because of that she also trusts Hannah. That was a new development, a very welcome one.

  Rachel’s eyes met the foster mother’s, paused, then went to Martha’s. Understanding flowed among them. Everyone knew what had just happened. Rachel rejoiced. What better place than in church to learn that her efforts were being rewarded.

  And what better place to give thanks. She blinked slowly, reverently, silently grateful for the clear confirmation that she was doing the right thing in regard to the lonely child. No matter what anyone said, she knew she’d been meant to help Samantha. And that was exactly what she intended to continue doing.

  Linden’s Buffet was located in a strip mall in East Serenity, well away from the older part of town. On Sunday mornings the restaurant opened at eleven to accommodate the after-church crowd, then closed early. With such a brief window of opportunity, the buffet was always swamped, especially right after noon.

  Martha rode over with Hannah and Samantha. Rachel thought it would be best to reinforce the foster mother’s authority by driving separately. Slowed by the only traffic light in the entire town and unable to find a parking place on her first circuit through the Linden’s lot, she entered a few minutes after the others. They’d already been seated. Samantha and Hannah were on one side of the table. Martha was alone on the other.

  Breathless and grinning, Rachel joined them. “Whew! Thanks for saving me a seat. I’ve never seen this place so busy.”

  Martha made a face. “You don’t get out much, do you.”

  “Not on Sunday mornings. You know very well I usually go straight home after church, change clothes and work in the yard. My garden gets away from me if I don’t.” Her smile widened. “Which reminds me. I have another batch of ripe zucchini for you, Mom.”

  “Oh, goody.” There was no doubt of the older woman’s sarcasm.

  Rachel giggled. “I knew you’d be thrilled. I suppose I can spare a few vine-ripened tomatoes to go with it, providing you’ll promise to take the squash off my hands, too.”

  “’Course I will.” Martha winked at Hannah. “The last squashes she gave me were big enough to use as baseball bats!”

  “I’ll take some if you really have too many,” Hannah said.

  “Sure do.” Rachel laughed at the scrunched-up face Samantha was making. She leaned closer to say, “It’s very good for you,” but the child’s expression didn’t improve. Obviously, there were some barriers that even a pseudo-angel couldn’t overcome, zucchini consumption being one of them.

  “Well, shall we go fill our plates before all the food is gone?” she asked.

  “I’ll wait here with the purses and order our drinks when the waitress finally gets around to us,” Hannah offered. She gave the little girl beside her a pat and a kindly smile. “You can go ahead with Miss Rachel if you want to, Sam.”

  Rachel mouthed a silent Thank you, and held out her hand. Samantha immediately latched on to it, and they both followed Martha toward the steaming buffet tables.

  “I’m going to start with salad,” Rachel said, looking down at the child to check her reaction. It was predictably negative.

  “Not me,” Martha said, grinning. “I’m going straight for the pizza and the Mexican stuff, like tacos.” She reached out toward the child. “Anybody who doesn’t want to eat rabbit food can come with me.”

  Samantha didn’t ask Rachel, she merely looked up at her to request permission with her eyes.

  “Go ahead,” Rachel told her. “I don’t mind.”

  The child shyly accepted the older woman’s hand. Watching them walk off together, Rachel was struck with an impression: her mother behaving like a grandmother. She would make a wonderful one, wouldn’t she. No wonder she was so eager to see the next generation come into being.

  “What I need to find is a man who already has kids,” Rachel muttered under her breath. “Like that Mitch guy Brianne Bailey married last year.”

  The biggest problem was the scarcity of handsome, eligible widowers with small children. It had been years since Rachel had encountered anyone who fit that description—and she was in the perfect job to spot such a man because she’d probably meet his children first.

  Slowly filling her salad plate, she let her mind wander. It wasn’t until Martha hurried over and grabbed her arm that she realized she’d been holding up the line by daydreaming.

  “Did you see her?” Martha asked.

  “See who?”

  “Samantha. One second she was right next to me and the next she was gone.”

  Rachel frowned, forced herself to concentrate. “Calm down, Mom. What do you mean, she’s gone? She can’t be gone. She wouldn’t just leave us like that.”

  “Then, she’s been kidnapped! Oh dear. Oh my. It’s all my fault. I only took my eyes off her long enough to pick up a slice of pizza.”

  “She hasn’t been kidnapped,” Rachel assured the panicky woman. “She’s around here somewhere. She has to be. Maybe she went back to Hannah. Come on. Let’s start by looking there.”

  Though she was outwardly calm, Rachel couldn’t help the telltale tremor in her hands as she carried her salad to their table and set it at her place.

  Hannah asked, “Where’s Sam?”

  “We were hoping you’d know,” Rachel said. “She was with Mom a second ago, then she disappeared. I thought maybe she’d come back to you.”

  The portly woman stiffened and began to scan the surrounding tables. “Nope. I haven’t seen her.”

  By this time, Martha was near tears. She sank into her chair with a moaned “Oh, no.”

  “All right,” Rachel said, taking charge. “Mom, you and Hannah keep an eye on the front door. I’ll go check the bathrooms. If she’s not in there, I’ll find the manager and get us some help.”

  Whirling, she managed to take one quick step before crashing into the man who had quietly approached behind her.

  Rachel gasped. “Oh—” It was Sean! And Samantha was holding his hand.

  “Now, now,” he warned, smiling. “Watch your language. There are children present.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything bad. At least, not until I got a chance to talk to you alone,” Rachel snapped. She gestured to include Hannah and Martha. “Do you have any idea how badly you scared us all?”

  “Me? I just came in for a peaceful meal and got dragged over to your table.” Still smiling, he looked down at his five-year-old companion. “It probably surprised me as much as it did you.” He stepped up to the
table and nodded an all-inclusive greeting. “Hello.”

  Rachel took over the introductions. “You remember Mrs. Brody,” she said. “And this lady who looks like she’s about to faint dead away is my mother, Martha Woodward. Mom, this is Sean Bates. We work together at the school.”

  Her mother proceeded to look Sean over, all the way from his sport shirt to the toes of his loafers. To Rachel’s chagrin, Martha was acting as if she thought she’d seen the poor man’s picture on a wanted poster and was trying to decide whether or not to turn him in and claim the reward money!

  Finally, the older woman conceded. “Hello, Mr. Bates. I’ve heard about you. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from—”

  Rachel purposely interrupted as he and Martha shook hands. “He’s just moved to Serenity, Mom. Now that you two have met, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Oh dear. I was so dithered when Samantha ran off, I think I left my plate over there. I’d best go get it. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Hannah said. She slowly pushed herself to her feet and ambled off, leaving Rachel and Samantha alone with Sean. The little girl continued to grasp his hand.

  “And I’d better go see if I can find an empty table,” Sean said, scanning the crowd. “This place came highly recommended, but nobody warned me I’d better get here early.”

  “Most churches let out at noon,” Rachel explained. “You have to think like a Southerner to figure out our schedule. Which, by the way, is why I stopped you from telling Mom you’re from Cleveland.”

  “I wondered why you’d interrupted me like that.”

  “Because you were about to admit to being a Yankee. Mom was already upset with you. I didn’t see any reason to compound the problem.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very. Arkansas may be considered the Midwest by some folks but it’s the South to us. We’re not all as set in our ways as my mother is, but it’s still best to let people get to know you before you announce that you’re from up north.”

  “That’s unbelievable.”

  “I know. Humor the old-timers, okay? They’re not mean. They’re really sweet people. They’re just proud of their heritage.”

  Samantha tugged on Sean’s hand. When he looked down, she said, “You can sit by me.”

  “Well, I…”

  What choice did Rachel have? Since she’d just gotten through extolling Southern manners and virtues, how could she gracefully counter the child’s invitation and send him away?

  “I suppose we can add another place,” Rachel told him.

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  Too late for that. “There’s an extra chair right over there. Bring the silverware, too, so we don’t have to ask the waitresses for it. They have enough trouble keeping up with their customers on Sundays.”

  Sean checked with those seated at the neighboring table and got their permission to remove an empty chair. He was about to settle it in a place farther from Rachel, when Samantha took over and started tugging. The chair’s legs collided with those of others—and of people—as she struggled to work it between the closely placed tables.

  “Say ‘Excuse me’ when you bump into somebody,” Sean told the eager little girl.

  “’Scuse me,” she announced loudly, speaking to no one in particular while continuing to awkwardly tug on the chair.

  “Here. Let me do that,” Sean said. “Where are we going with this?”

  Samantha was beaming. She pointed. “Over there. By me.”

  Since the child’s place was directly across from Rachel’s, that left only the space at the end of the table for Sean, which meant he’d be seated between them with little elbow room. Judging by the look on the teacher’s face, she wasn’t pleased.

  “Tell you what, Samantha,” he said lightly. “Let’s put you here, on the end, because you won’t take up as much space as I do, and I’ll sit in your chair. That way you can be right next to Miss Rachel, too.”

  “Okay!” Samantha hopped into the chair Sean had been carrying as soon as he slid it into place.

  His glance caught Rachel’s and held it. “Is that better?”

  “Fine. Whatever. It makes no difference to me.” Giving a shrug she glanced at her untouched salad. “Since I seem to be the only one who’s managed to find anything to eat yet, why don’t you two go fill your plates. I’ll hold the fort till everybody gets back.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sean said. He held out a hand. Samantha grabbed it and jumped down.

  “Watch her every second,” Rachel warned as they started away. “When Mom tried to take her to the buffet table, she ran off and picked up a stray. No telling who or what she might bring back next time.”

  The noise level in the room kept Rachel from hearing Sean’s reply with his back turned, but the slight, rhythmic shaking of his shoulders told her he was laughing.

  Chapter Seven

  It didn’t take Rachel long to decide she’d have been just as well off to allow Sean to sit next to her as to have him directly in her line of sight. She couldn’t continue to stare at her plate and ignore the pleasant dinner conversation around her forever. Soon, somebody was bound to question her inordinate interest in her food. Every time she raised her gaze, however, there was Sean, seeming larger than life and definitely paying way too much attention to her.

  I’m being ridiculous, Rachel told herself. I’m not afraid of him. Or of my mother’s interference. The two elements brought together, however, might prove embarrassing, especially if Martha ever got it into her head that Sean Bates would be a good candidate to take Craig’s place. Or, worse, that both men might make suitable sons-in-law!

  Rachel was about to excuse herself early, on the pretext of needing to get home, when Samantha announced, “I’m gonna go see Miss Rachel’s dog. It got shot.”

  Martha was so astounded she grabbed her daughter’s forearm and almost caused her to drop her fork. “What? You never told me about that!”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Rachel insisted with a puzzled frown. “I don’t know where she got such an idea. I just said she could come and visit. I never said Schatzy was hurt.”

  Sean began to chuckle. “Listen to yourself. I know exactly why Samantha is confused.”

  “Of course!” Rachel rolled her eyes. “I said Schatzy and she heard something else.” Leaning closer to the wide-eyed child, she explained, “Schatzy is his name, honey. He hasn’t been shot. He’s fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Are you still gonna make me cupcakes?”

  Though Rachel had always prided herself on figuring out the convoluted reasoning of young children, she was lost again. “Cupcakes? I don’t remember saying anything about that, either.”

  “Uh-huh. You did so,” the little girl insisted.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  To her right, Martha was giggling behind her napkin. “I’ll bet she means your cat this time.”

  Sighing and nodding, Rachel had to admit her mother was probably right. “Are you thinking of muffins, honey?”

  “Yeah. Those. With frosting.”

  The image that that suggestion brought to Rachel’s mind made her laugh, too. “I wasn’t talking about baking anything, Samantha. My cat’s name is Muffin. I’m afraid she wouldn’t like it much if we spread frosting all over her.”

  “Oh.” The five-year-old’s lower lip was starting to quiver and moisture was pooling in her bright blue eyes.

  “But you can help me feed her if you want,” Rachel offered quickly. “Muffin loves to eat. And Schatzy loves to play ball. Maybe Mrs. Brody will let you come over this afternoon. Once you get to know my animals, you won’t get their names mixed up again.”

  A tear trickled down Samantha’s cheek as she looked at her foster mother and asked in a quavering voice, “Can I?”

  That emotional plea would have melted a he
art of stone—and Hannah Brody’s was as soft as a marshmallow to start with. “Don’t see why not. Hank’s not due home yet, and I’ve got no chores to do till he drags in a mess o’ fish—if he catches any.” She looked across at Rachel. “Okay if we stop by your place on the way home from here and save me a trip back? I have to drop your mama off, anyway, so we’ll be right close.”

  “Sure,” Rachel said. “It’s pretty hot to be running around outside in the yard, but Samantha and Schatzy can play fetch in my hallway without hurting anything.”

  Samantha brightened. “Goody! Everybody can go.”

  Before she could stop herself, Rachel’s gaze snapped up and locked with Sean’s. Everybody? Oh, that certainly wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she suggested they stop by her house on their way home from dinner.

  Smiling, Sean said, “You have that deer-in-the-headlights look, Rachel. Don’t worry. I’m not inviting myself. I have plenty of things of my own to do today.”

  “Like what?” Martha asked sweetly.

  “Well, I…”

  “Just as I thought,” she said, clearly pleased with herself. “You haven’t lived in Serenity long enough to be involved in much besides your work at the school. If you get bored at my daughter’s you can always come over to my house for a glass of sweet tea or lemonade. I only live a couple of blocks from her.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I really can’t.”

  “Nonsense. You and I can have a nice chat. I’ve been wanting to ask you more about your background, anyway. Are your people related to the Bates family that founded Batesville?”

  “I doubt that very much, ma’am.” His glance at Rachel was an unspoken appeal for rescue.

  Rachel knew exactly how he felt. There was only one thing to do—provide a distraction. She jumped to her feet and abruptly changed the subject. “Today’s dessert is pineapple cake. I’m going to go get mine. I’ll bring some for everybody. Come on, Sean. You can help me carry the extra plates.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she started off, weaving between the tables like a skier headed down a slalom course. It wasn’t necessary to turn around to know that Sean was right behind her. She could sense his presence in every nerve. Even the roots of her hair tingled.