“I see.”
“Where's everyone else?”
Just as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind threw ice pellets against the kitchen window. The lights flickered but remained on.
Relieved that they hadn't been plunged into darkness, Lucy released the breath she had been holding. “Pop and Miss Annie are changing clothes in your bedroom. Joan and the children are using the guest room. Bobby Ray waited while I changed in the bathroom, and now he's in there.”
“I'm surprised he fit.”
Lucy laughed. The bathroom was rather small and Bobby Ray was notably large. But Banner wasn't smiling. Did he ever?
One half of the big country kitchen served as a dining room. A double trestle oak table filled most of the area on the other side of a sit-down bar fitted with two oak stools. The table was surrounded by six ladder-back oak chairs-a lot of seating space for a man who lived alone, she mused. “Would you like me to set the table?”
He pointed. “Dishes are in that cabinet.”
Lucy carried an armload of functional brown stoneware to the dining area. She paused to run a hand appreciatively over the smooth surface of the table. Bending, she studied the solid but graceful pedestals, then took a moment to admire one of the beautifully contoured chairs. She glanced up to find Banner watching her, and she smiled a bit self-consciously.
“I have a thing for nice furniture,” she admitted, “and you have some beautiful pieces. This dining set is wonderful. And that rocker in the living room is gorgeous. And I couldn't help but notice the tables in the living room and the furniture in the bedrooms. So much nice wood.”
“Thanks.” He turned back to the stove.
She stroked a hand over the smooth grain of the tabletop again, envying him the opportunity to do so every day. “I really admire the quality of this dining set. Do you mind if I ask where you shop for your furniture?”
“My shop's back behind the house.”
“No, I meant-wait a minute. You made this set?”
“Yeah.” He tasted the soup, nodded, then set the spoon in the sink.
“And the other furniture? You made all of it?”
“My great-uncle made the furniture in the bedrooms. I built the rocker and tables in the living room.”
She rubbed her hand over the back of a chair again, loving the feel of the wood. “Is this what you do for a living? Build furniture?”
“Mostly outdoor furniture. Swings, Adirondack chairs, outdoor rockers. The stuff that's sold in tourist towns like Branson and Eureka Springs and Mountain View.”
“You're very talented.”
“Thanks. The food's ready. I guess we should bring everyone in.”
He cooked and he built furniture. But he didn't make small talk, Lucy decided. Who was this guy?
It was a subdued group that gathered around the beautiful table a few minutes later. Bobby Ray had given Miss Annie his arm for the short walk to the table, but she looked so tired that Lucy worried about her. The storm still raged outside, making the lights flicker periodically, and she knew everyone was wondering when they could leave this place. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and there were places they all wanted to be for the holidays.
Banner wasn't by any means a jovial, put-everyone-at-ease type host. He sat in silence at the head of the table, eating his soup and corn bread without looking up much. Was it possible that he was shy? Or just not particularly friendly?
Joan and the children sat at one side of the table, opposite Lucy and the Carters. The kids had pulled the bar stools to the table, raising them high enough to easily reach their soup bowls and keeping them close to their mother.
They were quiet, well-behaved children, Lucy mused. Perhaps they took their behavioral cues from their mother, who seemed to take great pains not to call attention to herself. Was she simply shy-or someone who had been beaten down by circumstances until there was little spirit left in her?
It seemed that it was again up to Lucy to try to raise everyone's spirits. “Did you all get through to your families to let them know you're safe?” she asked the table at large.
She was answered with a silent round of nods.
Okay, new tactic. She smiled at Tyler. “How old are you, Tyler? I would guess around seven.”
“I'll be eight in February,” he replied.
A complete sentence. She was making progress. “So you're in second grade?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“I'm in kindergarten,” Tricia supplied, not to be left out.
“Are you? Do you like it?” Lucy asked encouragingly.
Tricia nodded. “My teacher's nice. I like music time best.”
“Where do you live?” Lucy looked at Joan this time, hoping to draw her into the conversation.
“We're from Mayflower,” Joan murmured. “That's north of Little Rock…”
“I know where Mayflower is,” Lucy said with a smile. “I live in Conway, practically next door to you.”
“Mother and I have a little place outside of Jacksonville,” Pop supplied, patting his wife's hand. “We've lived there more than forty years.”
Lucy wondered about the wisdom of a man in his mid-eighties making a three-hour drive in an old pickup truck, especially in weather that had promised to be cold and rainy at best. What was his family thinking to let him make that trip?
Because that was really none of her business, Lucy spoke to Bobby Ray. “Do you live in Little Rock or was that a business stop?”
“I live there. I was hoping to make it home this evening. But my boss just told me on the phone that the weather guys are saying it could be day after tomorrow before the roads are passable.”
“Day after tomorrow?” Tyler's eyes widened in alarm. “But that's Christmas! We can't stay here until Christmas!”
“What about Santa Claus?” Tricia looked at her mother in dismay. “We told him we would be at Grandma's house. He's s'posed to come tomorrow.”
Lucy noted that Banner's face was showing new signs of strain in the form of deep lines around his stern mouth. Not only had his home been invaded by a group of strangers, but those strangers were all making it quite clear that they would rather be somewhere else. She couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him.
“Don't worry about Santa Claus,” Joan told her children. “Even if he can't come see you tomorrow night, he'll make a special trip as soon as we've settled somewhere.”
The children still looked crestfallen, and Lucy couldn't blame them. Now the general mood around the table was depressed again.
“Banner, this soup is delicious,” she said, determinedly cheerful. “You're an excellent cook.”
“Thanks.”
“Mother's a wonderful cook,” Pop said, trying to help Lucy with the conversation. “Barbecued chicken, pork chops, spare ribs. And her pies-best coconut cream pie in the whole world. Her chocolate pie's good, too.”
“Don't cook as much as I used to,” Miss Annie murmured, glancing at her gnarled hands. “I still like to cook fresh vegetables in the summertime, though.”
“We used to grow all our own vegetables,” Pop added. “Had a big ol' garden back behind the house. Can't do it much anymore, now that the arthritis has gotten so bad. Still put some tomato plants in every spring, though.”
Miss Annie gave him a sweet smile. “Pop loves his fresh sliced tomatoes.”
Lucy watched the exchange between the couple with a wistful envy. Sixty-two years of marriage, she thought. Children, grandchildren, companionship and memories.
She wanted that for herself. As her twenty-eighth birthday approached, she found herself thinking about it more and more. She was perfectly capable of supporting herself and taking care of herself, but she wanted the fairy tale. The husband and children who loved her and who she could adore in return. The happily-ever-after. The sixty-second wedding anniversary.
The only thing holding her back was the fact that she was having a great deal of difficulty finding anyone she actually wanted to marry.