High Country Holiday

Chapter Five

Paris reached to the coatrack for her gray wool jacket.

“May I help with that?”

She glanced up uncertainly, but Cody’s kindhearted expression reassured. She nodded and he held out the coat behind her, taking care not to touch her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“Thank you.”

She started toward the door, then stopped, returning to the front desk to pick up a lidded, holiday-designed box, about twice the width of a shoe box. What had gotten her so flustered that she’d almost forgotten what she intended to give Cody?

They stepped outside where snowflakes danced merrily in the air, almost in time to the holiday carols coming from the overhead Main Street loudspeakers.

“What can I do for you, Paris?”

He looked especially handsome this morning, but seemed somewhat on edge. Had things really gone as well with her father as he said they had?

She held out the box. “These are cookies for your mother to share with the hospital staff—and something extra for her, too.”

He took the box from her, his expression uncertain. “Thank you.”

“I remember her bringing homemade cookies those times my mother had to be hospitalized and how much the staff enjoyed them. I don’t imagine your mother has any time to bake right now, so...”

He still didn’t look as if he knew what to make of her gift. Almost suspicious, if she had to interpret his expression. But then life had probably taught Cody not to trust anyone.

“No, she doesn’t have much time for herself these days.” He placed his hand on top of the box. “She says the nurses have been great. Dad’s not the easiest patient to care for, so she’ll enjoy having something to give them as a thank-you.”

Good. He finally got it.

“I imagine your dad was surprised to see you, wasn’t he?”

“He...” Cody hesitated, as if unsure how his response would be taken. “He doesn’t know I’m here yet.”

Surprised, her brows arched. “You haven’t gone to see him?”

He gripped the box more tightly. “I drove Ma to the hospital in Show Low a few days last week and on Sunday. But we’re trying not to hit him with anything that might bring on another stroke.”

“Like you suddenly showing up after twelve years,” she said softly, the tension flickering through his eyes making her wish she hadn’t brought up the subject in the first place.

“Right.” He stared down at the cookie box and she could sense his emotions swirling through him. Dread at the thought of again facing his abusive father and shame that she might not think him a good son for putting off that inevitable encounter.

“I personally think that’s a wise decision on your and your mother’s part.” She placed her hand on his forearm and his head jerked up, his eyes searching for truthfulness in her words. “You have to put his well-being first. There will be plenty of time for the two of you to get reacquainted.”

Cody’s grip on the box relaxed a fraction.

“Ma’s mentioned to him a few times that I might come to visit. He doesn’t react one way or another, so we’re thinking I should stop in soon and see how it goes.”

“Hopefully well. I’ll be praying so.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced around, as if realizing they were talking in a public setting, as though suspecting someone might be observing their chat. What would be wrong with that? But she withdrew her hand from his arm and he took a step back.

He cleared his throat as his gaze again caught hers. Softened. “I’ve been remiss in not expressing my sympathy for your loss, Paris.”

Oh, no, not now. She didn’t want this conversation to be about her, about concern for her grief.

“I knew you’d gotten engaged four years ago and assumed you and Dalton married. Until Sharon Dixon told me on Saturday about the car accident.”

His mother hadn’t told him years ago? He hadn’t known when he’d come to her father’s office on Friday? Why ever not? Everyone in town knew about it.

“Dalton was a good guy,” he added.

“Yes, he was.” At least Cody wasn’t a gusher like many who assured her they understood her loss, who wanted to reminisce about her fiancé as a young boy, a teen, a man.

Cody lifted the lid on the cookie box, the mouthwatering scent of homemade molasses cookies sure to tempt even the strictest of dieting medical staff. A small envelope lay on top, inscribed to Lucy.

His smile quirked. “So you think you can trust me to get these to the hospital uneaten?”

Relieved at the change in subject, she playfully placed her hands on her hips. “You’d better, mister.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Or what?”

“Or...I’ll tell your mother, and then you’ll be in big trouble.”

“That’s a threat intended to make me shake in my boots?” He grinned, then bumped the envelope with his finger. “What’s in there?”

“Gift cards to Wyatt’s Grocery and the gas station. I’m sure with the expenses your father is incurring and the many trips to—”

“Thank you, but Hawks don’t take charity.” Cody’s smile dissolved as he snapped the box lid closed and thrust it toward her.

Charity? What was he talking about? She gently pushed the box back, her eyes firmly meeting his. “This isn’t charity. It’s a gift for your mother to use where she needs it most.”

He opened the box again and extracted the envelope. “I’ll take the cookies to her, but not the gift cards.”

Confused at his reaction, she put her hands behind her back, refusing the envelope he held out. “I don’t want them back. You’re being silly.”

“You think so?”

“Your mother does nice things for people in this town and this is a small way of showing appreciation in a practical way.”

“I value your concern but, like I said, Hawks don’t take handouts anymore.” His jaw hardened. “If there’s anything she needs, I’ll see that she gets it.”

She folded her arms. Why was he being so stubborn? “This isn’t a handout.”

“Let’s not quibble over semantics, Paris,” he said quietly as he tucked the envelope in the snug space between her folded arms, then gave the box lid a firm pat. “I’ll see that Ma gets these. Maybe minus a cookie or two.”

He winked. But his attempt to inject humor fell flat with her.

“Please don’t be this way, Cody. You know I—”

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. Let it go at that.” He lifted his hand for a lighthearted salute, then turned away, the cookie box tucked under his arm as he headed down the street.

Stubborn, pride-filled man. Why was he acting as if she’d likened his mother to a panhandler on the street?

“Cody!” It was all she could do not to stamp her foot like a two-year-old in a tantrum.

He lifted his hand again in a parting wave, but didn’t stop or look back. Kept right on walking.

She drew an irritated breath. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask him how things were going with the Christmas project, if he still thought it doable or if she needed to recruit additional volunteers.

But she wasn’t about to chase after him.

* * *

Conscious of Paris’s exasperated gaze and guilt-ridden for not having yet visited his father, Cody climbed into his truck. He brushed the snow from his hair, hoping the high country didn’t get heavy snow while he was here. He had his eye on a new Ford F-150 but, with his vehicle in the shop, he’d been forced to commandeer one of his business partner’s old junkers. It couldn’t be counted on in significant snowfall.

He checked for traffic and backed out, but didn’t allow himself to glance in Paris’s direction. Then he pressed his foot to the accelerator and headed for his folks’ place.

He didn’t think of it as home.

Dad and Ma still lived in a double-wide trailer that they’d settled in when Cody had been in ninth grade and his half brothers—who only lived with their father when their mother periodically kicked them out of her place in New Mexico—were long gone.

Looking back, where had his folks gotten the money for a down payment? He wouldn’t ask. Better not to know. Leroy Hawk had done time in Texas for forging his employer’s signature when Cody was a second grader. Another time for attempted extortion.

How had Ma endured it?

He knew it was foolish, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. When he was a kid he’d overheard her telling someone he was a preemie, but it didn’t take a mathematician to figure out his folks had to get married. Maybe if he hadn’t come along, Ma would have married someone more deserving of her.

Cody shook his head as he rounded a treed curve, the windshield wipers beating a sporadic rhythm against the lightly falling snow. By the time he’d entered school here midautumn of fifth grade, he’d been pulled in and out of schools in three different states and five different towns. It was amazing he’d managed to graduate at all. He owed that to his mother—and to his own stubborn streak.

And speaking of stubbornness... He glanced at the box on the seat beside him. Had he been wrong to turn down the gift cards for his mother? Paris meant well and he hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings as he suspected he had. God only knew how many people had slipped a little something extra to Ma in the years he’d been gone. After his departure from town, he hadn’t had much to spare for her at first. He should be thankful, not resentful, that people cared.

Paris couldn’t have known her thoughtfulness would push a hot button. Touch his pride. He’d overreacted.

Lord, I’ve got to stop taking things like this so personally, seeing it as a slap in the face every time someone is moved to an act of kindness on my or my family’s behalf.

As he pulled onto the property that his mother had optimistically named Hawk’s Hope in deference to a Canyon Springs property-naming tradition, his cell phone chimed.

“Yo, Trev. Any word yet?”

“Not yet,” Cody’s business partner, Trevor Cane, confirmed, “I hoped maybe you’d been contacted directly.”

He could picture his stocky, well-groomed friend pacing the tiles of his Phoenix patio. It would be a balmy sixty-five degrees down there today, quite a contrast to the mountain country a few hours north and six thousand feet higher.

Cody chuckled. “If I get the call, you’ll know when I know. That wouldn’t be anything I’d keep to myself.”

“I guess I’m getting antsy. Do you think we’ll hear anything soon or is that wishful thinking?”

Cody was antsy, too, although he wouldn’t admit it to Trevor. So much rode on this business deal, and hearing a “yes” would sure be the answer to a truckload of prayers.

“It might not be until after the first of the year. I advise you to sit back, relax and enjoy your family while you can. If this goes through as we hope, there’s going to be more than enough work to keep us both occupied for some time to come.”

“How much longer will you be up there?”

“At least until Christmas. Things are still touch-and-go with Dad.”

He glanced toward the trailer. He’d started cleaning up the property, clearing out old tires, broken equipment and other assorted junk. But there were repairs still to be made to the trailer itself, fencing and outbuildings. Maybe one day, though, he’d get Ma that cabin in the pines Dad always promised her.

Cody reached for the cookie box, then stepped out into the lightly falling snow. “Ma’s running interference between Dad and the hospital staff, trying to keep him calm and them from calling the cops.”

Nicotine and alcohol withdrawal and a stroke on top of that. Not a nice combo.

“But the good thing is—” Cody gave a bitter chuckle as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside, his nostrils flaring with distaste at the lingering scent of stale cigarettes “—his right arm is incapacitated, so he won’t be swinging it at me anytime soon.”

“Man, it had to be tough growing up that way.”

For almost a dozen years, he and Trev had been as close as God probably intended real brothers to be. He hadn’t had any contact with his half brothers since he’d been in middle school and they’d gone out on their own. But his friendship with Trevor had more than made up for that lack.

“Yeah, well, I guess this is where I’m supposed to say growing up like that made me who I am today. Right?” Cody placed the cookie box on the dining table.

Trevor huffed a laugh. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

It was the only way to look at it, otherwise it made no sense. No sense at all. Just like coming back to town and discovering Paris hadn’t married...

As if picking up on his line of thought, Trevor ventured deeper. “So, did that dream gal of yours and her hubby come home for Thanksgiving?”

Even though he’d long ago faced reality and dated a number of women since leaving Canyon Springs, when Paris had gotten engaged his friend and his friend’s new wife had been there to pick up the pieces. They’d reeled Cody back in when he’d foolishly acted out in ways for which he was now ashamed. Trevor and Maribeth had played an instrumental role in directing his steps toward God, for which he’d be forever grateful.

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