A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,57
immediately grasped.
“Bright room. Odd furniture groupings.” He leaned his head back, smiling. “All for little old me?”
“All for great, massive you,” she grunted, shoving his chair over the threshold. He laughed as they gained the outdoors.
The expansive brick patio looked like a spring wonderland, with flowers spilling from a dozen knee-high pots and hanging from graceful wrought-iron stands. The aunties had pushed together two square, redwood tables for their party, creating a space in the center large enough to accommodate Stephen’s outstretched leg. The arrangement came with the added benefit of a pair of tall, rainbow-striped umbrellas that rose from holes in the redwood tabletops.
As they reached the table, Stephen sucked in a deep breath, spreading his arms as wide as the cast immobilizing his bent elbow and lower arm allowed. “Now this is my idea of paradise.” He nodded toward the figure of a man moving near the greenhouse set back at some distance and asked, “Who’s the gardener?”
Everyone looked at Magnolia, who beamed and said, “His name is Garrett Willows. Hired him almost a month ago. Two green thumbs.” She turned up her own two in tacit approval.
“Oh, I know him,” Kaylie remarked, setting the brake on Stephen’s chair. “Or of him, anyway. Isn’t he the older brother of Bethany Willows Carter?”
“That’s right,” Hypatia said, spreading a starched linen napkin across her lap. As usual, she looked regal in apricot silk, especially next to Magnolia’s simple print shirtwaist.
Brooks pulled out the wrought-iron chair beside Stephen for her, and Kaylie absently dropped down into it, musing aloud, “Wasn’t there something significant about Garrett?” It hit her suddenly. “Wasn’t he sent to—”
Odelia shoved a basket of rolls at her, reaching across Brooks as he took a seat between her and Kaylie. “Have some bread, dear.”
“Yes,” Magnolia echoed, cutting her eyes meaningfully at Hypatia. “Have some bread.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Hypatia scolded, “as if I don’t know the man has been in prison. The two of you act as if I sit in some ivory tower, completely cut off from the rest of the world while you drag in your strays—no offense, Stephen dear. Well, I know what goes on. I remember perfectly that Garrett Willows pled guilty to assault for beating his stepfather half to death.”
“Pity he didn’t finish the job,” Brooks muttered. He cleared his throat when Hypatia shot him a quelling glance. “Sorry. It’s just that Garrett went to prison for trying to protect his mother from her husband, and even after that, she stayed with the man. Less than two years later, he killed her.”
Kaylie remembered the whole ugly story now, how Bethany herself had used to come to school with bruises and scratches that she’d tried to hide. Garrett had been in his early twenties and Bethany, who was Kaylie’s age, about seventeen when he’d taken a baseball bat to their stepfather. Bethany had been newly married when her mother had died, and Kaylie remembered that at the funeral Bethany had sobbed that it was her fault for leaving her mother alone with her brutal stepfather.
Stephen let his gaze sweep around the patio once again in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t know this Garrett, but I’m inclined to believe Magnolia when she says that he has two green thumbs. I suspect that makes four in total.”
Magnolia blushed, indicating the level of his success in diverting the conversation. “Why, thank you, Stephen dear.” She literally batted her eyelashes at him. Intentionally frumpy Aunt Mags! It was enough to make Kaylie gasp when Aunt Mags cooed, “Are all hockey players so silver-tongued?”
Stephen and Brooks both burst out laughing.
“I think you have me confused with my agent,” Stephen said, and that sent Brooks off into a chain of stories about Aaron Doolin’s college days that kept everyone at the table laughing merrily for some time.
When Carol placed a plate filled with chicken salad, apple slices, fresh greens and sliced hardboiled egg before Kaylie, she regretfully shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t stay. Dad will be expecting me at home.” Checking her watch, she hastily pushed back her chair.
“Nonsense,” Hypatia decreed. “Hubner can take one meal alone. We’ll make it up to him by inviting him to dinner tomorrow evening. How will that be?” Without waiting for an answer, she looked to Carol, saying, “Bring me a phone, will you, dear?”
“Oh, allow me,” Brooks said, pulling his mobile phone from the pocket of his suit jacket and handing it across the table. He shared a conspiratorial