“Nope.” Maudie grinned. “If you have time after you get that done, you can take the animals out one at a time again and give them some TLC. Poor little things get tired of being caged, and I hardly ever have time to love on them.”
“I can sure do that.” April threw her empty bottle in the trash can and headed back into the shelter. She hummed a lullaby as she cleaned the floor and organized the cabinets. She kept humming as she took the first kitten out and held it like a baby in her arms. When it got tired of being petted and began to squirm, she put it back and got another one out, alternating working and loving on all the sweet animals. By five thirty she had the cabinets in decent order. She had given each of the cats and dogs a little individual time. She made sure they all had food and fresh water and then waved goodbye to them as she closed the door.
Flynn didn’t have a dry spot on his T-shirt when it was time to close up shop that afternoon. The hours had flown by as he listened to the radio—thank goodness he and Jackson shared a love for the same kind of music—and sanded two hope chests. But in spite of the sweltering work, he felt so much more alive than he had when he’d finished a day in his air-conditioned office down in South Texas.
“Ever think of air-conditioning this place?” he asked as Jackson locked the door to the shop.
“Oh, yeah, lots of times,” Jackson answered, “but the building isn’t insulated. The electric bill would eat up all my profits. Uncle D. J. used to say that sweat was good for us. I do use a couple of space heaters in the wintertime, and on the rare occasion that it snows, I take a few days off. Want to cool off in the house and have a beer before you go home?”
“Love to.” Flynn followed Jackson across the backyard and up onto the porch.
Tex was already waiting for them at the door, his tail slinging drops of water every which way when he wagged it.
“Looks like he’s been splashing around in the creek to cool off. I might do the same before I make a sandwich for supper.” Jackson opened the door and stood to the side. “Welcome to the Devereaux home. Have a seat anywhere. Got a preference for your beer? I’ve got Coors in bottles and Budweiser in cans.”
“Coors, and thanks.” Flynn could see that a woman hadn’t lived in this house in a long time, if ever. No fancy throw pillows on the sofa or knickknacks sitting around. A single painting of the waterfall hung above the sofa. The coffee table had scrapes and scars made by boots being propped on it, and the end tables were dotted with circles that came from sweating beer bottles and cans.
Flynn was way too dusty and sweaty to sit on the sofa, so he took a seat in an old wooden rocker like the ones in Nanny Lucy’s living room. This one had been stained and varnished at one time, but the finish had worn off the wide arms. He set it in motion with his foot and just enjoyed the cool air while Jackson was in the kitchen. This was the life—no headaches or paperwork to take home at the end of the day.
“There you go.” Jackson handed him a longneck bottle of Coors and then twisted the cap off his own. “So are you coming back tomorrow, or have you had enough? You really are good with wood.” He sat down in the other rocking chair and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
Flynn removed the cap from his beer and took a long drink. “I’ll be back. I’d forgotten how good a cold beer tastes after a hot day of work, and it’s been a long time since I could say I was finished at the end of the day.”
“Miz Lucy said that you worked in the oil fields. Wasn’t that hot work?” Jackson asked.
“Back when I worked outside it was even hotter work than what we’ve been doing, but for the past three years, I’ve been behind a desk,” Flynn answered. “Working with my hands sure eases the stress, even if it does make me sweat.”
“Yep,” Jackson agreed. “I got to where I hated to go to work every day when I was a lawyer. I got up with a heavy feeling in my chest. I came home after sixteen hours in the office or the courtroom, fell into bed, and even though I was mentally exhausted, I fought sleep, because I knew the next morning would just start things all over again.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, but my days were probably only ten hours, not sixteen. At the end of the day, I took a full briefcase home with me.” Flynn noticed the hope chest sitting beside the sofa. “Is that what you’re guarding until we get the quilt finished?”
Jackson nodded. “Miz Lucy brought it over here last year in the back of her truck. I tried to talk her out of leaving it with me, but she’d made up her mind. She said that she didn’t have long to live, and that she’d been to see the lawyer earlier that day about her will. She made me promise that I would take care of it, so I just shoved it over there in the corner, and it’s been there ever since. When are y’all going to get the quilt done?”
“By the end of the month if we keep on schedule,” Flynn answered. “You ever been nosy enough to peek inside?”
“Nope.” Jackson grinned. “Knowing Miz Lucy, it might be booby-trapped. I liked her, and she was a good neighbor, but she did have her moments. Uncle D. J. said that she had mellowed a lot in the last five years, but things were different when she was younger.”
“We’re slowly finding that out,” Flynn said.
“Which one of you do you think will be married first and take this away from my house?” Jackson asked. “Not that it’s in the way or a problem for me to keep it. I owe Miz Lucy that much.”
“Why do you think you owe her anything?” Flynn asked.
“Lots of Sunday dinners, dominoes and games of checkers, and long talks about what I wanted to do with my life,” Jackson answered. “She was always willing to listen to me. She didn’t give a lot of advice, but she was a good listener. Of course, I could always tell within a few minutes if she didn’t want company, and I’d make an excuse to leave.”
“I never talked to her much about what to do with my life, but I did spend time with her every summer, so I guess I owe her, too.” Flynn turned up his bottle and took another drink before he went on. “And I expect that it will be Nessa who gets that hope chest. I’m not even looking for a relationship, and I get the impression that April isn’t, either.”
“Nessa is looking for a relationship?” Jackson asked.
“All three of us are kind of messed up right now,” Flynn said. “No, that’s not right. We’ve been messed up for a while, and we need to get our lives straightened out. Nessa may be the lightest of the list, but she’s got baggage. She’ll probably get her ducks in a row before me and April. That’s why I said she might wind up with the hope chest.”
He glanced over at the rectangular box that used to sit at the foot of Nanny Lucy’s bed. Of all the things in her house, what made it so important? It just looked like an aged cedar chest with a tarnished brass keyhole in the front. Flynn wasn’t even sure that he wanted the thing at all, but he couldn’t shake the need to know what was in it.
“I came here with baggage,” Jackson said. “It took me quite a while to feel like I was making progress getting rid of it. Uncle D. J. was a little old guy who didn’t talk much, but, looking back, he knew exactly what I needed. Time and hard work, and he gave me both.”