Linda Goodnight - Sugarplum Homecoming

They bowed their heads. Davis kept one eye open, trained on Nathan who had a habit of sneaking food into his mouth during prayer. Today, he was as pious as his sister.

“And Jesus, thank you for sending us new neighbors,” Paige was saying. “Bless them and I hope they have plenty to eat, too, just like we do. Do you think they like red velvet cake? Amen.”

Frowning, Davis turned his gaze on his daughter. Her sweet prayers never failed to move and impress him, but today he suspected an ulterior motive. “What was that about?”

“Well.” With studied innocence that he didn’t buy for one second, she took a slice of buttery garlic bread from the offered plate. “The Bible says to love our neighbor. Right?”

Davis looked down at the lasagna dish, suddenly uncomfortable. He suspected where this was headed. “Right.”

“Lana and Sydney are moving in that old haunted house. They might not have any groceries in the fridge yet. They might not even have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!”

“Or Popsicles,” Nathan said. To Nathan, a Popsicle was one of life’s necessities.

“A house without a Popsicle is a sad house indeed,” Davis said, amused. He dolloped ranch dressing onto his salad and forked a bite.

“Anyway, Daddy,” Paige said. “I was thinking. We want to love our neighbors and invite them to church and everything, right?” She jammed a glob of lasagna into her mouth while awaiting his reply.

Davis skirted the issue momentarily. “Nathan, put some salad on your plate.”

Nathan’s square shoulders slumped, a picture of dejection. “Aw, Daddy.”

“Nonnegotiable. No salad, no cake.”

Nathan reached for the salad.

Paige put down her fork. “Daddy, are you listening to me?”

“Sure, princess. What is it?”

“Are we going to take some lasagna and cake over to Lana and Sydney?”

Davis eyed the long casserole. They’d barely made a dent in the cheesy dish.

“I don’t know, Paige. They might be busy getting settled.” Lana had said those very words. They needed time.

“Everybody has to eat.”

“She’s pretty, isn’t she, Daddy?” This from Nathan who was clearly avoiding the three tomatoes lined up like British redcoats on the edge of his plate.

“Who?”

“Lana. I think she’s real pretty. Her hair is pretty, too. I like brown hair.”

Davis swallowed. The forkful of noodles stuck in his throat. He grabbed for his water and swigged.

Yes, Lana was pretty. She and her sassy boots had been prancing around in his head the entire time he was cooking supper. He was curious about her, wondered why she’d left her life in Nashville and what secrets lurked behind her cool blue eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted answers, but he wondered.

He’d taught his kids to do the right thing, to treat people the way they would want to be treated, and that included greeting new neighbors. He was head of the neighborhood welcome community and co-chair of block parties and summer cookouts. Might as well find out early if Lana Ross and her child were people he wanted his children associating with.

“After dinner, if you kids will help clean the kitchen without grumbling, we’ll take a couple of plates down the block. How does that sound?”

“You are the best daddy ever,” Paige said.

“Yeah,” Nathan added, nodding sagely. “Everything is going exactly like we planned.”

“Nathan!” Paige shot him a paralyzing look and shook her head. Nathan clapped both hands over his mouth.

Davis looked from one child to the other, puzzled.

What was that all about?

Chapter Three

Beware of really handsome men bearing gifts.

These random thoughts ran through Lana’s head as she tried to find a clean place in her filthy, run-down, pathetic kitchen to put two foil-covered plates.

Davis Turner was every bit as nice as she remembered. He’d brought food. Something she had not yet bothered to think about. Her stomach rumbled at the spicy, warm smells coming from the dishes. When was the last time she’d eaten anything healthy, much less homemade lasagna? She’d fed Sydney burgers and breakfast burritos on the road but had been too uptight to eat since yesterday.

“Sorry everything is a mess. The house is worse than I’d expected.” A lot, lot worse. Apparently, Mother had let the place go and the years of sitting empty had taken a worse toll.

“You’ve got your work cut out.”

“Don’t I know it? I didn’t expect it to be this bad.” She grimaced. “Or to have graffiti on the living room walls.”

“Is the living room the only place that bad?”

“Seems to be. I guess vandals haven’t gotten much farther than the front of the house. Hopefully, a good cleaning will make a big difference.”

“What about the holes?”

“Not sure yet. Put something over them, I guess. Sydney and I decided sleeping quarters were number one, so we started on her bedroom first. We can camp there for a while.” She didn’t add that she’d camped in worse.

The three kids bumped around inside the small kitchen. Pixielike Paige, the oldest and clearly the leader, said, “Sydney wants to show us the upstairs. Can we go?”

“Lana may not want a bunch of kids traipsing through her house.”

Lana gave a wry laugh. “Nothing they can hurt. Let them go.”

At a wave of Davis’s hand, the three kids took off in a rush, pounding up the wooden steps. Sydney was eager to share her room, such as it was, and Lana suspected the other two wanted to explore the “haunted house.” She didn’t hold it against them. She’d have done the same thing as a kid.

“Are the stairs secure?” Davis glanced toward the front of the house, though the entry stairwell was invisible from here. The kitchen was an add-on to the 1910 dwelling and as such, ran lengthwise across the back of the house where it met with the back porch. Long, narrow and inconveniently arranged, the kitchen could use some serious modernizing. Someday.

“We’ve been up and down quite a few times and I’ve not noticed any loose boards or weak areas.”

“Good. Stairs can be an issue in older homes.”

“These are sturdy oak, I think. Anyway, that’s what I remember.” Not that she’d paid much attention to the house other than her attempts to get out of it as often as possible.

“The place appears to have good bones. Old houses usually have better construction materials than newer ones unless there’s dry rot.”

“I hope that’s true in this case.” She shoved a bundle of old newspapers, yellowed with age, off a bar stool and onto the floor. “Have a seat?” she asked, not altogether sure he’d want to.

“Sure.” To her relief he didn’t seem all that bothered by the dirt and grime. Truth was she’d lived in worse. So had Sydney, bless her sweet, accepting soul. At least here in Whisper Falls they had a roof over their heads that no one could take away. Eventually, things under that roof would be clean and tidy and hopefully, free of the past.

“I’m glad you came over. Really glad,” she started, twisting her hands on the back rung of a wooden chair. She was still amazed he’d returned after learning her identity. “I’ve been thinking about you.” Her face heated. “I meant I was reconsidering your offer.”

During the past few hours of bagging trash and scrubbing, she’d thought about Davis Turner. Beyond the fact that her skin sizzled when he’d smiled and her blood had hummed when she’d opened the door and found him standing there again. She wasn’t too happy about noticing him so much, but she did need his help.

“I could use your expertise. I have a little money put aside. Not a lot but enough to address the most important needs of the house.” She bunched her shoulders, aware of the knot forming at the base of her neck. She’d have a doozy of a muscle spasm if she wasn’t careful. “Other than covering the holes in some of the walls, I don’t know what those are.”