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Authors: Patricia Hagan
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smash on the back of Mrs. Hampton's head. Then he and his mother had took off running, laughing all the while. Later she scolded him and said he shouldn't have done it, but he knew she was secretly glad.
He saw the First Baptist Church with its tall white steeple and manicured lawn and recalled another of his mother's futile attempts to have him accepted. She had offered to teach vacation Bible school one summer and, again, was rudely rejected, this time by Irene Cleghorn, who cruelly told Orlena she was unqualified. So his mother had sent him anyway, but Mrs. Cleghorn had turned him away, claiming there was no room for him.
To keep from hurting his mother, Luke had left home every morning like he was going to Bible school, then hidden till after it was over. She had never questioned why he didn't bring home handicrafts like the other kids, and he had wondered if he managed to fool her after all.
The bus pulled in behind Creech's gas station, which served as the depot. Luke waited till everybody else got off, then took his duffle bag from the overhead rack and made his way out. The heat slapped him in the face like an invisible hand. Only hell could be hotter than Alabama in August. His uniform felt like he was wearing a thick wool blanket, but it, along with the coveted green beret denoting Special Forces, and the ribbon for the Silver Star he'd been awarded for heroics in Vietnam, were the only things he'd ever had to hold his head up about in his life, and he wore both proudly.
Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped at his brow and neck as he glanced about. He wasn't surprised no one was there to meet him. His mother was in the hospital, and Alma would be working.
"Luke. Luke Ballard. Is that really you?"
He turned toward the gas pump and saw a girl waving at him from the window of a black Ford pickup. "I don't believe it."
She jumped out of the truck and started toward him. He grinned when he recognized Sara Daughtry. Only she was Sara Daughtry Speight now, and every bit as pixie cute as she had been when he fancied himself in love with her back in 1956. Her cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and cutoff jeans revealed her shapely, tanned legs. A sleeveless blouse, the tails tied in a knot beneath her bosom, accented her still narrow waist and flat stomach even though she'd had two kids. She threw herself at him, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. Sara was, and always would be, special.
Aware that the guys working at the station, as well as a few customers, were watching, he let her go. "You look just like you did when you'd run to meet me on the field after a game, Sara. I swear, you haven't changed a bit."
"Oh, really?" she laughed and gave her waist a pinch. "If I tried to get into my old cheerleading outfit I'd bust the zipper. That was eight years and twice that many pounds ago."
"Well, I'm way ahead of you."
"You're still gorgeous."
"Hey, enough of this or I'll grab you like I did back then and take you parking in the cotton field and try to get that zipper undone myself."
She gave him a playful punch under his chin. "You've got more important things to do than flirt with me. I know you've come home because of your mom. I heard she was in the hospital. Come on, and I'll take you to the mill to get your car from Alma."
He hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Thanks. I don't think I'd enjoy walking in this heat."
"I'm glad to do it. It's not much out of the way, and Dewey won't care when I tell him why I took so long getting back."
Luke did not fail to notice how her voice softened when she spoke her uncle's name. Dewey Culver was much more than just Sara's uncle by virtue of his marriage to her father's sister. He was the man she had loved since she was only fourteen years old—and also the reason she had held back from loving him. She had told him so by letter years after he had to marry Alma. He was in Vietnam by then, and she had explained that she just
He saw the First Baptist Church with its tall white steeple and manicured lawn and recalled another of his mother's futile attempts to have him accepted. She had offered to teach vacation Bible school one summer and, again, was rudely rejected, this time by Irene Cleghorn, who cruelly told Orlena she was unqualified. So his mother had sent him anyway, but Mrs. Cleghorn had turned him away, claiming there was no room for him.
To keep from hurting his mother, Luke had left home every morning like he was going to Bible school, then hidden till after it was over. She had never questioned why he didn't bring home handicrafts like the other kids, and he had wondered if he managed to fool her after all.
The bus pulled in behind Creech's gas station, which served as the depot. Luke waited till everybody else got off, then took his duffle bag from the overhead rack and made his way out. The heat slapped him in the face like an invisible hand. Only hell could be hotter than Alabama in August. His uniform felt like he was wearing a thick wool blanket, but it, along with the coveted green beret denoting Special Forces, and the ribbon for the Silver Star he'd been awarded for heroics in Vietnam, were the only things he'd ever had to hold his head up about in his life, and he wore both proudly.
Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped at his brow and neck as he glanced about. He wasn't surprised no one was there to meet him. His mother was in the hospital, and Alma would be working.
"Luke. Luke Ballard. Is that really you?"
He turned toward the gas pump and saw a girl waving at him from the window of a black Ford pickup. "I don't believe it."
She jumped out of the truck and started toward him. He grinned when he recognized Sara Daughtry. Only she was Sara Daughtry Speight now, and every bit as pixie cute as she had been when he fancied himself in love with her back in 1956. Her cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and cutoff jeans revealed her shapely, tanned legs. A sleeveless blouse, the tails tied in a knot beneath her bosom, accented her still narrow waist and flat stomach even though she'd had two kids. She threw herself at him, and he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. Sara was, and always would be, special.
Aware that the guys working at the station, as well as a few customers, were watching, he let her go. "You look just like you did when you'd run to meet me on the field after a game, Sara. I swear, you haven't changed a bit."
"Oh, really?" she laughed and gave her waist a pinch. "If I tried to get into my old cheerleading outfit I'd bust the zipper. That was eight years and twice that many pounds ago."
"Well, I'm way ahead of you."
"You're still gorgeous."
"Hey, enough of this or I'll grab you like I did back then and take you parking in the cotton field and try to get that zipper undone myself."
She gave him a playful punch under his chin. "You've got more important things to do than flirt with me. I know you've come home because of your mom. I heard she was in the hospital. Come on, and I'll take you to the mill to get your car from Alma."
He hoisted his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Thanks. I don't think I'd enjoy walking in this heat."
"I'm glad to do it. It's not much out of the way, and Dewey won't care when I tell him why I took so long getting back."
Luke did not fail to notice how her voice softened when she spoke her uncle's name. Dewey Culver was much more than just Sara's uncle by virtue of his marriage to her father's sister. He was the man she had loved since she was only fourteen years old—and also the reason she had held back from loving him. She had told him so by letter years after he had to marry Alma. He was in Vietnam by then, and she had explained that she just
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