Baby Kisses

Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Home Sweet Home

Tooty wanted to kiss the ground when Miles pulled the van in front of her humble little country home. They'd only been gone a week and it felt like a month. Her flowers needed watering and the porch had leaves and debris blown across it. She couldn't wait to get to work.

While unloading their baggage she felt Miles watching her. She wondered if he was sad to leave his home in New York or if he'd developed a fondness for simple living. Granted, his home was beautiful and posh, but it was also cold and uninviting. She looked at him and asked bluntly, "What are you thinking, Miles?"

He gave her a surprised look. "I was thinking how well this home suits you."

Now she was the one to be surprised. "Yes, it does," she replied.

The evening was still young after tucking Harris into bed, and although Tooty was tired from the long trip and then piddling around her house, she didn't want to call it a night. Miles had retired early.

Suddenly feeling the urge to write, she retrieved her box of poetry and walked outside to sit on the porch swing. Rereading her unfinished poem under the dim lamp light, she listened to crickets chirp and owls hoot, willing more words to come.

His eyes, the color of love

Paint my soul with living shades.

He is the shadow of my dreams;

He knows me as no other.

Will I ever meet him?

Do miles separate us?

Or is he the bright star in my backyard?

Is he fey?

Or is he man?

She pondered and then wrote.

He is near, yet so far.

I am young, but old in hurt.

He is old, but unaware of his youth.

We are paradoxes of ourselves.

How shall we end our sweet torment?

She sighed and looked at the stars, so close and yet so far. She reread her poem, and then read it again. Inhaling sharply, she saw what her unconscious mind—no, her heart—had written. She picked out the words: miles, bright, man. Miles Brightman. Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed herself to accept her feelings. She hated the fact that he and Monica were together because...because...she cared deeply for him. She whispered to herself, "Tooty, you're screwed."

* * *

Three weeks after arriving back in Colorado, Miles typed the last word in his book and leaned back in his wheelchair. Other than proofreading and editing, it was finished. Two emotions attached themselves to him, elation and sadness—elation that it was finally done, sadness that his time in Colorado was almost over. Face it, you've grown fond of Tooty and Harris and this ramshackle house.

Rolling to his bedroom window he watched Harris pushing a Tonka truck around in the dirt and Tooty hoeing weeds in her small garden. He smiled remembering the excitement on her face when she'd plucked her first ripe tomato.

A swirl of dust indicated the approach of a vehicle. A big monster truck rounded the curve and stopped at the back of the drive. Rarely did anyone come to the house and this certainly wasn't Tooty's mother or father, Sage or Sarah Tanner, or Jacob or Julie Hackstetter. He watched Tooty's stance turn from one of welcome to one of out-and-out hostility. She rushed and bent over Harris, saying something and motioning him toward the house. He said something back and pointed to his toy truck. She admonished him and he walked toward the porch sulking. A tall guy wearing a cowboy hat got out of the truck.