Holden's Heart

by Jayna Morrow

  “There’s no need to apologize. I’m glad you’re home safe. Could I get a sneak peek?”

  She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see her. “You couldn’t bribe me.”

  Her phone started vibrating.

  “Hang on. I’m getting a reminder on my phone.” She glanced at the screen.

  DINNER WITH HOLDEN HEARTH 6:30 flashed in capital letters.

  “Gee, it’s my daily reminder to have dinner with a very annoying man. Who could that be?”

  “If it bothers you, delete the reminder.” The confidence in his voice buzzed like a bothersome fly. Why hadn’t she deleted that reminder already?

  “I meant to. Something distracted me.”

  “Since we’re already talking about it, how about dinner?”

  The half-glazed canvas cried out for more decoupage. Gathering confidence, she determined to say no, something she hadn’t done in a long time. “I’m into my work right now, Holden.” Wow. That wasn’t so hard. “I think I’m gonna make a sandwich later and finish glazing this canvas.”

  “I understand.” His response carried a dejected tone. “I’m glad you’re painting again. You are a talented woman with a tremendous gift.”

  God had given her a gift, but it had nothing to do with her artistic skills.

  16

  “How’s the vacation going?” Amber called from Cozumel to check up on things, but Holden wasn’t sure about divulging too many details.

  “If I told you that I’ve worked at a dairy farm since I arrived, will that give you an idea of how things are going?”

  “Only you would consider working a vacation. What happened with you keeping your distance?”

  “Every superhero has a weakness. Disaster struck early.”

  “Weakness?” Amber giggled. “And don’t start with the superhero business. It’s enough that every room in your house contains at least one figurine or poster of your favorites. Now you’re referring to yourself as a superhero?”

  “Symbolically, Amber.” He stretched the truth a bit. In his vivid imagination, it was possible. Along with swooping in to save the day and capturing the heart of the damsel in distress. Reality, his nemesis, had a sneaky habit of tying his cape in a knot and then causing trouble while he sorted it out. All that had occurred in the past week came back, and he flinched. The balance between fantasy and reality had tipped in favor of the latter, even though he’d given it his best. He’d been up against some strong currents. Then bobbed under.

  He could offer no explanation for the hollow emptiness inside. He sought refuge on the back of a four-wheeler and rode the property line. Gabriel used his property to run cattle. Darkness threatened, and he turned on the spotlight. The cows scattered. This had been his father’s plan for his life. Gabriel at the helm and the other three Hearth boys running every aspect of the family dairy and cattle empire.

  He’d chosen a different path and created an empire of his own. Now he had thoughts of rearranging everything in that empire for the sake of Irelynn Rafferty.

  After she’d turned him down for dinner Friday night, she’d continued to keep her distance. Stayed in her office most of the day. Drove straight home after work. Gave the excuse that she needed to continue working on her painting.

  Then on Wednesday, almost a week after she’d started the project, she informed him it was complete, that she was going to church with her mother, and that she intended on having a heart-to-heart with her. Then she’d thanked him.

  He hadn’t questioned her. Irelynn Rafferty didn’t need a superhero to rescue her. She was capable of saving herself. And that was the way it should be.

  The more she worked on the painting, the more she blossomed from within, exuding confidence and making decisions at the dairy like an artist mixed paint—smooth and careful strokes, while balancing the minute details with the overall big picture. But she also retreated further from him and the moment they’d shared at the lighthouse.

  He was having a hard time dealing with it. No matter how he occupied himself, his mind drifted to her. Those were the times his vivid imagination sent him into self-destruct mode. He kept reliving their afternoon at the lighthouse—the way her soft skin reacted when he’d wiped away the coffee splatter. There hadn’t been gooseflesh there until he’d touched her. When he’d wrapped an arm around her waist and held her steady, she’d leaned into him and peered over the edge. How warm and wonderful to have her standing so close by his side. Those were the moments when he felt like a real superhero, not because a trick of the mind made it seem as if he was flying, but because with her his heart did soar.

  The more time they spent apart, the more he wanted her by his side. When he saw her at work, even if it was a glimpse through the glass window of her office, his skin prickled and his feet moved in her direction. His auto-pilot was set on her, and more than once he’d ended up at her office door when he’d meant to go somewhere else.

  He felt sure she was having the same problem.

  Maybe that’s why she spent more time than necessary on the rotary milking parlor floor. His rounds took him by there. And they were sure to make eye contact when she was outside playing with the calves or visiting the birthing barn.

  “And how is Cozumel?” he asked, turning the conversation back to Amber. “Did they warm the waters and put out fresh, sugary sand just for you?” Amber loved sarcasm.

  She took the bait every time.

  “It’s first-class all the way when the private jet for Hearth Holdings shows up. They were a little disappointed that Holden Hearth himself didn’t step out, but once they discovered I was a signer on your credit card all was well again.”

  Not to mention, she’d claimed professional status on dishing out the sarcasm as well.

  “It’s good to be loved.”

  “A part of you, anyway.”

  “And what part would that be?”

  “The part that’s gold-plated, has no limit, and fits in my purse.”

  Reality tugged his cape, choking him momentarily. This time, it was in the form of guilt. This was the part of having tremendous wealth he didn’t handle well. “Be sure to keep track of your spending and be thinking about how you can bless others when you get back.” That was the financial motto he lived by: bless others as you have been blessed. He always did that by one hundred percent. Every dime he spent, he saved and gave the same amount. The money trinity of spending, saving, and blessing. “I haven’t spent much on this trip, but I’ve learned that blessings don’t always come in the form of money.”

  “That’s very true, Holden. I can hear a difference in your voice, too.”

  “Thanks, Amber. I feel different.”

  “Any charity you’re leaning toward?”

  “I gave the school here a check last year, so it might be time for another.” He hesitated a minute, wheels turning. “Of course, they were so grateful for last year’s donation that they wanted to name the library after me. And now that my brother up and married the principal, I don’t think I’d be able to escape the notoriety this time.”

  “You don’t want that?”

  “When have I ever wanted that?” To date, most of his donations were made anonymously or with little fanfare. He gave because he wanted to, and he didn’t expect anything in return. “You know me. I prefer to remain out of the spotlight when it comes to my philanthropic endeavors.”

  In the background, waves crashed, creating static on the line.

  She hollered, “Oh, no! My hat!” There was the commotion of her chasing it and the victory when she caught it. Finally, after several frustrated growls and spitting noises, she came back on the line. “This wind is something else. Bad weather blew in late last night. That’s why I’m shopping today since I can’t enjoy the beach.”

  “Same here. The wind picked up Thursday, and it hasn’t let up. Now it’s overcast, and the weatherman’s calling for rain tomorrow. I know it’ll put a damper on your beach vacation, but Lord knows we need it around here.
”

  “I know that’s right. Now back to what we were talking about before we were so rudely interrupted by the wind.” She yelled out the last part of her sentence as if the wind could hear her and cared. “I understand remaining anonymous for the most part, but what would it hurt to have a little library dedicated to you in your hometown?” Amber wasn’t about to let up until she was satisfied.

  He closed his eyes to form his response. “Then everyone would know.” His words, so quiet and cautious, were lost in the gusty breeze.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” He should have known she’d catch his statement as deftly as she’d caught her hat. “You shouldn’t be so worried about others thinking you’re a nerd. They’re adults now, and I think they will be intrigued by the career you’ve carved out for yourself.”

  “I’m an inventor. It’s the epitome of a science lab geek.”

  “No, it’s not. You’ve made machinery a lot more efficient and safer. And you didn’t even step into a lab.”

  A rock caught in his throat. “They don’t know that, and they already have images of me as a dweeb with glasses and a white lab coat pouring chemicals in beakers over a hot plate.”

  “Then own it, Holden. I’ve seen that framed newspaper article of you when you won a science competition. Now you’re living the life other people dream of. They might crack a joke or two, but they’ll wish they’d paid more attention in school.”

  “That’s what I came here to do. I need to reconcile my past.” That was an understatement. Every time he thought about the dinner with Olen he’d set up for Friday evening, he shuddered to think that the wrongdoings—the teasing, the practical jokes, the numerous times his locker was broken into and his lab notes strewn down the hall—didn’t add up to the wrong he’d committed against his best friend. There was no excuse for turning his back on Olen after all they’d endured together. If not for himself, he owed it to Olen.

  “Go for it. Worst case scenario, they give you a wedgie for old-time’s sake, and then you take off in your private helicopter into the sunset and go back to your regular life,” Amber pointed out.

  “Now that you put it that way, I feel guilty.”

  “I don’t know the details, but I don’t think you should feel guilty. You were young. You experienced trauma. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “I agree, and that’s why I’m having dinner with my best bud from high school. We’re gonna get caught up. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Awesome. And when your sister-in-law gets back be sure to visit with her about that library idea.”

  “Well, Sparrow’s not the principal anymore. She’s teaching again.”

  “Who’s the principal now?”

  “My younger brother, Garrett.”

  “Oh, my. Sugar Shack is a small town.”

  “Sweet Home. I’ll think some more about the library, but I don’t think a library suits me. If anything it would be...” He stopped mid-sentence. How could he even think of something so lame?

  “It would be what? What?”

  It would need to be something that represented who he was, his real identity. He’d hidden behind a mask for too long. “I’m thinking more along the lines of a science center.”

  “Perfect,” she agreed.

  He sensed her smile.

  “I can see it now: state-of-the-art labs, nature trail, and a greenhouse. Plus an endowment to keep it running for years to come.”

  “Whoa, girl. How much money are you planning to spend in Cozumel?”

  “I’m not going crazy here, but you know me. Once you get me started on helping others, I can’t stop. And I dream big.”

  “Those qualities are the reasons I hired you.” From the moment he’d met Amber in South America, he perceived she was the right person to work with his various endeavors. She had been on a mission trip, one she’d saved for because she couldn’t afford it outright. He’d been on vacation, hiking through the jungle and exploring ruins. They found themselves on the same tour one day, and through casual conversation, he’d learned about her struggles growing up in poverty and how, even though she barely made ends meet, she still managed to help others with her meager resources.

  “I’m grateful every day.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your trip, Amber.” In spite of the gray clouds hanging overhead, his path couldn’t be clearer. After helping Irelynn break out of her shell, it was now time for him to follow his own advice.

  “I will. I’ll be flying in on Sunday. What time do you want to meet on Monday?”

  “I couldn’t say at this point.”

  “You are coming home Sunday, right?”

  That had been the plan, but now he wasn’t so sure. “Not likely. I already am home.”

  Amber was silent for so long, he thought they lost connection. He’d stunned her. He’d astonished himself, too.

  “Should I be worried about my job?” she asked. “Or do you have a few more things to take care of?”

  Home. Sweet Home would always be his true home. A dizzying surge of awareness coursed through him.

  “There’s no need to worry about your job.” He did his best to reassure her. “I may need a little more time to sort through some things though.”

  There was Irelynn. There was Olen. There was his past. And there was another recent development that needed his immediate attention. He reached into his pocket and patted the folded postcard that had arrived in the mail from his brother, Henry. Technically, it had been addressed to Gabriel, but it was a postcard, with the entire note open for the world to see. And since they heard from Henry on rare occasions, Holden was inclined to read the note written in black ink.

  I’M COMING HOME.

  After almost two weeks, he’d begun to sort through things.

  “Is everything OK?”

  He didn’t want to get into the details since he had no real answers. He sat down in a rocking chair on the front porch and surveyed the property. The clouds, heavy with precipitation, made the humidity level almost unbearable. Sweat coated his skin, and he brought up his sleeve to wipe some of it away.

  A few birds chased each other in a nearby bush, a playful argument over some bread crumbs he’d thrown out earlier. They squawked and flitted around on stick legs.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine, Amber,” he murmured, easing back into the chair but not relaxing. The pressure in the air, combined with outside pressure from other things, made it impossible.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep, fine.” He didn’t know who needed the extra reassuring more—him or Amber—but he added, “I’ve prayed. Now I’m waiting on an answer from above.”

  For a long moment, there was silence. Amber must be saying a silent prayer for him, as she usually did. He forced his eyes shut and leaned on the armrest. His fingers rubbed the smooth grain of the wood. He stroked in the other direction, and the coarseness scratched his skin. Life was a lot like this wood. Most of the time, it was smooth sailing, but sometimes against the grain was the way to go. Of course, scratches and splinters were inevitable.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “I know it’s working out according to plan. You work hard, Amber. As your boss, I order you to relax and enjoy the rest of your vacation. You deserve it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pictured her grin as she giggled.

  “Who am I not to follow orders?”

  17

  “Holden, I was going to call you before bed. Is something wrong?”

  “Nope, the dairy is running like clockwork. But I’ve missed you, Irelynn. You’ve been busy lately.”

  “You’ve missed me? We work together. How could you miss me?”

  “Of course I’ve missed you. And working together isn’t the same thing.” She caught a hitch in his breath. “I enjoyed our dinners together. I understand why you’ve kept your distance though. How’d it go with your mother?”

  The thought of the quality time they’d spent together
brought on chest pangs. She’d struggled with the battle going on inside between her heart and her head. One man stood in the center of that chaos. The other offered hope to sort it through. And the battle raged on. “I’d say progress was made.” She didn’t offer many details. “I stood my ground, and I only let a few tears slip.”

  “Progress indeed.”

  She didn’t mention that the one tearful outburst spanned the entire evening. What mattered was that she’d pushed through it. Because, no matter how much she’d denied herself in the past, she’d informed her mother that art had been, was now, and forever would be a significant part of her life. Her mother had listened, and they’d spent the remainder of the evening talking about the circumstances surrounding her father’s illness and death. His art. His life. Even some background about him she’d never known.

  “How’s the painting coming along?”

  “Lightning speed. And before you ask, yes—it’s still a secret. I’m not even sure of what the final product will look like. Once the creative side of my brain takes over, I slip into an almost trance-like state and let’s just say...I don’t receive all my messages.” She shrugged. “That’s how this artist operates. I guess.”

  “An accurate description. I like hearing you refer to yourself as an artist.”

  “I’m not ready to quit my day job and declare professional status yet. The whole starving artist scene ain’t for me. But I’m content sketching Sweet Home and dabbling in mixed media again. These two paintings have done a lot for the healing process.”

  “Two paintings?”

  “Shoot! I’ve said too much.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear. You seem to have lost your reservations.”

  “It’s not easy. I know I have a long road ahead of me. But I can say that I can’t imagine my life without art.” That was the one certainty. “It’s like my burdens travel down my paintbrush and blend into the paints and glazes. I’m able to relax, breath normally, and stand solid on my feet.” Something clicked, and her entire existence mattered, the world became clearer, brighter, and more focused. “Tell me about you, Holden. Did you always want to....what is it you do exactly?”