Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  Julia hesitated, her head tilted to one side, “That’s very nice of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Feeling foolish, like his feet were four sizes too big, Chad edged back. “Okay then, I’m sure I’ll see you around—”

  Julia nodded and called to Ringo. When the little dog scurried past her, she closed the screen, lifting her hand in farewell.

  Bobby got to the truck first. Adjusting the seat belt, he turned to Chad as he started the truck. “What was all that about? We don’t usually show folks around after we move them.”

  Chad slammed his seat belt into the latch and scowled through the windshield. He may not have had a date in a while, but there were plenty of women around. He certainly didn’t need the attention of this one. And besides, he’d been busy starting his business and taking care of Bobby’s family. So why did this woman get to him? And why had he asked her out?

  “Just shut up,” he growled. “Let’s get this container back.”

  * * *

  That afternoon Julia bent, bracing herself with her arms, to crouch at the flowerbed in front of the porch. Having cleared the dead weeds the day before, she was surprised to see tiny new weeds already breaking the surface. “I guess that means things grow good here.”

  Ringo stepped over dirt clods in the flowerbed to sniff at a snail, his tail pausing between wags.

  “Where do we start, buddy? I’m not even sure what I should plant here.”

  Noticing movement to her left, Julia glanced toward the edge of the house, surprised to see a large, fluffy, black and white cat sauntering sinuously toward them. His head was low, shoulders undulating, rolling up and down with each step, his tail high, swishing from side to side.

  Julia glanced at Ringo, unsure how he would react to a cat. Oblivious, the dog continued to sniff around the snail, his tail wagging, and then he noticed the cat. His small body froze, and his eyes widened, riveted on the feline still moving toward them. Thinking he was just going to stare, Julia jumped when a loud bark burst from him, followed by multiple warning barks.

  The cat continued its careless approach, not even blinking an eye, as Ringo got more and more riled. When the little dog pounced forward a few steps, the cat stopped and stared at him with the same unblinking gaze. Ringo bounded ahead and as he neared the cat, its back arched and its hair stood on end. Julia tilted back on her heels, struggling to stand but unable to push herself up quickly.

  Knowing what was about to happen, she gave up hope of standing and lunged forward, trying to reach Ringo’s back feet to pull him away from the cat. She was too slow, however, and to her horror, Ringo neared the feline. With one lightning-quick move, the cat’s claw swiped out, tearing a long scratch across Ringo’s nose. The little dog yelped in pain and surprise and ran to where Julia lay sprawled in the damp grass. Reaching out, she collected the little dog and pulled him close, his little heart pounding under her fingers. She leaned up on her elbows to watch the cat, that was rapidly shrinking back to normal size.

  Unsure what to do next, having little experience with dogs and even less with cats, she murmured endearments and patted the shaking dog. “It’s okay, Ringo, calm down, that kitty doesn’t want to play.”

  The cat, now apparently unperturbed, sat and calmly licked its paw. Julia and Ringo stared at it, both unsure of what it would do next. Knowing it would take her a minute or two, Julia wondered how she would let go of the dog and stand without World War Three breaking loose; but to her surprise, the cat lowered its paw and blinked his yellow eyes at her, as if to say, “Truce, yes?”

  Before she could respond, the creature stood and sashayed up on the porch, then bound gracefully into a wicker chair, where it lay down -- curling its tail around itself. Ringo bolted from Julia’s arms and stood with his front paws on the edge of the porch, his torn nose twitching, and his tail low. The cat lifted its head, and the little dog scurried back to hide behind Julia as she stiffly rose from the grass.

  She stood cautiously, wiped her palms across the seat of her jeans, glanced between the cat and Ringo, then bent to scoop up the quivering little dog. “Let’s give the kitty some space, shall we?”

  Edging across the porch toward the door, both Julia and Ringo kept their eyes on the cat, who appeared to be sleeping. They crept into the house and eased the screen closed. Julia set Ringo on the floor and glanced out the front window toward the wicker chair. “Well!” she huffed, “What do you make of that?”

  The little dog didn’t answer, just gazed at her with liquid brown eyes.

  “What do we do now?” she asked him.

  As if in response to her question, he padded to the door, peered through the screen toward the chair, then trotted back to stand behind her.

  Julia laughed, her amusement ringing through the empty room.

  “We still need to work on the yard, shall we go look for some ideas?” Ringo jumped and yipped, then ran several circles around the room. “Okay, let me get my purse.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Julia pulled into a parking spot in front of the nursery at the edge of town. Three long greenhouses were nearly hidden from view by a multitude of plants, ranging from trees and shrubs with their root balls wrapped in canvas, to rows and rows of potted flowers on pallets.

  As she absently shushed Ringo and told him to wait in the truck, her eyes roamed over the multiple colors and textures of the blossoms. Tall, short, large, small, green, red, blue, purple, brown, every color and size imaginable spread before her like a smorgasbord. The smell of dirt and fertilizer, flowers, and grass filled her senses.

  With halting steps, she approached the lineup of flowers, her eyes large, a smile trembling at the corner of her lips. Never had she imagined so many options. Caressing a blossom with her fingertips, she wondered if the plants needed sun or shade, water daily or weekly, and how large they would grow. The dirt in the plastic pot contained small white globules that she didn’t recognize, and she drew her hand back, overwhelmed by the realization that once again she was completely out of her element.

  The horrific feeling was her constant companion now, reminding her that she wasn’t capable, deserving, knowledgeable, or able to do things she’d taken for granted. The self-confidence and power she’d once wielded were long gone.

  She’d just wanted to plant a few flowers but not only was bending difficult, she had no idea where to start, how to dig, or even what to plant. Her eyes burned with tears as she turned from the plants.

  “Can I help you?” asked a trembling voice, causing Julia to pause.

  She considered hurrying to her truck as if she hadn’t heard, but the beauty of the plants called to her on a deeper level. She turned slowly, her eyes on the ground, where they traveled across the dirt and gravel to find ancient curled boots with no laces. Following the boots up dusty, blue-striped coveralls and a muddy apron, her gaze finally met faded twinkling eyes peering at her curiously from a wrinkled face.

  “I saw you admiring the flowers, would ya like to take some home today?”

  Julia shrugged. No words came to her, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish. A blush crept up her neck as she wrung her hands. Wanting nothing more than to run to the truck and drive away, she was surprised when the old man stepped forward and took her elbow.

  “You must be the lady from New York. I imagine this may seem a bit overwhelming if you’ve never had a large yard.” He smiled up at her, his hunched back forcing him to crane his neck to meet her gaze. “Look here.”

  His crooked fingers pressed into her arm, gently moving her hesitant feet toward the plants. “These would be lovely along your front porch.”

  Astonishment once again forced away the clouds from her mind and words sprang to Julia’s lips. “My porch?”

  He cackled and nodded. “Yes ma’am, I noticed when I drove past, that you’d cleared them flowerbeds and was fixin’ up the house. I was glad to see it, I can tell you.”

  She shook her head. “Of course.”
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  He continued, unaware or unconcerned with her discomfort. “These roses would be perfect for them beds, just the right amount a shade and sun, and these are a miniature variety, so they won’t get too big.”

  She nodded, warming to the idea of the blossoms along her porch. “They are a classic, aren’t they?”

  “They sure are, what color strikes your fancy?” He pressed her forward. “I have yellow, red, pink...”

  Her lips pursed as her interest grew. “I—I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  The old man tilted his head to one side. “I like to mix it up a bit myself.”

  The idea of multiple colors blooming along her porch rail through the summer appealed to her. Maybe she could manage a few roses. “I like that too. How many will I need?”

  The old man dropped her arm to dig through the plants, rearranging and sorting the cardboard and plastic containers, and muttering under his breath. “Let’s see, I’d think three or four of the red, I’d do five of the yellow, and several pink to round out the bunch.”

  As he spoke, he arranged the plants in a line on the ground, turning the buckets to place the blossoms at the best angle.

  Julia’s heart swelled in her chest. The blooms were lovely and as the old man adjusted them, their scent wafted toward her. She’d received roses several times, delivered to her door in a box, but she’d never seen them growing like this, sweet and tender on a bush. Something about the thorns, wicked and sharp among the beauty appealed to her – it made them feel as if they contained enough pain to be part of her life.

  “Do you want to plant the entire length of the porch today?” the old man asked.

  Her head bobbed yes, her mind spinning with possibilities. The man plucked up a bucket containing a rose bush and plopped it into Julia’s arms. Surprised by the weight, she staggered slightly, wondering how the poor old guy managed.

  The man tilted his head to one side and watched as she adjusted her grip on the pot. “I’ll tell you what, I have Chad delivering several trees this evening, and I could have him bring these by for you.”

  Apprehension tickled along Julia’s spine at the thought of seeing Chad, and she immediately forced it down. He was obviously an integral part of town, and she’d have to live with seeing him from time to time. As she pushed away thoughts of Chad, she glanced from the many pots of bushes to her truck and back, realizing it would exhaust her to load and unload the flowers, leaving her no energy to plant them.

  “That would be fine, thank you. What do I owe you for these?”

  The man took the flowerpot from her arms and set it on the ground with the others, then tottered toward the shack of an office, motioning for her to follow. At the office, Julia paid for the flowers and then returned to her truck, her mind spinning.

  Traffic sped past, one car at a time, as she watched for an opportunity to pull onto the highway, headed for Uniontown and the bookstore. She’d need to learn more about roses and gardening, in general, if she planned to keep the flowers alive.

  * * *

  An hour later, she was headed back toward Smithville with Ringo’s ears flapping in the wind and a pile of new books in a bag on the seat next to her. She’d selected one book about rose gardens, and one about yard care and gardening, as well as one about a country flower shop.

  She didn’t remember a lot from her past, but she was fairly certain she’d never considered where the flowers that had been delivered to her door had come from, other than a vague concept of a florist shop. But the book about the florist had a romantic flair, with pages of color photos displaying seasons of flowers being wrapped for smiling customers. Something about the idea of handling flowers had ignited a tiny spark in her heart. It was a glimmer of hope and brightness that hadn’t scared her or felt overwhelming, so she’d bought the book, looking forward to curling up with it on the porch that evening.

  * * *

  Julia hadn’t been home long when Chad’s delivery truck rumbled to a stop in front of her house. She stood and the song she’d been humming faded forgotten into the yard as she glanced at the cat sleeping in the other porch chair. She laid the rose garden book face down on her chair and ambled to the front of the porch. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door of the truck slam closed but disappointment collapsed hard in her stomach as Bobby rounded the truck, lifting a hand in greeting.

  Determined that she hadn’t wanted to see Chad, Julia pasted a smile on her face and stepped off the porch.

  Bobby pulled open the back door of the truck and scooped up armfuls of rose bushes. “Where do you want these, Miss Julia?”

  “You can just put them on the porch out of the sun for now,” she replied, irritated with her discontent and determined not to let it show in her voice. She’d finally found something she felt like she could manage with the roses, and some ridiculous part of her was thinking of a man.

  Bobby bent and placed the pots on the porch, glancing at her nervously, his eyes large and speculative behind his glasses. A long scratch appeared on his cheek and a drop of blood formed to run down his face. He swiped at it distractedly with the back of his dirty glove.

  “Oh Bobby, a thorn got you, come in the house—”

  Julia hurried to the door, gesturing for him to follow. He glanced at his glove and touched it to the scratch again, smearing dirt and blood across his face.

  Leading him to the powder room, Julia clucked like a mother hen. “Sit here on the toilet seat, and let me have a look at that scrape,” she instructed.

  Bobby froze in the bathroom doorway, his eyes darting around the small room as if it were a trap.

  To put him at ease, Julia asked where he lived as she took his arm and led him to sit down.

  “Me and my momma live on the other side of town,” he mumbled, his eyes never leaving Julia’s face.

  Thanks to her many tumbles and awkwardness, cuts and bruises were common, so the cabinet over the sink contained gauze pads and hydrogen peroxide. She daubed on his cheek while he blinked at her myopically through his thick lenses.

  “Have you lived there a long time?” she continued, to keep his mind off the sting.

  He flinched and replied distractedly. “Momma was born there, and she’s lived in that house her whole life.”

  “That’s amazing,” Julia commented.

  He nodded, causing her to fumble and drop the gauze pad she held to his cheek, then he blushed and squirmed on the toilet seat.

  “Do you think you’ll live in that house your whole life too?” she asked, ignoring the pad on the floor and applying a clean one to his cheek.

  He paused and then frowned. “Well, I did, but some fellers been houndin’ Momma to sell.”

  The bleeding stopped so Julia applied a bit of antibiotic ointment on the deep scrape and stepped back to survey her handiwork. “Do you think your mother will sell?”

  Bobby shrugged and Julia bent to collect the wrappers and used gauze.

  “You keep your dirty glove off that, okay?” she said.

  His Adam’s apple bounced up and down a few times, then he nodded.

  Chattering about roses and thorns, Julia led him back through the living room, then sat on the step of the porch to watch as he unloaded the rest of the pots from the truck. Each time he’d place the buckets on the porch, his gaze would dart to Julia, then back to the plants.

  When he deposited the last pots on the porch, Julia smiled and pulled herself up to stand next to the porch rail. “What do I owe you for delivering these?” she asked.

  Bobby shuffled his feet, his face flaming. “Nothin’ ma’am. We make odd deliveries for old Fergus from time to time and he and Chad work it out.”

  “You’re certain?” she asked, concerned about Bobby’s uncharacteristic hesitation.

  “Yes’m,” he replied as he turned toward the truck, stumbling on his own boots and nearly sprawling across the lawn.

  Her hand came out, but he waved her off and sprinted for the truck, calling goodbye over hi
s shoulder.

  Julia glanced down at Ringo and shrugged. “Do you think he’s okay?”

  Ringo’s eyebrows lifted and his head tilted to one side, then he turned to watch the delivery truck drive away, Chad’s company logo blurring as it departed.

  As she ambled back toward the house, the tune she’d been humming once again came to mind, and the last few bars of I Want to Hold Your Hand followed her and Ringo across the porch.

  * * *

  Chad glanced up as Bobby backed the delivery truck into the parking spot beside the office. Glaring back at the computer screen, he sighed and rubbed his fingers along his jaw. He always worried when Bobby was on a delivery. He supposed that was natural after what had happened to Bobby’s brother, but he’d thought the wrench in his gut would have lessened more with the passing of years.

  Sighing long and loud into the room, he shoved his fingers through his hair. It had been a long day, and the spreadsheet displayed one set of numbers while the calculator on the desktop showed another.

  “Where is my formula off?” he grumbled, shuffling through the pile of receipts on his desk, looking for his pen. He’d been working on the spreadsheets for over a week to tweak it the way he wanted it, and the columns of numbers weren’t totaling correctly.

  Bells over the door jangled as Bobby sauntered into the office. Chad glanced up then did a double take, watching the little man as he swaggered across the room to hang the clipboard on the wall hook over the desk.

  “How’d the deliveries go?” Chad asked, still holding a spreadsheet formula on the back burner of his mind.

  Bobby leaned his hip on the corner of the desk and sniffed, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “I’d say they went surprisingly well.”