Slowly, she lowered the little cat and disengaged her tiny claws, gazing into the animal’s petite face. “You will be good for Winnie, won’t you, pretty girl?” she crooned. The kitten answered with a loud raspy mew, and the women laughed.
Justin and Tara emerged from around the corner. “Oh, the kitten is here!” Tara declared, prancing up to Winnie’s side. Justin leaned against the doorjamb and grinned, a steaming coffee cup in his hand.
“I can’t believe the babies are already six weeks old,” Julia mumbled, her eyes still locked on the kitten.
“It seemed like eons to me,” Winnie said, stepping closer to Julia.
A clatter on the porch announced Chad’s arrival. “Sorry I’m late, did I miss Winnie’s pancakes?” he asked, strolling through the door with Ringo trotting happily at his heels.
“No, young man, you haven’t missed a thing,” Winnie assured him, her hands still out to receive the kitten, her knobby fingers wiggling. “Hand that darling over now, or I’ll burn your breakfast.”
Ringo trotted to Justin for a pat on the head, then sat on his friend’s boot, panting happily.
Julia swallowed hard and Chad placed his hand on the small of her back. Her gaze swung up to his handsome, beard-stubbled face, then back to the kitten. Slowly and with a shaky smile, Julia extended the kitten toward Winnie.
The old woman murmured endearments to the baby as she wrapped her gnarled fingers around it and lifted it to her wrinkled cheek. “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing,” she hummed.
The kitten cried, clutching at the front of Winnie’s ruffled apron, and Julia leaned into Chad. A long moment passed, and Justin finally cleared his throat. “Were we going to eat or stare at that kitten all morning?” he asked with a chuckle.
Julia laughed with a choke in her voice. “I’m so glad you’re all here,” she said, her hand slipping into Chad’s.
The group turned to head for the kitchen, Ringo leading the way. “We wouldn’t miss this or Winnie’s pancakes,” Tara laughed. “I was thinking we could do this again next weekend up at the inn when you bring us our kitten.”
Justin halted abruptly, his coffee sloshing over the top of his cup. “Excuse me?” he said as Chad and Julia laughed.
“Sounds good to me,” Chad chuckled. “How about it, babe?” he asked down to Julia.
All heads turned to Julia as she contemplated the thought. “I think that would be great,” she said with happy tears bright in her eyes.
Chad gave her a squeeze. “I think it’s settled then.”
“It’s not settled,” Justin muttered as he wiped dripping coffee from the edge of his cup and followed the group toward the kitchen.
Tara happily clattered plates from the cupboard onto the kitchen island. Winnie tucked the kitten into the crook of her arm and settled onto a stool. Justin placed forks by each plate, and everyone pulled up a stool. Ringo trotted across the kitchen, turned around three times on the hooked rug in front of the sink, and flopped down for a nap.
Julia glanced around the sunny kitchen, thinking of her own house and that day at the boutique when she’d first heard that Tara had remodeled this place. Never had she dreamed that she would be able to fill her own home with flowers and treasures of all kinds, including love and friendship.
Laughter bounced through the room as the plate of pancakes was passed around the gathering, warming Julia’s heart to the point of bursting.
Pausing to watch the tiny kitten nuzzle into Winnie’s lap, Julia realized Chad’s hand was hanging in mid-air with the syrup bottle. Jolted back to the task at hand, Julia took the bottle, her gaze warm on Chad as he smiled down at her, understanding where her thoughts lay.
He cleared his throat and turned his attention to Winnie, who sat contentedly stroking her new kitten. “So, what do you plan to name her?” he asked the old woman.
Winnie lifted the kitten to eye level and smiled at her tiny face. “I was thinking maybe Elvis...”
The End
If you or someone you know or love has suffered from encephalitis, or if you’d like more information about the disease, you can go to:
http://www.encephalitisglobal.org
If you’d like to know more about how you can help, support groups and a global network of friends who understand, go to:
http://www.inspire.com/groups/encephalitis-global
Hometown Girl Forever
Copyright © 2019 by Kirsten Fullmer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To Steve, for the lovely plot twist
Chapter One
Ingrid tossed her head and gave a solid yank on the lead, nearly pulling the rope from Lizzie’s hand. “What is it, girl?” Lizzie crooned as she smoothed her hand along the neck of the shaggy alpaca.
Ingrid made a low hum deep in her throat, then cocked her head, causing a lock of fleece to bob between her luminous eyes.
The alpaca’s plea reminded Lizzie of a kazoo, and she smiled. “I know you must miss your home,” she soothed. “I’m trying to learn what you want, I promise.”
The gentle creature shook her head with a snort, then swaggered past Lizzie down the long drive. She wasn’t a large animal, her back only as tall as Lizzie’s hip, the top of her head even with Lizzie’s, but Ingrid’s attitude was as big as the farm.
Lizzie puffed out a sigh of relief and wrapped the length of halter lead around her palm as she followed the alpaca. Evening sun flickered through the rusty autumn leaves, casting shadow, then light, in dancing polka-dot patterns across her face and arms.
Dry leaves fluttered past Lizzie’s worn boots, and her white skirt billowed in the breeze. She inhaled deeply. The scent of autumn took her back in time, and she could almost believe that her grandfather was in her barn doing chores.
Smells were like that. All it took was a curl of pipe smoke, and she was on the old man’s creaky porch swing, her bare feet dangling, too short to reach the floorboards.
It had been hard to move here without him.
The sun dipped behind the horizon and the breeze turned cool. Lizzie slowed, then turned back down the twisting drive toward home. Ingrid, however, had other ideas and planted her feet, her head dipping.
“It’s time to go back now, babe,” Lizzie explained. “Lily will wonder where you are, and I’m sure she’s upset too.”
The alpaca stood firm. “Please?” Lizzie tugged gently on the halter, her bracelets jingling with each tug.
Ingrid snorted and stood her ground.
Insecurity rose in Lizzie’s chest. Studying alpacas hadn’t prepared her for the enormous task of caring for the animals in person. She tugged on the lead. “Come on, baby, we can do this,” she assured herself more than the animal. “Let’s go home…”
The alpaca ignored her, content to gaze into the forest and chew her cud.
Lizzie sighed. The move from Boston had left her drained. At least she’d managed to drag her bed frame up the stairs this morning, so if she could get it put together she’d sleep in a bed tonight.
The elation she’d experienced the day before when the alpacas arrived had pretty much worn off the second the previous owners drove away. Could she really manage a farm on her own? She’d wanted independence, she reminded herself, and she’d gotten it.
Her attention was drawn up the driveway to a cloud of dust rising over the hill. “Who could that …?” she muttered.
Before she could complete the question, a sleek black car sped around the curve of the driveway, causing both her and Ingrid to jump in surprise.
Ingrid reared, nearly yanking the halter from Lizzie’s hands as the car ground to a halt a few feet away.
Choking on the dust cloud, Lizzie struggled to rein in the frightene
d alpaca.
The car window whirled down to reveal a man with dark blond hair wearing a finely tailored suit and name-brand sunglasses.
Lizzie gaped at the man in surprise. He was totally out of place on her farm and obviously lost.
The thumb of his right hand tapped at the button on the steering wheel to turn down the music as his other hand reached up to slide his sunglasses down his nose. His jaw went slack, and his piercing blue eyes moved from Ingrid to Lizzie.
Lizzie shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
The man finally pulled off his sunglasses to offer a dazzling white smile.
Lizzie tucked a wayward black curl behind her ear. He was the epitome of the male model, more at home in a fashion magazine than in the countryside. She twisted Ingrid’s lead rope around her hand and squared her shoulders. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” he replied, his eyes shifting from Lizzie back to Ingrid. “What is that? A llama?”
Offended on Ingrid’s behalf, Lizzie shook her head. “No, she’s an alpaca.”
The man’s scrutiny returned to Lizzie. “Oh, well—I’m lost, I was looking for the Serendipity Bed and Breakfast, could you tell me where it might be?”
Lizzie tried to tuck another non-existent curl behind her ear, causing her bracelets to tumble and clink as they slid up her arm. “Where it might be, or where it actually is?” she asked with a frown. She didn’t like his type, and for good reason.
The man’s lips tilted in a smirk and his eyes sparkled, crinkling at the edges. “Where it actually is. Do they have alpacas there too?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied, pointing north toward Smithville, her bracelets once again drawing the man’s attention. “You missed your turn.” Goosebumps danced along her spine as she felt his gaze on her skin. “It’s next to a Victorian house that’s a flower shop.”
He leaned out the window to look back down the driveway toward town. “Thanks.” He tossed one last glance toward Ingrid. “Can I turn around somewhere up ahead?”
Lizzie gave the halter a tug. “You can pull down to the house and turn around.” She bobbed her head in the direction of her home.
“Thanks again,” he said with a farewell nod as the window whirred back up, leaving grey streaks of dust on the dark glass.
Ingrid and Lizzie watched the car speed away, wafting a dust trail as it dipped over the hill into the quiet valley surrounding her house and barn. Lizzie waved at the dust and turned to Ingrid. “Well, what do you make of that? He doesn’t look like your typical bed-and-breakfast guest, does he?”
Ingrid snorted, blinking her lash-rimmed eyes. Lizzie laughed and tugged once more on the lead. It only took a moment for the car to return. The man tooted his horn in farewell as he passed, showering them with dirt and leaves.
Ingrid trotted several skittish paces to one side in fear.
“Idiot,” Lizzie huffed, holding firm on the lead and patting Ingrid’s neck to soothe her.
When they reached the yard, Lizzie led Ingrid into the pen where her sister, Lily, waited. Once the bridle was removed, Ingrid danced away and hurried to her sister’s side. The alpacas trotted across the yard.
Lizzie propped one boot on the pen rail to watch. Goosebumps rose along her arms in the cool evening, reminding her it was getting late, so she opened the gate and picked her way across the corral. Once in the barn, she returned the halter to the peg on the wall, then pitchforked hay into the bin and checked the water trough. She reveled in these simple farm tasks, daily chores that reminded her of her grandfather. When he’d died her trips to his farm had ended. She’d hoped they would save the farm until she grew up, but she should have known better. Her mother detested country life and had promptly sold the property, lock, stock, and barrel.
Lucky, the old sheepdog who’d come with the farm, raised her head from her paws to blink up at Lizzie.
“I filled your dish earlier, old girl,” Lizzie muttered, patting the matted fur on the dog’s head. “You have a good night, you hear?”
The dog woofed in reply, and Lizzie turned to leave.
“Goodnight, ladies,” she called over her shoulder as she closed the barn door. Then, with a sigh, she trudged toward the house. Glancing back, she hugged her arms to her chest to ward off the chill, then paused to admire the sunset peeking around her ancient barn. The beauty of the painted Pennsylvania twilight sank deep into her bones, whispering that her plan to move to Smithville had been the right choice.
Her grandfather had most certainly never been to this farm, but his soul was with her, she could feel it.
Humming a few bars of an old tune under her breath, Lizzie swished her skirt with her hands as she headed toward the ramshackle two-story farmhouse she now called home.
The man in the black car came to mind. She shrugged one shoulder absently, wondering again why a businessman would be in Smithville and not staying at a hotel in Uniontown.
As she trudged up the crooked back steps, Lizzie could hear her cell phone ringing. She hurried in, the screen door banging closed behind her as she kicked off her dusty boots. Dodging stacks of unpacked boxes, she scooped her phone off the butcher-block counter and frowned down at the picture of her mother on the screen. Sorely tempted to let the call go to voice mail, Lizzie bit her bottom lip and answered.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, instinctively raising her hand to smooth her unruly long curls.
“Well, there you are,” boomed her mother’s nasal Boston accent, causing Lizzie to pull the phone back from her ear. “It’s about time you answered, I’ve rung you five times.”
Lizzie touched the speaker button and laid her phone on the counter by the sink. Why couldn’t her mother grasp the concept that Lizzie didn’t answer for a reason?
She twisted the water tap at the large farm sink and pumped soap onto her hands. “Sorry, Mother, I was outside,”
The woman on the other end snorted, causing Lizzie’s stomach to knot. “I was just telling your father that since you went berserk and quit your job, you don’t answer your phone anymore. I said to him, ‘She’s gone berserk,’ just like that. That’s what I said.”
Lizzie grimaced and reached for a towel, wishing she’d let the call go to voice mail. “I didn’t go berserk, Mom—”
“I just want you to know how concerned I am, Elizabeth,” the woman fussed, her accent sharper than usual. “You have always needed guidance and attention, and now you’ve run off for no reason. No reason at all. Who will watch out for you?”
Lizzie sighed. “Mom, I didn’t run off, I moved.” She didn’t bother to tackle the comment about being alone. It wasn’t that she wanted to be single, but she’d rather be alone than be with the horrible men her mother pushed at her.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” the older woman snapped. “Your father and I didn’t send you to the finest schools and spend years grooming you to have you run off to the country and herd sheep. Sheep, of all things!”
Lizzie wandered to the screen door and leaned wearily against the doorjamb. “They’re not sheep…” she muttered.
“Speak up, Elizabeth, and don’t slouch.”
Lizzie pitched away from the doorframe, her back ramrod straight, then frowned at her reaction. She was sure she had moved beyond this feeling.
“I’ve got to go, Mother,” she said with conviction. “I love you. Hug Daddy for me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She ended the call, then set the ringer to silent, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The fact that she’d found a new job and bought a house should prove that she was a capable adult who was serious about her career and her farm. But expecting her mother to see it that way had obviously been a pipe dream.
Resigned, she dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. She would never be able to please her mother. But at least now she lived nearly six hundred miles away, so blessedly, as was her plan, her mother would not be banging down her door within minutes because of that curt goodbye.
/> * * *
Elliot adjusted his sunglasses to block the sun as he turned onto the highway. What a strange detour that had been! He’d driven only a few hours from D.C., yet he felt as if he’d passed through a time warp. That woman, with her unruly shoulder-length black curls, olive skin, and brown eyes, could have been a gypsy straight from medieval times. If her bohemian mix of clothing hadn’t stunned him, her animal certainly had. Did American women in this day and age wander the hillsides with alpacas? Evidently at least one did.
The woman’s house had stunned him even more. The timeworn structure had seen better days. The once-white paint was long past peeling, and the ancient gingerbread trim drooped over the sagging front steps.
Being an architect, he knew an Italianate-style 1880s house when he saw one: a rectangular box, two stories, with a dormer peak in the center of the roof, and an ornate porch centered on the first story of the facade. But perhaps the mellow blue barn perched on the hillside behind the house had shocked him even more. The faded words “Mail Pouch” could still be seen on the side of the grand old structure. The ancient tobacco advertisements placed on barns before the turn of the century were few and far between these days, making them highly regarded by historians. The whole tiny valley hadn’t changed for well over a hundred years. How was that possible?
Elliot considered himself well traveled. He’d been to the ageless cities of Europe, some several times, but he should have made a trip out here sooner. His buddy, Justin, had told him that things in southwest Pennsylvania were different, but he’d shrugged off his friend’s invitations, too caught up in the day-to-day grind of being a partner in his father’s architectural firm.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 57
