Rustic Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 1)

by Amber Kelly

  “And what do you think about us offering the ink-quill bracelet in precious metals?”

  “The copper one?”

  “Yes. It’s selling like hotcakes in the online store, and we thought maybe we could offer it in fourteen-karat yellow, white, and rose gold and perhaps a sterling silver along with the copper option?”

  “Yeah, I think that piece would look good in any material.”

  “Perfect. I’ll e-mail you over the price points to approve once Justin gets me the projected cost figures for each option. He’s making samples as we speak.”

  “Oh, he is, is he?”

  “I had a hunch you would be okay with it, and I wanted to have them priced out with samples we could photograph and upload to the website as soon as possible. The holiday crunch is almost upon us.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not there in the trenches with you.”

  “We have it covered. As long as you’re still hammering out designs in between the family drama, we’re all good. Speaking of which, how did the service go yesterday?”

  “It was good. Exactly what Gram would have wanted.”

  “That’s nice. Now, how was it for you though? You okay?”

  “I think so. Making progress at making peace. Baby steps.”

  “Oh no, we’ve reverted to speaking in fragmented sentences. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just … Daddy and I are still in this weird place, and Braxton is a pain in the ass most of the time. The women are all great though.”

  “Men, ick.”

  “Right? And the attorney who is handling Gram’s estate is out of town, so it could be a couple more weeks before I can head home.”

  “Don’t worry. We have the office covered. You take care of business there.”

  “Mom is going to lose her mind when I tell her.”

  “So, you plan to talk to her?”

  Busted. I’ve been avoiding Mom’s calls all week and letting them go to voice mail. Each one has been polite, but I can tell she is growing more and more frantic with each passing day.

  “Eventually. I just haven’t had it in me to deal with her this week. I’ll call her this afternoon and let her know what’s going on.”

  “Good. As much as the woman can drive me insane, I’ve felt kind of sorry for her the past couple of days. She showed up Friday to take me to lunch. Just me. It was awkward as hell.”

  “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. You’re the best friend a girl could ask for, you know that?”

  “I do, and you can thank me with an extra Christmas present this year.”

  “Done.”

  “Listen, don’t let those men push you around, you hear me? Remember who you are. You are Sophia fucking Lancaster, and if you start to forget that, you pick up the phone and call me. I’ll remind you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I have to go. I told Justin I would meet him for lunch.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Don’t start. Go do cowgirl stuff and make sure you check your e-mail this evening. Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  Sophie

  After a morning filled with a six-year-old outrunning me on a four-wheeled death trap, Dallas and I head into town to check out the Apple Festival while Beau naps.

  We grab a slice of warm apple strudel topped with homemade vanilla-bean ice cream from one of the vendor tables and head toward the coffee shop.

  Downtown looks idyllic, like it’s frozen in time. The same little shops and boutiques of my faded childhood memories line Main Street. Even the quaint gazebo still stands proud in the center of the lawn of Town Hall Square. Dallas and I used to spend long, lazy afternoons picnicking in that gazebo while Mom visited with Mrs. Henderson at the Bountiful Harvest Bread Company, a bakery Dallas’s mom has owned and run forever.

  “I swear, it feels like I’m walking on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie,” I muse as we pass a couple of dueling banjo players.

  Dallas tosses a few dollars in their case. “Right?” She stops and looks around for a moment. “Who doesn’t love a good Hallmark movie though?”

  “Don’t you wish there were more development around?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Restaurants, hotels, shops, bars, just … more things to do?” I ask because I truly want to know.

  She thinks for a moment. “Not really. I mean, for the most part, we like cooking and eating at home with our families. We have Butch’s Tavern and Fast Breaks pool hall when we want to drink and blow off a little steam or shoot a cutthroat game of billiards. They aren’t fancy, but everyone knows each other, and you can get shitfaced without worrying someone will drag you off because we look out for each other. Plus, you always end up home safe and sound because either Butch calls your parents or your brother to come and get you or one of your neighbors drives you home. The schools are great. Beau is happy as a pig in mud on the farm with all the critters and his Pop-Pop. As far as stuff to do? We have the lake for boating and swimming, pastures for bonfires. We four-wheel, fish, hunt, ride horses, play cornhole and horseshoes, tube down the river. We have snowmobiles and an ice-skating rink when the lake freezes over. What exactly more do you think we need?”

  “Museums? Theaters? Ballet?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “We have the cinema plex and the drive-in theater. Miss Lucy still teaches dance at the old ballroom. But, honestly, Sophie, who enjoys walking around a museum or sitting through a dance recital all damn day? Those things are what middle school field trip nightmares are made of.”

  “I like ballet and opera, and I thoroughly enjoy Broadway.”

  She nods. “I guess those can be fun for some people, but I’d rather watch a good chick flick by the moonlight while eating a hot dog and chili fries.”

  “That does sound good.”

  “Plus, you can wear your stretchy leggings and a comfy sweatshirt instead of a girdle and high heels.”

  I giggle.

  “Besides, Denver has all those things and great shopping, and it’s only a day trip away. You don’t have to live all the way up in New York to look at a bunch of dead folks on a canvas, you know. We can be just as sophisticated as you, and we do it on our terms without turning Poplar Falls into a bunch of crowded streets full of franchises.”

  “Touché.”

  Just as we reach the end of Main, Braxton and Emmett appear, carrying a table and a tent.

  “Hey there, ladies,” Emmett greets.

  “Hi. What are you two studs doing down here?” Dallas asks.

  “Doreen and Ria are setting up a table to sell their apple butter and fried apple pies for the church,” he replies.

  “You need any help?” I offer.

  “You guys can grab the chairs in the back of the truck,” he says as he nods toward the loading area.

  I hand the remainder of my strudel off to Dallas to throw in the trash and lick the melting ice cream from the side of my hand.

  Braxton’s eyes follow my movement before he comments, “First, coveralls, and now eating with your fingers? Careful, Princess, people might confuse you with one of us.”

  “I wasn’t eating with my fingers.”

  He smirks at me and walks off, following Emmett.

  Ugh, he is infuriating.

  “Hey, Braxton. I’ve been eating with my fingers. I could use a little help, licking myself clean,” Dallas calls after him.

  “Ew.”

  “What?” she asks me innocently as we grab the folding chairs from the back of the pickup.

  “I hate how much you like him.”

  “Why? Honestly, what’s not to like? You see those eyes and those lips and that five-o’clock shadow right? Plus, he’s a good man, hardworking, loves his little sister, and dotes on her. He’s the whole package.”

  “They stole my daddy, my life,” I mumble the accusation under my breath as we start walking toward the setup.

  She must have heard because she stops in front of me,
and I almost collide with her back.

  Then, she turns and lays into me gently. “No, they didn’t. They were forced from their home, just like you were. Do you think for one second they didn’t wish they were at their own house with their own mom and dad? I know you are dealing with a lot of pain from what went down with Vivian and Jefferson, but don’t lay blame where it’s not supposed to be. They were just kids, Sophie. Just like you were.”

  Then, she turns back around and heads to where Emmett and Braxton are assembling the tent. I let what she said sink in for a minute, and I’m a little embarrassed by my words. She’s right. They were kids. I might be envious that they had Daddy all those years, but they didn’t steal him away. The only people I have a right to be angry with are Daddy and Madeline. I decide to try a little harder with Braxton and Elle.

  We get the table set up and tent in place just as Aunt Doreen, Ria, and Madeline arrive with boxes full of mason jars filled with my aunts’ homemade apple butter and a large insulated tote full of individually wrapped fried pies. I snatch one from the top, unwrap it, and take a bite.

  Aunt Ria shoos us away. “You rascals go on now before you eat all our profits.”

  My eyes roll to the back of my head as I finish the delicious pie. I lift the wrapper to my lips and shake the excess cinnamon sugar that gathered there onto my tongue.

  “What about the diabetes and heart disease you were going on about this morning?” Braxton asks as he watches me in amusement.

  I finish chewing and wipe the back of my hand across my face.

  Then, I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs.

  “I never said you couldn’t enjoy a treat from time to time.”

  “Just not in your coffee?”

  “If my coffee were a treat, then I couldn’t have the pie. It’s a compromise. The eighty-twenty rule. If I eat a salad for lunch, then I can have a steak for dinner. Or I have steak for both and find a way to work it off physically.”

  He comes in closer and whispers against my ear, “And what do you do to work off strudel and ice cream and pie for lunch? Physically?”

  “Um, go for a run or something.”

  “Or something, huh?”

  I look up at him, and his eyes are dancing as he teases me. I try to think of a smart retort, but before I can come up with anything, Dallas walks up.

  “What are you two whispering about over here?”

  “Sophie is just giving me a nutrition and physical education lesson.”

  “Yeah, right, says the guy who literally tosses around tractor tires for fun.”

  “I have to follow the eighty-twenty rule.”

  “I know; I know. That’s what Myer says too. I’m more of a sixty-forty girl myself,” she says as she stuffs the remainder of a pie in her mouth.

  My eyes snap back to his, and he gives me a quick shrug.

  “Well, look at that. We can agree on something,” I muse.

  “Yep, better grab a coat. It looks like hell might be freezing over tonight,” he says with a grin.

  Sophie

  “Sophia?” My mom’s relieved voice comes over the line.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I have been calling and calling you, and your line goes straight to voice mail. I’ve been so worried. Haven’t you been getting my messages?”

  “I’m sorry. My phone reception is so spotty up here in the mountains. Calls don’t come through. Ask Charlotte. We’ve had the worst time trying to talk without getting cut off,” I lie.

  “It doesn’t surprise me. You’re basically stuck in the middle of nowhere. That town has always been in the dark ages.”

  “It’s definitely a simplistic way of life down here.”

  “So, how have things been?”

  I can hear the shakiness in her voice.

  “Fine. More or less.”

  “Don’t be vague, Sophia. Tell me how it’s really going.”

  I sigh. My mother has always been able to tell when I’m evading her questions.

  “It’s fine, Mom. I don’t know what else to tell you. Aunt Doreen and Aunt Ria are just as you remember them. Emmett is still hanging in there, and he is still crushing on Aunt Doreen. Pop is a little melancholy, but he just lost Gram, so that’s expected. Dallas and I reconnected, and she is divorced and has a son. His name is Beau, and he is the cutest little boy. Blackberry is dead, but I got to meet her son, and I hope to ride him soon.”

  “Soon? Aren’t you coming home tomorrow?”

  I take a deep breath and brace myself for her freak-out.

  “No. I’m staying through the end of the month.”

  Silence.

  “Mom? You still there?”

  “What did your father tell you?” she calmly asks.

  That’s not the reaction I was expecting. I guess she assumes that Daddy and I made up, and he talked me into staying.

  “Not much,” I grumble.

  “You have to give me a chance, Sophia.”

  “A chance for what?” I ask, confused.

  “To explain.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to explain why I need to come home. I know I need to get back to the city, but Charlotte has everything covered at the office, and my houseplants are probably already dead. I’m getting plenty of time to design here. I think the fresh air and the peace and quiet have renewed me and gotten my creative juices flowing because I’ve filled two sketchbooks with new designs this week.”

  I stop babbling and wait for her to give me the thousand other reasons she has thought up. She gives me nothing.

  “Mom? You still there?”

  “Yes, darling, I’m still here. I just thought …”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Why are you staying until the end of the month?”

  “The attorney handling Gram’s estate is out of town and won’t be back until then, and I just thought, instead of flying home just to have to turn around in a few weeks and fly back, I’d stay and spend a little more time with Dallas and my aunts.”

  “All right.”

  Hmm, that seemed a little too easy.

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “Of course I am. I just miss you, is all.”

  “I miss you too. And I promise to try to call and check in more often. By the time I settle down at night, it’s so late in New York with the time difference.”

  “It doesn’t matter how late you call. I’ll always answer,” she says, and I feel even guiltier for letting her calls go to voice mail.

  “Then, I’ll call before I go to bed at least a couple of times a week.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. But I do have to go now. I love you.”

  “I love you too, my onliest only.”

  I disconnect. That wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it was going to be.

  I shove my phone into my back pocket and hop off the porch. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my chest as I make my way to the barn.

  I find Braxton with a rake and bucket, cleaning out the first stall. I swear, the man never stops working.

  “Hey,” I call as I approach.

  He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. “Hey.”

  “Do you think it would be okay for me to brush down Huck? I want to build a little trust with him.”

  “I told you, he’s temperamental.”

  “I’ve visited him every day this week, and he hasn’t been the least bit aggressive with me. I think he’s getting used to me. I thought maybe, if he gets comfortable enough, I might be able to saddle and ride him.”

  “You know how to ride?”

  “I knew how to ride before I knew how to walk.”

  “You still ride?”

  “Not as often as I’d like, but I’m a member of a riding club in Manhattan, and I help instruct the children during their summer camps.”

  That seems to appease him.

  He chucks a heap of dirty hay into the bucket at his feet. “Suit yourself. Just be careful and move slowly with him.
He hasn’t been ridden often, and we don’t saddle him much.”

  “I will.” I start to walk off, and I change my mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I don’t know. Can you?”

  Grr.

  “What’s with the ball cap?” I ask as curiosity gets the best of me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a Red Sox hat,” I explain to him unnecessarily.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, speaking as a New Yorker … who is required to hate the Red Sox on principle alone … how do you not get your ass kicked by Rockies fans, wearing that thing around town?”

  He gives me a knowing look. A look that says, I’d like to see them try.

  “We aren’t as damn redneck as New Yorkers are, apparently.” He smirks at me, and his rarely seen dimple peeks out.

  “Riiiiight.”

  He seems to stop and contemplate the question for a moment, and then he confesses, “It was my dad’s. He was born in New England. Landed in Poplar Springs after he met a raven-haired beauty from here at Arizona State University. He was there on a baseball scholarship, and she was visiting a cousin on campus for the weekend. Her name was Lily. He followed her home and never left.”

  “Not even to finish school?”

  “Nope. He married her six weeks later, began working at a local farm, bought a little house out at Willow Gap, and started making babies.”

  “Six weeks. Wow, that was fast.”

  “He always said, ‘When you meet her, you’ll know. No use fighting it.’ ”

  “That’s a great love story.”

  He snorts. “Except for the part where a drunk driver runs a red light and T-bones the SUV his family is in, and those babies have to watch as their mother bleeds out at the bottom of the gap, unable to get free of the backseat and help her.”

  Dear Lord, I’ve never heard that part of their story before. He had to actually watch his parents die?

  He gets a faraway look, and I know he is reliving the nightmare in his mind.

  “Dad reached and took this hat from his head. He put it on mine right before he stopped breathing. So, no. No one in this town gives me shit about being a Red Sox fan.”

  A tear escapes as I bring my hand to my chest to touch the small rose-gold dandelion pendant my daddy gave me for my twelfth birthday. The necklace that I’ve held so dear to my heart because it contains a part of him. The pendant that lit a fire inside of me and inspired me to handcraft jewelry with heart. The one I never take off.