Blossom Street Brides

by Debbie Macomber

  Lydia chuckled. “Brad would be miserable in the corporate world. My husband’s a blue-collar worker, and I couldn’t ask for a better man. I thank God every day for bringing him into my life.”

  The back door opened, and in walked a short teenage girl, hauling a heavy backpack. She tossed it on the table next to Lydia. “I had the worst day ever.”

  “Hello, Casey,” Lydia greeted, sending apologetic looks to both Bethanne and Lauren. “What happened?” She wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her a hug.

  “Jack asked Hadley to the dance.”

  Lydia was instantly sympathetic. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Oh, it gets worse. I flunked my algebra test.”

  Lydia seemed surprised. “But you studied, and your dad said you had the equations down pat.”

  “I did, but Mr. Hazel didn’t test us on that.”

  “Oh, sweetie.”

  “And then I dropped my purse and everything spilled out and it’s my time of the month and, well, you can guess what happened when the guys saw my stuff.”

  “It sounds like you had a perfectly dreadful day.”

  “I need to see Grandma,” Casey pleaded. “Can you drop me off after work and then pick me up later?”

  “Yes, but what about—”

  “Mom, please, it’s important. Grandma always makes me feel better.”

  “Grandmothers have a way of doing that,” Bethanne chimed in.

  Casey looked at the other woman. “Oh, Bethanne, Mom told me Courtney’s having a baby. This is so cool. Are you knitting the baby blanket for her?”

  Bethanne said that she was. “Tell me what it is your grandmother does that makes you feel better so that when Andrew and Courtney’s child needs me to help him or her, then I’ll know what to say.”

  “Okay.” Eager to explain, Casey pulled out a chair and slumped forward, leaning against the table, elbows on top. “First of all, Grandma calls it grousing instead of complaining. When I asked her what the word meant, she had me look it up in the dictionary.”

  “She probably needed a reminder herself,” Lydia supplied. “Mom has memory issues.”

  “I like the word grouse,” Casey said, “and now all my friends say it, too.”

  “So what does she do so you don’t grouse?” Bethanne asked.

  Lauren was curious, too. It seemed the teenager and her grandmother shared a special relationship.

  “It’s sort of a takeoff on the Glad game,” Casey explained, “you know, from the book Pollyanna?”

  “Right,” Bethanne said.

  “At first I thought it would be stupid, but Grandma says it works every time.”

  “What’s the game?” Lydia asked.

  “Well, when I start grousing, she insists there must have been something good that happened that day.”

  “And is she right?” Lauren asked.

  “Almost always I insist there isn’t anything, but then Grandma starts asking me questions, and before I know it I can hardly remember the bad stuff because I’ve got so many good things to remember.”

  “Was there something positive that happened today?” Lydia asked.

  Casey shrugged. “I suppose. One thing. I had macaroni and cheese for lunch. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I packed you a lunch this morning,” Lydia reminded her.

  “I traded it with Charlie for his macaroni and cheese.” She paused and frowned.

  “What?” Lydia asked, apparently reading her daughter.

  “He said mac and cheese was his favorite, too, so it makes no sense that he would trade with me. And he sat with me at second lunch. He’s never done that before.”

  “Do you think he might have wanted to ask if you’d go to the dance with him?” Lydia asked, and cocked her head to one side with the question.

  “He didn’t.”

  “Was it because you complained about Jack and Hadley the entire time you were with him?”

  Again Casey shrugged and an absent look came over her as she appeared to be mentally reviewing her lunchtime conversation with Charlie. “Well, maybe. Come to think of it, he did ask me if I’d be at the dance tomorrow night.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible, awful day after all,” Lydia suggested.

  “I still want to visit Grandma. Can I?”

  “Okay. I’ll drop you off after I close the shop, and then your father can come get you when he picks up your brother from softball practice.”

  “Great.” Casey appeared to be in better spirits already. She left the table, but Lauren saw that Lydia looked worried. Bethanne noticed it, too.

  “Something wrong with your mother?” Bethanne asked.

  “Casey and my mother are close. We adopted Casey when she was twelve,” Lydia explained, apparently for Lauren’s benefit.

  “Twelve?”

  “She’s only been with us three years. Until she came into our lives she was in the foster-care program. She never knew her grandparents, and she’s gotten to be tight with my mother. Mom often repeats things three and four times, but while Margaret and I grow impatient, it never seems to bother Casey. She listens to Mom’s stories as if they are new every time. The funny part is, Mom will sometimes confuse me with my sister. She’ll call me Margaret, but she’s never once forgotten who Casey is.”

  “Mom,” Casey called from the far side of the store. “Can I bring Grandma some yarn?”

  “No,” Lydia replied right away. “My mother already has more yarn than she knows what to do with.”

  “Are you sure?” Casey pleaded. “This fancy stuff is so pretty, and I know Grandma would love it.”

  “Not today, honey.”

  “Okay.” The lone word was heavy with disappointment. “Saturday?” she asked again, more hopeful this time.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Reluctantly, Casey returned the skein to the shelf. “That means no.”

  Lauren smiled, and remembered that her own teenage interactions with her mother were much the same.

  Lydia continued explaining her concerns, her voice low so only the two of them could hear: “I’m worried how Casey will react when my mother dies.”

  “Is it imminent?” Bethanne asked, her eyes sympathetic.

  Lydia shrugged. “Truth is, I’m surprised Mom has hung on as long as she has. We moved her into the assisted-living complex a few years back. The move was hard on her. Mom didn’t want to leave the house, and I was sure we would lose her then. But I was wrong. It seemed she got better after Casey came into our lives. Margaret tells me she believes it’s Casey who’s given Mom the will to live.”

  “That’s so great.” Lauren had fleeting memories of both sets of her grandparents, who lived on the other side of the country. When she was a kid they visited at least once a year, but as their health failed the visits became less frequent. She could recall only a handful of trips east. The expense of flying the entire family to the east coast was more than her parents could afford.

  “Casey’s always thinking of things to do with my mom,” Lydia went on to say. She was about to add something more when Lauren heard the irritating sound of motorcycles roaring down the street. She grimaced and glanced out the window but couldn’t see the riders.

  Blossom Street tended to be a more reserved neighborhood, so the piercing sound of the motorcycle engines took her by surprise.

  Half rising out of her chair, Bethanne set down her knitting and craned her neck, looking out the window. Apparently disappointed, she sat back down. “For just a minute I thought that might have been Max.”

  The sound faded into the distance.

  “My head is playing games with me. Even if Max was in town, he wouldn’t know I was at the yarn store.” Bethanne’s mind wasn’t on her knitting. She looked completely miserable. “I guess it’s just wishful thinking on my part.” She reached for her cell, grabbing it out of the side pocket on her purse. “I told myself I wasn’t going to call him again. As it is, I’ve left him
five messages. That’s enough. When Max is ready to sort this out, he’ll contact me.” While her words were strong, Lauren noticed Bethanne’s hand trembling as she replaced her phone. She released a slow breath. “I can remember my mother telling me never to go to bed without resolving an argument. That was good advice. I don’t ever want to go through another day like this one.”

  Casey walked up to Bethanne. “Did you have a truly terrible day, too?”

  Bethanne nodded. “I want to talk to my husband.”

  The bell above the shop door made a jingling sound, and two men walked into the shop.

  “I think that could be arranged,” the taller of the two men said.

  “Max.” Bethanne was out of her chair so fast it nearly toppled backward. She hurried across the space separating them and threw herself into her husband’s arms. Then they were kissing and hugging and clinging to each other as if the world had suddenly been set right again.

  Lauren knew she should have looked away but discovered she couldn’t. The scene in front of her was mesmerizing. Although she hardly knew Bethanne, she felt the other woman’s joy and relief.

  “How did you know where to find me?” Bethanne asked, when she was able.

  “I heard you tell Grant this was where you’d be.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes, you did.” Max kissed her again, his hands framing her face. He gazed down at her as if being with her was more precious than gold. “I’m here for the family dinner.”

  “Oh, Max.”

  For a moment, Lauren feared Bethanne was about to burst into tears.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I couldn’t. I’ve been on the road all day.”

  Bethanne hugged her husband closer.

  A little embarrassed to be watching, Lauren looked away from the couple. Her gaze drifted to Max’s companion. The other man looked as though he was part of a motorcycle gang, complete with a leather vest, bare arms, and tan, bulging muscles. His dark hair was long and tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck, his head covered by a bandanna. His dark glasses made it impossible to see if he was watching her with the same intensity that she was him. He braced his feet apart and crossed his arms while he patiently waited for his friends.

  “Hi, Rooster,” Casey greeted.

  “How’s it going, cupcake?” he asked.

  Casey laughed at his pet name for her. “I had a terrible day. Bethanne, too.”

  “It seems matters are looking up for her, though.”

  “Looks that way,” Casey agreed.

  His name was Rooster? Interesting, to say the least. Lauren chanced another glance in his direction. If any man was the complete opposite of Todd, it was this one. Not her type, for sure. She hesitated and forced herself to look away. How quickly she’d judged this man she had yet to meet, strictly from appearances.

  She’d passed over him with little more than a glimpse. How unfair and judgmental of her. Just that morning she’d told herself it was time to think outside the box, beyond outward appearances. She found herself staring at him, unable to pull her gaze away. Then, to her utter embarrassment, he removed his sunglasses, stared back at her, and smiled.

  Chapter Six

  It’d been a good long while since Rooster had ridden his bike this hard and this far. He had to admit, it’d been a challenge. He didn’t like to think he was getting soft, but that might well be the case. It’d been a year since he’d gone farther than a couple hundred miles on his motorcycle in a single stretch.

  Max had been eager to get to Seattle, and they’d ridden practically nonstop. Seeing the greeting Bethanne gave him, Rooster knew Max would consider it worth every minute of discomfort they’d endured on the long ride. The instant the two of them had entered the yarn store, Bethanne’s eyes had brightened and she’d practically flown into Max’s arms. Witnessing the love the two shared lightened his mood and his day.

  Within minutes of their reunion, Bethanne and Max had left the yarn store. Rooster glanced across the street at The French Cafe and his stomach growled, reminding him that it had been hours since they’d briefly stopped for lunch. As he recalled, the croissants at the small deli-style restaurant were buttery and flaky.

  He headed across the street and ordered coffee and a croissant to tide him over until dinner. He took the plate outside to a vacant table and sat under an umbrella in order to watch the passersby. He enjoyed people watching and realized that said a lot about him and his personality. Never one to seek the limelight himself, he took pleasure in observing others.

  Before they’d left California, Rooster had booked a hotel room for the weekend in downtown Seattle. Max remained conflicted, but Rooster could read the handwriting on the wall when it came to the future of their wine-distribution business. Sooner or later Max, who owned the controlling portion of the partnership, would need to make a decision, and as far as Rooster could see it boiled down to two options—either sell it or move it.

  No matter what Max decided, Rooster was tired of living in California. He was ready for a change, so if Max were to decide to relocate, Rooster wouldn’t have a problem with the move. He’d spent a fair amount of time in the Seattle area over the years and enjoyed the lush green forests and blue skies.

  Rooster was glad he’d arrived at The French Cafe when he did. The small cafe and bakery, which was now open for dinner, did a bustling business, and soon the tables inside started to fill up.

  The yarn store closed at six, and he watched Lydia turn the sign over on the door. A couple moments later the woman who’d been knitting with Bethanne left the shop.

  Rooster had noticed her right away. Hard not to, with those piercing blue eyes and that dark hair. The combination was striking. She was an eye-catcher for sure—classy, too. Nicely dressed as she was in a pink suit, he guessed she must work in one of the office buildings downtown. He especially liked her choice of jewelry. She wore a cameo with matching earrings. He remembered his mother had a similar one, although he didn’t know what had happened to it after she’d died.

  He suspected the woman who wore the cameo wasn’t married, although the absence of a diamond ring was no guarantee. She had a ring on her left hand, but it was an opal surrounded by diamond chips. Generally, Rooster didn’t notice details like this, but she’d caught his eye right away. Fact was, he’d paid attention to just about everything there was to notice about her.

  He remembered when Max first met Bethanne. His friend had lost his daughter, and then within a short amount of time, his wife, too. The double whammy had sent Max spiraling emotionally. In an effort to escape the pain, Max had taken to his bike, randomly traveling across the country from one state to the next, with no agenda and no purpose in mind other than to forget and to heal.

  Rooster joined him intermittently, mostly to check up on Max and to tell him what was happening with the business, although at the time Max showed little interest in anything to do with their livelihood.

  Then while the two of them were on the road, Max had met Bethanne and almost overnight everything had changed. First they’d followed her to Vegas and then to Branson, Missouri. Max had been smitten, big-time. At first Rooster was amused, and later he was grateful. Falling in love with Bethanne had pulled Max out of the deep emotional pit he’d slid into after such devastating losses. She’d given him a reason to move forward, both with life and the business.

  Even now Rooster was convinced that if Bethanne had chosen to remarry her ex-husband, Max would have accepted her decision and returned to California to the life he had once known. Love had the power to heal, and Rooster had taken note of that lesson.

  Rooster sat up straighter. To his surprise, the woman with the cameo crossed the street and headed directly for The French Cafe. She caught his gaze and smiled politely, acknowledging that she remembered him from the yarn store. She passed him and went inside the small restaurant. Within a few minutes she was back with a cup of coffee. Apparently, all the tables inside were taken,
because she came outside and claimed the table on the other side of the entrance away from him. She pulled out the chair and sat so she could look out over the street. She appeared to be waiting for someone, because she glanced anxiously at her wrist and at the people coming and going along the sidewalk.

  After a few moments, she hurriedly reached for her purse and brought out her cellphone. She glanced down at it and seemed to be reading a text message.

  Rooster watched as she quickly typed out a response. Reading her body language was easy. Her shoulders tensed as she exhaled with what looked like irritation. Rooster guessed whoever she was waiting for was going to be late.

  Seeing how busy the cafe was, it seemed a shame that they should each claim an entire table. Having finished the croissant, Rooster discarded the paper plate, reached for his coffee, stood, and approached her.

  “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked. “These tables are becoming a premium.”

  She glanced up, and a look of surprise came over her before she nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

  He pulled out the chair across from her. “Name’s Rooster.”

  “So I heard. I’m Lauren. Lauren Elliott.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Is your name really Rooster?”

  “It’s what my friends call me.” He briefly took her soft hand in his, then leaned back in a relaxed pose and crossed his long legs, propping his ankle on his knee.

  Clearly amused, she smiled. “I have to say it’s one of the more original names I’ve heard in a while.”

  “I’m pretty much used to it. Last name is Wayne.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re waiting for someone?” He’d deduced that much easily enough.

  She glanced at her wrist. “He’s already fifteen minutes later than we originally agreed, and then he texted to let me know he was running a few minutes behind. Like I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Not a great way to start off your evening, is it?”

  “No, but this is typical of Todd.” She didn’t sound overly pleased with her date.