Starlight Hill: Complete collection 1-8

by Heatherly Bell

  No sooner had Scott arrived at the hospital and heard someone mention Diana’s name that he connected the dots. She seemed about as stuck up as he remembered her. Even if she had to be feeling vulnerable, she gave him a snooty look he didn’t appreciate it. Stubborn too, not wanting a ride from him when she clearly had no one else to turn to. Her eyes were sharp, assessing and intelligent and always left him feeling…lacking.

  Now, he opened the passenger door to his truck and held out a hand, which she refused. Didn’t exactly surprise him. No doubt his teenage self had probably tried to steal a kiss once and been slapped silly. He’d always liked a damn challenge and that’s exactly what she’d always been to him. Different. Always had her head stuck in a book, even at the lake. Acted like she was too good to hang out with the rest of the kids, including him.

  He waited for her to climb inside and then shut the door. She had nothing with her but a plastic hospital bag where he assumed she carried the previous night’s…er, clothing.

  “How long you in town?” It only made sense to make polite conversation.

  A quick glance in her direction and he caught her staring out the window. “However long it takes to convince my mother not to put my Gran in a home.”

  “But why would Mrs. Paulsen need to go in a home? Isn’t that for really elderly people?”

  “She is elderly. Haven’t any of you noticed that she never leaves the house?”

  “That can’t be true.” On the other hand, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Mrs. Paulsen at the supermarket, or the gas station. Did she drive any longer? Both he and Wallace did odd jobs around her house whenever it needed repairs, and Gen always brought her groceries. But surely Mrs. Paulsen left the house.

  “It is true. Anyway, I’m here to take care of her now.”

  Well, hell. He’d hoped the hostility might not reach across the years, but with women he understood memories were long. And twisted. He only wished he could remember what he’d done so he could at least figure out if he’d been right or wrong. They arrived at the motel, not a happy looking scene at the moment. It looked the way most places did after a fire. Desolate. Ruined.

  Her breath hitched, and she pushed her glasses back up her nose. “It looks much worse in broad daylight.” She climbed out of the truck and stood in front of her motel room.

  Scott walked up behind her. “We contained the fire before it spread too far. I know it doesn’t look like it to you now, but it could have been much worse.”

  “You guys got here fast, that’s why.” She bit at a fingernail. “What do you think caused it?”

  “We won’t know exactly what caused the fire until after the inspection.” He had his suspicions. Even two weeks past the Fourth, the occasional random firecracker could be heard going off in town. They were illegal, but that didn’t stop some idiots.

  She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hand a little shaky. Sometimes the danger that a person had escaped tended to hit them much later. Often with the force of a tsunami. He understood the feeling all too well.

  “Watch out what you wish for.”

  Sounded like she was talking to herself. Before he could ask her what she meant, because hey, she’d said that out loud, they both heard the theme from ‘Cops’ coming from somewhere near a bush.

  Diana dropped to the ground. “My phone!”

  He squatted to join her in searching, finding it first, underneath a Daisy bush. Probably kicked outside in the chaos. “Here.”

  Diana touched it reverently. “My whole life is in here.”

  “Hey, you salvaged something. Phone, glasses and car keys.” Look on the bright side, his brother Billy always said. This was a stretch. “Your ID is probably in there somewhere. In a couple of days you’ll hear back from the fire inspector.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his and she gave him an honest appraisal, as if she’d only now noticed he was a man. For a moment, he considered asking her out to dinner or coffee. But she’d turn him down, no doubt, for whatever it was he’d done all those years ago.

  “Thanks for saving my life, Scott Turlock.”

  Not like he hadn’t heard those words before, but hearing Diana say them sparked a tiny ember inside him. “I’m just doing my job.”

  He watched her get in her sedan and drive down the street, still wondering what he’d done to piss her off.

  By Sunday, Diana had settled into her old bedroom at Gran’s house. Sure, it gave new meaning to cozy but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She had nothing now. Well, she had her glasses. Her phone, car and her car keys. Poor Gran had been horrified to hear of the fire, and loudly declared that she’d apply for sainthood for Scott Turlock with the Roman Catholic Church. Apparently Scott wasn’t Catholic but Gran didn’t think it would matter.

  Diana stretched under the covers, drawn in by the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the house.

  Actually, it was a blast from the past to be surrounded by posters of ‘NSync’ and the Backstreet Boys in the bedroom she’d shared on summer visits with Mandy, two twin beds side by side. Twelve-year-olds weren’t known for their superior taste in music so she wasn’t going to beat herself up about that. And, she obviously still liked pink, even if she’d long outgrown the white lace eyelets all over her twin canopy princess bed. The bedroom remained a shrine to Diana and Mandy and all those lazy summer days of the past. She missed them too.

  There was something deeply reassuring about the fact that Gran hadn’t changed anything about this room.

  Because some people were steady and unchanging rocks of strength, and that was what Diana needed right now.

  And she’d prove that Mom was wrong, and Gran didn’t need to be moved into a nursing home at all. Even if Gran agreed to move tomorrow, it might take months to get her moved out. Diana noticed Gran’s collecting had grown to new levels. There were stacks of magazines and books lining the hallway and walls—good thing the fire hadn’t been here or the place would have gone up like a Roman candle.

  Her phone buzzed and she reached for it. Mandy, no doubt calling to complain about Mom. Diana being gone meant that for now Mandy had no buffer between her and Mom.

  Diana rubbed one eye. “What?”

  “It’s been two days and she asked me what I thought of the new Vera Wang collection. Please come back before she buys my wedding dress when I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  “Now you get to see what I’ve had to put up with.” Mom’s obsession with wedding dresses had been bad luck for Diana and Bradley from day one.

  She’d dated Bradley for six months when Mom had brought a wedding dress home for Diana to try on ‘just in case’. And then, of course, there was the fact that Bradley had met Tiffany at Mom’s wedding boutique, Getting Hitched.

  “You’re the older sister. You get married first,” Mandy said.

  “Listen, she already has my measurements.”

  “Do you have anything for me to read yet, see if I catch any mistakes? Remember, it’s not about part A going into slot B,” Mandy said, the resident expert on sexy books.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s a sign. The fire took everything I’d been working on. It was all crap, anyway.”

  “It’s not a sign. Don’t you want to prove to Bradley he was wrong about you? Don’t you want to get published?”

  Diana sighed. What she really wanted was to be able to write her young adult stories. Or maybe just to be able to enjoy writing again would be nice, and stop seeing it as a chore and a duty. “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Plus this bedroom was not conducive to sexy thoughts. She stared at the photo of her favorite Backstreet Boy. Nope. What she needed was some new photos in here. Maybe one of the actor who played Thor.

  “I know what you need! You need a date. Correction: you need to get laid. Nailed to the wall. As in headboard-banging sex.”

  Oh sigh. That sounded awesome. “What I really need is another job. I can’t work for mom anymore. Not after Tiffany and Bradley. And I
’m so sick of hearing all the Bridezillas go on and on about their special day. The dress is never good enough for them. It always needs alterations, a longer train or a shorter train. The veil, the hat, the shoes! It’s all so depressing.”

  “I know. Yesterday Missy Yodder came in and changed her mind again. We’d already ordered the dress so we had to scramble. So how’s Gran doing?”

  “She’s sharp. Sure, she’s a little frailer than the last time we saw her but she’s still Gran. Still strong. No worries.” Diana hung up and dragged herself out of bed. She stumbled into the kitchen where Gran was already at the stove.

  “Good morning! The coffee’s on. And I’ve got bacon, sausage, eggs and pancakes.”

  “Should you be cooking?” Diana reached into the cupboard for a mug and poured herself some coffee.

  “I don’t know, dear, should you be breathing?”

  “Gran—”

  Gran held up a spatula. “Young lady, I’ve been cooking since Roosevelt was president. I’m not going to stop now. Especially since I love to eat. The two go hand in hand.”

  Diana poured milk in her coffee and stirred. “All I’m saying is that maybe it’s time to let someone else cook for you. Like me. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  “Nice? It sounds like Jackie Onassis. And there’s no need. I don’t even bake anymore since that darling Genevieve does it for me. Brings me all her day old stuff and it’s just as good.”

  Gran would have an excuse for everything. Diana had to get Gran out of the house, all part of the plan to show Mom that all was well. “I thought we’d take a drive to Napa later today.”

  “What for?” Gran piled a plate with several pancakes and strips of bacon. She set it down in front of Diana.

  The family curse and the reason Diana couldn’t quite button the top of her jeans. Women in her family loved to eat. “Just to see the sights. It’s beautiful in Napa. Wine country.”

  “This is wine country. I don’t need to go to Napa.”

  “But wouldn’t it be nice to take a drive?”

  Gran didn’t answer the question but sat down at the table and gestured to Diana’s plate. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “All right, let’s talk about it.” Gran poured what seemed roughly a quarter of a cup of syrup all over her pancakes. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here to see you, of course!”

  “Because you usually come for a few days, and you’re off again.”

  Diana broke off a piece of bacon. “How long has it been since I spent my entire summer here?”

  “Since you were twelve, I believe.”

  “I was sixteen.” The best part of that year had been the summer she’d spent with Gran. Even when Diana had been miserable Gran had somehow managed to make it all…bearable.

  “Oh, that’s right. That was the summer you begged your father to let you stay with me instead.”

  That part had been easy since dear old dad had a new family that year. He’d been more than happy to be relieved of the responsibility of seeing his daughters that summer. Mandy had been able to do her cheerleading camp, and Diana had come to be with Gran. “I’d say it’s about time I stayed the summer with you again.”

  Gran didn’t appear convinced as she puckered her lips. “And this happens to be just after your mother was here for a visit, turned up her nose at my collection of yarn, magazines and books, and started dropping hints.”

  “What kind of hints?”

  “She asked whether I’d be more comfortable in a place where I could have a staff at my beck and call. I asked her whether I’d won the Lotto and someone forgot to tell me. She just rolled her eyes and mentioned Sunnybrook Hills or some such nonsense. No way am I going to leave my home. You’re here because your mother sent you. She thinks I need to go in a home.”

  “No, you’ve got it wrong.” Diana rested her hand on Gran’s. “I’m here to help you prove to Mom that you can stay here.”

  Gran gave a wide smile. “And how do we do that?”

  “We start by organizing.” Diana waved an arm around the kitchen. The countertops and kitchen table where stacked with books and magazines, rusted coffee cans, coupons and yarn. She had no clue what else.

  Gran scowled. “That better not be another word for throwing away.”

  “We can get some boxes and put some things in storage. Next, we show her that you can get around just fine. That you’re perfectly able to leave the house every now and then. You’re not a shut-in.”

  “Of course I’m not a shut-in! Your mother and her imagination. Well, I don’t drive anymore because Jim at the market delivers all my groceries, and whatever he doesn’t, Gen will bring over. I don’t want to hurt their feelings.”

  Poor Gran seemed to be stuck and it was Diana’s duty to get her unstuck. “Why don’t we go out to lunch today? What’s a good place in town? Is the diner still there? You can introduce me to some of the people I haven’t seen in a while. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Now Gran patted Diana’s hand. “No need. They’ll all come by to say hello once they hear you’re in town.”

  They weren’t getting anywhere. Baby steps.

  Halestorm blared from the speakers in Scott’s truck. One good thing about working for his brother Wallace was that they had similar taste in music. It was pretty much a firefighter’s dream to have a contractor for a brother. Scott’s forty-eight on and forty-eight off schedule with the fire department meant there wasn’t much time for a second job. Filling in with Wallace’s crew was ideal. Even better? Hanging outdoors on a bright and sunny July day. Having just come off the recent fire, the sweet smell of grapes wafting through the air was a welcome change from smoke and soot.

  “Hand me that drill,” Wallace said.

  They were working on Mr. Jones’ addition to his already sprawling ten thousand square foot home. Scott handed the drill to his brother and watched him drill in some studs into the new sheetrock. Every one of Wallace’s crew had peeled his shirt off in the heat. Not Scott. He’d remembered to wear a light cotton t-shirt, which now stuck to him like a second skin. Normally, Wallace wasn’t the type to take off his shirt either, but married life had played hockey puck with his brain.

  Scott turned his head to the sound of a truck coming up the circular driveway, and there she was: the reason his brother smiled more often these days than he probably had in the past thirty-two years of his life. Gen, his sister-in-law, pulled up like clockwork at noon. She always brought Wallace lunch when he worked in town, and usually plenty to spare for the rest of their crew. It was no wonder every one of them looked forward to her arrival. Scott shut off the radio.

  “Lunch time!” Wallace called out, and shrugged off his tool belt.

  Scott tried to remember a time when his brother had let anyone else determine break time, but the arrival of Gen generally meant that they dropped everything they were doing. Scott supposed that being serviced regularly by the girl of your dreams might have a way of doing that to a guy. He watched a shirtless Wallace walk up to Gen, lift her up in the air and kiss her with such intimacy that he and every crew member turned away. The whole spectacle made Scott wish his brother could just use one of Mr. Jones’ many rooms inside and spare everyone else the PDA.

  “Hi, everyone!” Gen said when Wallace finally let her come up for air. “I’ve got lunch.”

  Lunch turned out to be worthy of a mini-banquet, but that was Gen. She’d brought her usual spread of croissant and flat bread sandwiches, cookies, rolls and slices of cherry pie from the bakery she ran in town.

  Kyle and some of the other crew happily helped themselves and then set up on the hood of Kyle’s truck, where he had his laptop. The guys regularly gathered around to watch videos on the Internet of the latest cat video or skateboarding mishap. Scott usually joined them, after he’d done the family thing with Gen and Wallace.

  “Hey, you. Pregnant yet?” Scott ruffled her hair as he grabbed a pastr
ami sandwich. The way these two looked at each other, he was surprised it hadn’t happened through osmosis.

  “Not yet,” Gen said. “But we practice enough.”

  He’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he? “Right.”

  “I don’t think we practice enough. Probably we need to practice more, till we get it right.” Wallace kissed Gen’s temple.

  “Well, that’s my cue.” Scott turned towards the guys when he heard a shout from one of them.

  “Wait a minute. That’s Scott!” Pedro shouted. “Isn’t it?”

  “Sure looks like him,” Kyle said. “Hey, it sure is. Scott! C’mere!”

  They were all huddling around the laptop screen, shoving each other out of the way when Scott joined them. “What is it?”

  No one said anything, just stared from him to the screen. His eyes turned to the screen, where he saw—crap, was that the night of the fire? Someone had filmed him carrying Diana out of the house. The worst thing about the video was the free show she gave everyone in her skimpy lingerie before he’d managed to throw a blanket on her.

  “Wait. How—?” Scott asked.

  “Someone filmed the rescue,” Pedro said.

  “And what a rescue!” Kyle elbowed him. “Why didn’t you tell us? Who is this girl? Is she single? Where can I meet her?”

  Scott scrubbed a hand down his face. Man, this was not good. “Aw, man. That’s Mrs. Paulsen’s granddaughter. Diana. And she’s going to be pissed.”

  Wallace and Gen had walked over to the commotion.

  “What’s this?” Wallace stared at the screen.

  “It’s a video of your little bro being the hero that he is,” Pedro said and clapped Scott on the back.

  “Stop,” Scott protested. “I’m no hero. Just doing my job.”

  “No one told me that’s what firefighters get to do,” Kyle said. “Hell man, sign me up.”