My Heart Belongs in San Francisco, California

by Janice Thompson

  His father took a seat and placed his hands in his lap. “You’ve seen me coming and going a lot these past few weeks.”

  “Yes. I … I haven’t had the heart to bring it up, but I have been concerned.”

  “The truth is, son, I’ve been spending time with Maggie O’Callahan.”

  “Maggie O’Callahan, the washerwoman?”

  His father nodded. “Didn’t quite know how to tell you, if you want the truth of it. Maggie’s been mighty lonely since her husband died last year, and I …” His words faded at the same moment his cheeks flamed red. “Well, doggone it, I’ve been pining away for her for nigh on three months now, so I finally worked up the courage to tell her. We’ve been seeing each other ever since, but I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “Father, I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll be happy for us, Sam. Say you’ll be all right if I choose to up and marry her. That’s my plan, anyway, unless she changes her mind.”

  “You’re getting married?”

  “Mm-hmm. Middle of August, soon as her son and daughter-in-law can get here from New York. But that isn’t all.” His father rose and the pacing started again. “Giving thought to selling the inn.”

  “Selling the inn?” Months ago, this news would have delighted Sam. Now it put a hole in his heart. “Do you have a buyer?”

  His father’s gaze drifted to the table. “I’ve had an offer from Marcus Denueve.”

  Sam’s heart plummeted to his stomach. He lowered his voice to a strained whisper so that the others in the room wouldn’t overhear. “Father, you can’t be serious. You know Marcus Denueve better than anyone. He’s trying to take over this town, one business at a time. You’d be playing right into his hand if you sold to him. It wouldn’t end well for anyone.”

  “I didn’t say I planned to do it, just that he placed an offer. A generous one.”

  “You’re dead set on retiring after …” Sam could barely get the word out. “Marrying?”

  “The inn is a lot of work, as you well know. And with prices going up every day, I don’t know how I can keep it going. Marcus has painted us into a corner.”

  “Which is why I’m so shocked you would give thought to selling to him, of all people.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense, actually.” His father appeared to lose himself to his thoughts. “Sometimes the tide is against you. And right now, my heart just isn’t in it. One day you’ll understand, son. You’ll fall in love.”

  The words cut deep. Sam was already feeling the emotional tugs of what he believed to be love, only the one he cared for would soon be leaving. She would go, then Father would sell the inn, and Sam would be on his own—with no one. Nothing.

  Sam rose and walked toward the kitchen, his thoughts tumbling. Finally, he turned back in his father’s direction to speak his mind. “I’m sorry, but this conversation has taken me totally by surprise.”

  “No doubt. I understand you’re surprised. I told Maggie you would be. But don’t you see, son? I’m getting older. That’s why. A man can’t go on working forever.”

  “Are you giving thought to going back home to Independence after you marry?”

  “No, but if I sell the inn—”

  “Something I hope you won’t do.”

  “If I sell the inn, I would move into Maggie’s place. She’s got that nice house on the west end of the district. It’s just the right size for the two of us.” He flashed Sam a smile. “And big enough for a few grandkids to visit, when the time comes.” Just as quickly, he sobered. “I know how badly you’ve wanted out of this situation, son. You’ve hated San Francisco and this inn from the get-go. To be honest, I figured this idea would delight you.”

  Funny how things had changed, and in such a short time too.

  Sam decided to end the conversation on a positive note, so he congratulated his father and then turned to head up the stairs.

  Abby approached just as he grabbed hold of the stair railing. “Everything all right, Sam? You don’t seem yourself.”

  He shook his head as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. “No. Not sure I can talk about it right now, though. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, then.” She rested her hand on his arm and gave him a tender glance, one that pricked at his heart. “But I’ll be praying, Sammy. Whatever it is, God is big enough to handle it.”

  He wasn’t sure which touched him more, that she wanted to share his burdens with him, or that she’d called him Sammy.

  He settled into bed a short time later. The noise from downstairs dissipated and he knew all the fellas had left for the night. Still, his father’s news kept him wide awake.

  The lingering smell of Cookie’s cherry pie hovered in the air adding further distraction. Perhaps a trip to the kitchen was in order. Just for a nibble, of course. He could think more clearly with the taste of cherry pie on his lips.

  After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slipped down the stairs and tiptoed into the kitchen.

  What he saw next almost sent him reeling backward, out of the room.

  Cookie.

  And Neville.

  Wrapped in each other’s arms.

  What do you mean, Marcus is making a move?” Sam leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at his father, stunned at his news.

  His father ran his fingers through his thinning hair, something he only did when nervous. “He stopped by early this morning and put more pressure on me to sell the inn, son. He upped his original offer to one that’s hard to resist. With all the changes coming in my life, I have to at least give the offer some consideration.”

  From her place at the sink, Cookie cleared her throat.

  Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t. Father, please tell me you’re not ready to give in to the pressure just yet. It’s only been a few days since you told me about your engagement. We haven’t even had a chance to talk this through. And you know how I feel about the man. To lose the inn to him, of all people, would be the ultimate insult.”

  “We wouldn’t be losing, we would be selling. There’s a difference. The money would be enough for you to live … and live well, Sammy. I’m talking about a life without the pressures of running a business dependent on Marcus Denueve.”

  “If we sell to him, I fear we’ll never really be free of him.” Sam felt his temper rising and it was all he could do not to raise his voice. “Please don’t do anything yet. There’s no reason to feel forced to do something against your will.”

  Cookie cleared her throat once again, this time a bit louder.

  “The clock is ticking, son. Maggie and I are getting married in a few weeks. After that, I’ll be living at her place. If I don’t sell the inn to Marcus, then the whole lot falls to you, and I’m of the opinion it’s too big a chunk to bite off, especially for someone who’s been keen on leaving, anyway.”

  “My feelings on leaving have changed, Father.”

  There. He’d spoken the words aloud. Hearing them caused a wave of fear to creep over him, but he would deal with that.

  “Really?” His father looked perplexed. “Are you saying you want to stay and manage the inn without me?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Unless you’re desperate to sell because you need the funds.”

  “If prices keep going up, we’ll be hurting. But it was never really about the money, Sammy.” His father gave him an unexpectedly tender glance. “It was always about having something to leave to you, a legacy. But I thought—and please forgive me if I’m wrong—I thought you hated it here. I’ve had the feeling for some time now that you wanted to return to Independence.”

  “I … I did.” Sam shook his head. “But now, I don’t.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “I’d made up my mind to sell,” his father said. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “And what about the bakery, Mr. Harris?” Cookie turned to face them,
her face ashen. “Have you changed your mind about buying the building next door?”

  “Not sure my heart is in it right now, Cookie.” He shrugged. “You might say I’m a little distracted. Let me think about it, all right? We can talk later.”

  “But I’ve got it all planned out—in my head and on paper. I’ve even been trying out new recipes on the men. I know it’ll be a success. I just know it.”

  “I don’t know, Cookie. I really don’t.” Sam’s father reached across the countertop, grabbed an apple muffin, then took a bite. “Mmm.”

  “See?” She raised her arms, as if to prove a point. “New recipe. It’s good, right?”

  “Everything that comes out of your oven is good, Cookie,” Sam’s father responded.

  “And everything that touches Marcus Denueve’s hands turns to evil.” Sam stood a bit straighter, determined to speak his mind. “Which is why I can’t abide the idea of letting the Gold Rush Inn fall into his hands. He would turn it into a den of iniquity.”

  “I highly doubt that, son.”

  “What’s to keep him from turning it into another dance hall that serves food and offers rooms to accommodate its”—Sam spit out the word—“guests?”

  “Don’t let your imagination run away with you, Sam.”

  “I’ve never been accused of having a runaway imagination, Father. I’m just flabbergasted to think you might be all right with selling to a man like that. Anyone else, I could understand. But him?”

  “Just hold steady.” His father took another bite of his muffin then turned to face Cookie. “This is one of your best, Cookie.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Thank you. I’ll be serving them in the new bakery, which I still plan to open next month, regardless. Breakfast muffins. Loaded with vitamins to get you going for the day ahead.” She muttered something under her breath about how she probably wouldn’t be able to afford the ingredients once Marcus took over the town, then stormed to the other side of the kitchen.

  “That is my biggest concern, actually,” Sam’s father interjected. “If I refuse to sell to Marcus now, he’ll take revenge by upping the prices on our goods even further.” He turned to face Sam. “Don’t you see, son? He’ll just keep on raising costs until we finally fold. He’s got the upper hand and he knows it.”

  “Then we have to think of a way to get it back.”

  His father gave him a pensive look. “Can’t picture how that will work. As long as we need items from his store, he will have us in his grip. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Then we need another option for goods. Another store.”

  “The nearest general store is miles away. We can’t send Cookie that far for flour and sugar and such.”

  Cookie rested her hand on the countertop and shook her head. “I don’t mind, Mr. Harris. Not if it will keep us here. I’ll ride as far as necessary to buy what I need. If it means Sammy can keep this place, it’ll be worth it to me.”

  Sam looked her way and nodded. “We could manage, if we stocked up. Right, Cookie? Jin and I could go with you, once a month, say, and we could buy all we needed. Then we wouldn’t be dependent on Marcus anymore. It’s not an option we’ve looked at in the past, because it’s inconvenient, but inconvenience is better than highway robbery.”

  “Whatever it takes.” Cookie planted her feet firmly, placed her hands on her hips, and faced them both. “My heart is here. My place is here. I don’t want to go back.”

  Sam’s father released a sigh, a defeated look on his face. “I’ll leave it up to you for the moment, Sam, but let’s talk about this again in a few days. I want to be sure you’re up for this, in it for the long haul, as it were.”

  “Well, I know what I’ll be praying for in church tomorrow, anyway.” Cookie reached for a mixing bowl and dumped in a mound of sugar. “In the meantime, you’d better up your prayers too, Sammy-boy.”

  Sam nodded in agreement. What were his other options, really?

  Abby didn’t mean to snoop, but found herself at the kitchen door at the very same moment Sam and his father were conversing about the fate of the inn. Two things caught her by surprise: First, Mr. Harris planned to marry? This was certainly news to her. And second, he had planned to sell the inn to Marcus Denueve?

  The very idea made Abby feel sick to her stomach. Thank goodness Sam had shared his thoughts on the matter. But how would things turn out in the end? Would Marcus really gain control? If so, they could wave good-bye to the whole town, at least their corner of it.

  She paced the dining hall, her thoughts tumbling madly. How could she help fix this situation? “Why do I care?” she said aloud to the empty room. “I’m not even staying here. Mother and Father will be here soon, and they’ll take me …” She couldn’t say the word “home.” Philadelphia didn’t feel like home. Not at all.

  No, the only place that truly captured her heart now was San Francisco.

  Beautiful San Francisco, with its sparkling waters and scenic overlooks. Exciting San Francisco, with its rowdy cowboys and brawls in the street. Lovely San Francisco, with its precious citizens, including a few who had won her heart fully.

  Citizens like Cookie.

  And Lesley.

  And Sam.

  Sam.

  Abby’s heart began to twist in ways she hadn’t known possible. In a flash, she pictured herself seated on the wagon next to him, looking out over the bay. She could almost feel her hand in his, could hear his words, whispered in her ear.

  What was it he had called himself, again? Oh, yes. Reliable. Reliable old Sam.

  Her heart twisted with a mixture of joy and pain as she pondered her growing feelings for reliable old Sam.

  The wave of emotions that hit her was almost more than she could take. How had she overlooked his sweetness? The way he’d cared for her when she arrived. His mother’s quilt on her bed. His kindness toward Cookie and his father. His gentlemanly ways around Les, even before her transformation. The way he treated Jin like a brother. The way he gave of himself so freely to the local men like Chet and Adam.

  Yes, he was reliable, in every way that mattered. Sam Harris was a prize, one she had almost missed because her eyes were on something—or rather, someone—else. A manipulator, no less. She’d almost fallen into Marcus’s trap. And Sam had tried to warn her, hadn’t he? Surely he cared about her too, or he wouldn’t have bothered.

  He cared about her.

  Yes, and he’d tried to tell her, hadn’t he? Pieces of his heart had shown through that day at the bay. How had she missed his heart? Oh, if only she had listened. She could have avoided so much frustration. And maybe, as Lesley had said, she and Sam would already be courting right now.

  The very idea brought a rush of warmth to her face.

  It also brought the pain of knowing she would soon have to leave San Francisco.

  Leave him.

  A lump rose in her throat and she had to sit down. For, while she hadn’t truly planned to come to San Francisco in the first place, she could no longer deny the inevitable: she didn’t want to leave. Emotion gripped her like an ocean wave and the tears began to flow.

  When Mr. Harris passed through the room, she turned the other way and pretended to work. He spoke a couple of words of greeting and she responded, but it was all she could do not to throw her arms around him and beg him not to sell the inn. Would he listen, if she pleaded her case?

  Abby didn’t have time to think that through. He disappeared out the door and she turned back to her work, determined to dry her tears. All the while she prayed for Sam, for the Gold Rush Inn, and for her parents.

  When the lunch hour came, she forced herself to remain attentive and polite as she moved from table to table, waiting on the men. When she reached the table nearest the door, her gaze landed on a familiar young man. She narrowed her gaze to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

  “Jimmy Blodgett!”

  The young waiter from the train looked her way, his eyes widening as he took her in.
r />   “Remember me?” she asked.

  He lifted his coffee cup and stuck out his pinkie finger. “Nottingham.”

  “Right.” She giggled and plopped down into the empty seat next to him. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either. What in the world brought you to San Francisco?”

  “You, actually,” she responded.

  “Me?” He looked stunned by this.

  “Yes. It was your glowing description of the place. I had to see it—and taste it—for myself.”

  “Didn’t realize my words had that much power. You told me once that you would never see the inside of the Gold Rush Inn, and yet here you are.” He cocked his head. “Are my eyes deceiving me? Are you working here?”

  “I am.” She laughed. “It’s a long story, but here I am. The roads to the Oregon Territory were washed out, so we took a different route. But I wasn’t joking before. It was your description of San Francisco that won me over.”

  “And it was your use of the word ‘wanderlust’ that convinced me to come back. What an amazing stroke of fate, to find you again.”

  Behind her, Sam cleared his throat. Abby turned, joy flooding her heart as she clamped eyes on his handsome face. Suddenly she could hardly wait to tell him about her feelings for him. That would have to wait, of course. Right now there were introductions to be made.

  “Sam, you’ve heard me talk about the young man on the train who shared his passion about San Francisco. This is him.”

  “Jimmy Blodgett, sir.” Jimmy stood and shook Sam’s hand. “I believe we met last time I was here, but it’s been some time, so no offense taken if you don’t remember me.”

  “You do look familiar,” Sam observed.

  “Jimmy is the reason I’m here,” Abby reminded him. “He had a lot of wonderful things to say about this place.”

  “Then you’re the one I have to thank.” Sam gave the young man an admiring smile. “Not quite sure how we’ll go about repaying you for sending Abby to us.”

  Abby’s heart wanted to burst into song at Sam’s sweet words. She wanted to dance a waltz. She wanted to play the pianoforte. She wanted to …