by Cindi Myers
“Hoping we’ll up the salary?” Cooper grinned. “You drive a hard bargain. We can add another five thousand a year, but that’s all we can manage.”
“That sounds very, um, generous. I just need a couple of days to be sure.”
“All right, but don’t take too long. We really need someone right away.”
“I promise I’ll let you know before the weekend.”
“Good enough.” He offered his hand and she shook it. “I hope you’ll decide to take the job,” he said as he walked her to the door. “I was really impressed with your work, and I think you’d be a great fit.”
Amy had planned to have lunch and do some shopping before she left Denver, but once she was in her car she headed straight for the highway. The noise and traffic of the city overwhelmed her; all she wanted was to be back in Hartland, drinking coffee with Charla or playing in the yard with Chloe and General.
She hadn’t mentioned the possibility of a move to the little girl; five was probably too young to understand all the reasons why returning to the city was better for them. At least she wouldn’t have to separate Chloe and General; with Bobbie selling the farm she’d agreed that the dog needed to go with Amy. She’d have to find an apartment or rental house that allowed pets.
From the time Amy was a child, the prospect of a new home and new places to explore had excited her. Moving was another chance to start over—to make new friends and to be the fabulous, outgoing, interesting person she wanted to be.
But she’d never been outgoing, much less fabulous and interesting. She was ordinary Amy wherever she went. The exotic locales she’d lived in and the exciting things she’d done—the Peace Corps, writing, traveling with Brent—hadn’t transformed her into a different person. The adventures had only added layers to the person she already was.
But as she tried to imagine herself living in Denver and working in the offices of Colorado Byways, she felt none of the old excitement or anticipation. She’d reached the goal she’d been working toward and all she felt was...empty.
* * *
JOSH AVOIDED SEEING Amy in the days following their argument at his cabin. His conscience told him he should go to her and settle things between them, but pride kept him away. Pride, and the hurt that she’d been unable to see past her anger and fear to how much he cared for her. He hadn’t merely offered to purchase the farm for himself or for Bobbie. He wanted it for Amy, so she wouldn’t have to see the only real home she’d known taken over by strangers or razed by a developer. He’d meant to tell her all that, but then she’d burst into his home so full of accusations. He’d realized then she didn’t see him as her rescuer, only as a wounded veteran—someone to be pitied, or scorned.
He could avoid seeing her in person, but he couldn’t avoid the picture of her smiling out at him from the front page of the Hartland Herald on Wednesday. Amy Marshall Debuts New Column the headline read.
Josh turned the pages of the paper, searching for the column. Maybe reading her words would help him reconcile his confused feelings for her. Why did her opinion, in particular, matter so much to him? Part of him longed for the early days in their acquaintance, when the words she wrote had so often angered him. Anger now might help him feel better about their current estrangement.
A Local Hero, the heading on the column read.
He doesn’t like the word hero, though many would use that term to describe him—not merely for his military service and the sacrifices he made in the line of duty. That sort of heroism might be forced on a person, or be the consequence of other decisions made.
Josh Scofield is a hero to many because of the things he’s done since coming home from the war. He guided a group of high school baseball players to their first winning record in ten years, and in the process set an example of hard work and dedication, a crucial lesson for young men on the cusp between childhood and manhood.
He’s a hero to the students in whom he’s nurtured a love of science. He’s shown them there’s a place on a team even for kids who aren’t jocks.
The little children who tend the school garden and delight in watching seeds send up shoots and grow into plants probably don’t even know Mr. Scofield. But they have him to thank for the system that brings water to thirsty roots.
To some people, Josh may be a man with a hook instead of a hand. They see what’s missing, and not the whole that remains. Every day when he faces down the people who would underestimate him, he is a hero to those who silently observe.
He doesn’t like the word hero, so I won’t call him that, but I’m glad to call Josh Scofield a friend, as are many in Hartland.
He sank into a chair, still clutching the paper in his hand. Amy must have written this before their argument, but he sensed the truth behind her words. She wasn’t the type to print this merely to flatter him; she was a woman who said what she felt. She’d done that in the first article she’d ever written about him, the one that had angered him so because he thought she was questioning his qualifications to teach and coach.
How had he been so wrong about her? In her article she certainly hadn’t dismissed him because of his hook. She hadn’t focused on his shortcomings. If anything, she saw him as a better man than he saw himself. She saw him as the man he wanted to be. Her words even made him believe he could be that man. That hero.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could drive out the memory of the pain in Amy’s eyes when he’d sent her away from him. Some part of him had known keeping his plan to buy Bobbie’s farm a secret would hurt her, but he’d been too caught up in the idea that he could impress her with his ability to save her.
Amy didn’t need a savior. She’d pulled her life together after a tragedy and was doing a good job of raising her daughter alone. He respected her courage to dig into a story and get at the truth in her writing—even when he was the one she was digging into. Her reporting had made him a better teacher and coach, since it had made him work that much harder to prove he deserved the job he’d been given.
She didn’t need rescuing, but maybe she did need a man who could love her and stand by her side. He wanted to be that man, but how was she going to know if he didn’t bother to tell her? Maybe part of their problem all along had been the inability of either of them to share their feelings. It felt safer to hide behind their hurt than to risk more injury by being honest with each other.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Bobbie’s number. With luck, he could catch Amy when she walked in the door. He’d apologize and try to patch things up. He wanted Amy to know how he felt about her, whether she stayed in Hartland or not.
“Hello?” Bobbie sounded tired and faraway.
“Bobbie, this is Josh. Is Amy there?”
“No. She’s gone to Denver.”
“What’s she doing in Denver? Is something wrong?”
“She doesn’t think so, though I’m pretty upset about it.”
His heart hammered. “What’s happened?”
“Some magazine there has offered her a job. She went to interview, but the way she talks, she’s all but decided to move.”
“So she’s made up her mind.” The words left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Seems like it. I’d really hoped she’d want to stay here. I think it would be good for her and Chloe to stay in one place for a while. But I guess she inherited her mother’s wanderlust. All those years of wandering have made it impossible for her to stay put.”
“I guess so.” And any wandering he’d done had just made him want to come home. He said goodbye to Bobbie and hung up the phone, a heavy sadness washing over him. All this time he and Amy had talked about everything but what was really important.
Now she was leaving and he had no time left to tell her how much she’d come to mean to him.
* * *
AMY DROVE
BACK to Hartland without stopping, but when she arrived at the house in the late afternoon, it was silent and empty. Bobbie must have taken Chloe shopping or to the park. Amy gave General a treat and changed out of her suit and into shorts and a T-shirt. She’d planned to work in the greenhouses awhile—watering, weeding and pruning the plants always calmed her. But at the last minute she veered away from the greenhouses and headed down the path to the orchards.
A breeze rustled the leaves of the apple trees and filled the air with the scent of green fruit. Gnarled branches bowed under the weight of the ripening apples, some already tinted with the first blush of red. Amy had a memory of playing here as a girl, making dolls out of fallen green apples and twigs, arranging her “babies” around an old tree stump for tea.
The distant sound of a chain saw drifted to her, and she began walking toward it. After a few minutes she passed through a gap in the fences that divided the different orchards and saw a man bent over a leaning tree. He stepped back and shoved at the trunk with one booted foot and the tree toppled over, leaves flying into the air like tossed confetti when it landed.
Josh shut off the saw, then turned toward Amy. She picked her way through the rows of trees, aware of his gaze fixed on her as she drew nearer. When she stopped in front of him he removed earplugs and stripped off his glove. “Hello, Amy.”
“Hello, Josh.” She regarded the tree at their feet. “What was wrong with it?”
“Scab. Bobbie asked me to cut and burn it before the problem spread to the other trees.”
“You’re already a big help to her.” She took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? “I’m sorry for the things I said to you the other day,” she said. “You weren’t interfering. You were helping. More than I’ve helped. I should be thanking you. So thank you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I should have told you about my plans instead of keeping it a secret. You had every right to know. The farm is your home.”
“I don’t think I know the meaning of that word.” She retrieved a fallen apple from the ground at her feet and held it. The skin was smooth and cool against her palm, the fruit hard as iron. “Home should be someplace you cling to, not run away from.”
“You have a right to live your life as you see fit,” he said. “Just because some people spend their whole life in one place doesn’t mean that’s right for you. You have to fulfill your own dreams.”
“Traveling the world was my parents’ dream, and they made it come true. They took me along, and I can’t say it wasn’t a wonderful experience. I did things as a child that I’ll never forget, and made memories I’ll always cherish. Then I married Brent and his dream was to lead a life full of adventure. I was happy to go with him, but then I had Chloe, and he couldn’t wait for us. I resented him for that, then I felt guilty about it.”
“A lot of survivor’s guilt is about unfinished business,” Josh said.
“I guess so.” She tossed the apple aside and raised her eyes to meet his. His gaze was so calm and steady—the expression of a man she knew she could trust.
“I read what you wrote about me in the paper,” he said.
“Are you angry?” He’d never liked being the focus of attention, but she’d felt she owed him that article. She wanted the rest of the town to see him as she saw him.
“How could I be angry?” He cleared his throat. “I never knew you thought of me that way. Most of the time, I thought you didn’t like me that much.”
His words made her heart ache, but maybe she deserved the pain. “I came down on you pretty hard sometimes. But that was more about me than you. It was almost as if I thought if I liked you and was kind to you, I was betraying Brent. And I felt so guilty about how things ended between us. It took me a while to see that hurting other people was never going to fix something that was impossible to mend. I’ve finally accepted that I have to put the past behind me and move on.”
“Bobbie said a magazine in Denver offered you a job.”
“Yes. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Then you’re going to take it?”
“I don’t know.” She tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t quite shape the expression. “Maybe you’re right and I can’t commit.”
“You’ll make a commitment when you find something worth committing to.” He hesitated, then took her hand in his. “I’d like it if you stayed here, but you have to decide what you really want. I learned the hard way a person can’t be happy unless she does what she feels in her heart is right.” He squeezed her hand. “And I want you to be happy.”
She closed her fingers around his and held on, a falling person clinging to a lifeline. Unlike almost every other person in her life—her parents, Brent and even Grandma—Josh wasn’t telling her what she should do, or how she should live. He trusted her to make the right decisions for herself and Chloe.
“I think what I really want is to stay here in Hartland,” she said. Saying the words made her feel lighter. “I worried I couldn’t be happy staying in one place because I’d never had the opportunity to do so. But restlessness isn’t a disease with no cure, or even a requirement to have adventures. Making a living and raising a child and being part of a community are a different kind of adventure—one I think I’m ready to try.”
“What about the job at the magazine? I thought that’s what you’d always wanted.”
“I don’t have to move to Denver to write. I’ve been thinking about doing more freelancing. And I’d like to write a book. Charla says there’s a writers’ group that meets at her shop. I might check it out.”
“That’s a good idea.” He reached out with his other hand—his hook—and she wrapped her fingers around it. The metal was warmer than she’d expected, and felt right in her hand. “I’d be glad if you stayed,” he said again. “Bobbie and Charla and a lot of other people will be happy, too.”
“I told myself when I first came here it was only temporary, but I know now I came looking for the one place I would always belong—the place I never had as a child. People here have accepted me, even though I know I made it hard sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t love you if you always made things easy on yourself,” he said.
Love. Not a word she’d heard him use before. She looked into his eyes, her heart pounding as if it might burst from her chest.
“I do love you, Amy,” he said. He pulled her close and she went gladly, releasing his hands to wrap her arms around him.
“I love you, too,” she said. “I have for a while, but...it scares me. I made so many mistakes with Brent and...”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “We’ll probably make mistakes, too, but we’ll work together to fix them.”
She nodded. “I guess we’ve both had experience with that.” Being with Josh now didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the most right thing she’d ever done in her life.
He smoothed his hand down her back. “I’ll tell Bobbie to keep the orchard.”
“No. I think you should buy it. It’s too much for her, and you’ll do a good job of managing it.” Her smile this time came more easily. “I think she’s ready to let go, and she deserves not to have to worry about it anymore.”
“I’ll need help to run it,” he said. “A partner who already knows the business.”
His eyes held such tenderness she felt as if the hard shell of pain that had constricted her heart melted away. “Do you have someone in mind?” she asked.
“Would you be my partner, Amy? In the orchard and in life?”
“What are you asking, Josh?” She thought she knew, but she needed to hear him say the words.
“Will you marry me?”
She caught her breath, heart pounding. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He bent his head and kissed her, and ever after the scent of green apples wo
uld remind her of that moment, when she let go of everything that held her back for too long, and started on the greatest adventure of her life.
EPILOGUE
“MOMMY, YOU LOOK so pretty.”
Amy studied her reflection in the mirror in the back bedroom of the farmhouse. Bobbie had already moved to her new townhome off Main Street, and Amy was still deciding how to turn the rest of the house into her home. But she had more pressing concerns today. She smoothed her palms down the slim-fitting white lace dress. The hem fell only to her ankles—she’d refused to try to walk through an orchard in a long dress and train. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, and turned to straighten the crown of apple blossoms atop Chloe’s gold curls. A matching crown topped her own pinned-up hair.
“It’s time, girls.” Bobbie, dressed in a trim blue suit, her cane garlanded with more apple blossoms, stood in the bedroom doorway. “You look beautiful, Amy.”
“So do you, Grandma.” Amy took Bobbie’s arm and held to Chloe with her free hand and the three of them made their way out the back door and down the path toward the orchards.
Guests lined the path and stood among the trees, which were crowned with pink-and-white apple blossoms. Their perfume scented the air, sweet with the promise of the harvest to come. Amy spotted the faces of those who had become dear to her—Ed and Cody from the paper, Erica and her boyfriend, George, Teresa and Stephanie, the men and women from her writers’ group, and so many others. All important parts of her life—the extended family she’d come to treasure.
Amy’s parents hadn’t been able to make the wedding—at this very moment they were somewhere in the wilds of Chile, escorting a group of wealthy Europeans on the adventure of a lifetime. But they’d promised a visit sometime this summer, and Amy was content with that.
At the end of the makeshift aisle, Charla stepped forward to relieve Amy of her bouquet of lilies and roses, and Amy turned to greet her groom. Josh’s smile warmed her to her toes, and she returned the joyful look.
