Will stood up, dropping the food on the bench. “Tell me again why you don’t want to marry me. I’m listening.”
Loretta’s face crumpled. She stepped behind a chair at the Brennemans’ dining room table as though she were afraid of him—as though she might throw the chair if he came closer. “All right, I’ll be blunt,” she said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t want to come right out and say this, knowing how you’re still hurting from Molly’s death and—”
“Just spit it out. We’ve been down this road already.” Will sensed he’d lost any chance to redeem himself now, but he wasn’t leaving until he’d heard the truth.
Loretta pressed her hand to her mouth, staring at him as tears ran down her face. “My mind and my heart have changed, Will, and . . . I—I don’t love you anymore. Please try to understand—”
“What? I can’t hear you!” His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged room. Too late, Will realized he was sounding just like Cornelius.
Loretta picked up a pottery vase from the center of the table. Would she really throw it at him? Gentle, sweet Loretta?
“You’re out of your head, Will,” she stated sadly. “The way you’re acting only confirms my sense that you’ve changed dramatically—and that it would be a big mistake for me to marry you. Please, Will. Please try to understand,” she pleaded.
Will’s breath left him in a rush. He clenched his fists, and for a moment he wanted to rush over and grab her shoulders—to shake some sense into her.
That would prove she’s right, wouldn’t it? You’re out of your head, man. You’ve scared her half to death, and now she never wants to see you again.
“Fine. Have it your way,” he said in a raspy voice. “And if Detweiler does you dirty, I’ll be the first one to say I told you so.”
Will pivoted, striding away so Loretta wouldn’t see his face puckering. Once outside, he slammed the door so hard its glass rattled. As he jogged toward the mill, sun diamonds glistened on the gently flowing river, enticing him. If he got a couple of bungee cords from Luke’s storage closet . . . lashed big rocks to his feet and jumped in, his troubles would all be over. Then maybe Loretta would be sincerely sorry about what she’d done to him, instead of just mouthing the words. He stood on the riverbank, sizing up the rocks until he’d spotted two that would be heavy enough to take him to the bottom of the river and hold him under.
The sound of a motor on the road made Will glance behind him. Nora’s van was coming up the gravel lane toward her store. If she spotted him, his plan would be interrupted. Everyone in town would hear about how he’d tried to end it all, and he’d have to endure their sympathy, their well-intentioned attempts to counsel him.
Bad enough that Loretta’s going to tell Nora about your visit, so everyone in town will soon know you’ve lost it. Go home, Gingerich. You’re such a failure you can’t even get rid of yourself without messing it up.
* * *
Nora held Loretta close and let her sob against her shoulder. “Sweetie, what happened?” she asked softly. “Were you uncomfortable being here all by yourself, or—”
“Will was here,” Loretta blurted. “He—he got really mad. Made me tell him why I didn’t want to marry him anymore, and—and—”
Nora’s eyes widened. Only a desperate man—a glutton for punishment—would ask such a question. “Loretta, did he hurt you?” She eased away to study Loretta’s tear-streaked face, relieved to see no bruises or signs of a slap.
Loretta shook her head. “I had a vase ready to throw at him . . . which was probably a little extreme,” she admitted ruefully. “But Will was so bitter about me going out with Drew, and he insinuated that I’d be sorry for getting involved with him.”
Nora cleared her throat. “Are you involved with Drew?”
“Not that way!” Loretta replied quickly. She shook her head sadly. “Will has it in his head that he and I can be together again. It hurt like anything to tell him I don’t love him anymore, but—but at least he left.”
Nora hugged Loretta again before releasing her. The last thing she wanted was to upset Will even more, but she couldn’t have him coming into the store and intimidating Loretta again, either. “Luke and I will talk with him. And until we’re sure Will’s got his act together, I won’t be leaving you alone in the store, all right?”
Loretta nodded, wiping her face with her apron. “I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble.”
“This is hardly your fault,” Nora insisted. She smiled purposefully until Loretta managed a small smile of her own. “It’s one thing to have a lovers’ quarrel—or an ex-lovers’ quarrel. It’s another thing altogether when it happens in my store, with one of Luke’s employees. You were right to tell Will the truth, Loretta, even if he wishes he could turn the clock back.”
“Denki for seeing it that way,” Loretta whispered.
“Happy to help. Someday we’ll all look back and realize this was just another little bump on the road to your happiness, and Will’s.” Nora smiled brightly. “And by the way, Edith was ecstatic about the rocking horse and banners Drew picked out.”
Loretta nodded and went back to the bench where she’d left her rug. With a sigh, Nora returned to her office. She suspected voices from the mill store could be heard in the upstairs apartment, so instead of calling Luke, she went to her computer and emailed him.
Once we’re home tonight, we need to discuss Will. Keep this between you and me.
Chapter Nine
By six o’clock on Friday evening, Rebecca had changed her outfit three times. As she began to hang up the unsuitable clothing she’d tossed onto her bed, she shook her head. She’d been out on the occasional date while she’d attended graphic design classes, yet those guys had seemed adolescent and geeky compared to Wyatt McKenzie. She’d finally decided that a date at the Grill N Skillet didn’t require anything fancy, thank goodness, because her wardrobe didn’t measure up to the way Wyatt had been dressed when she’d met him. He would have to accept her in khaki capris, a denim vest, and a pale beige shirt—and if her appearance didn’t suit him, well, it was best to find out he was a clothing snob before she got too interested in him.
Hah—too late, her thoughts mocked her. After her extensive online search, Rebecca was all too aware that Wyatt could have chosen a big design firm to launch a new website worthy of his enterprises. And despite the fact that she’d only spent an hour with him, she definitely found him interesting.
But why was a man who owned estates and horse farms in Lexington, Kentucky, and Sarasota Springs, New York, establishing a Thoroughbred farm in Willow Ridge? From what she could find out about him, Wyatt ran with the top dogs of horse racing and breeding—and the major tracks where his horses raced were all far, far away from Missouri, in both geographical distance and the social status of the folks with whom he did business.
Why did he seek me out to design his website? I’m a mere novice compared to the metropolitan design firms his peers have hired. He could’ve worked with whomever designed the sites for his other two farms . . .
Rebecca looked out the window for the umpteenth time, despite the fact that it was only ten after six. She laughed at herself for feeling so tingly and apprehensive and giddy, because dinner tonight was probably just a business meeting—a place to discuss the website Wyatt wanted. Should she be wary of the fact that he hadn’t said a word about his site on Tuesday?
Should you be alarmed about the fact that a forty-year-old man is hitting on you?
Rebecca sighed. When she’d found photos of Wyatt on the Internet, he’d either been standing beside a fabulous racehorse from one of his stables or he’d had a wealthy-looking blond socialite in a red evening gown on his arm. The sight of him smiling directly toward the camera, with his sun-streaked hair catching the light, decked out in a slate blue tuxedo, a black bow tie, and a white shirt had made her gaze so intently at her computer screen, she’d printed the picture—after cropping out the socialite, of course. As Rebecca held the page, Wyatt h
ad such a presence—such a self-assured smile—that he might as well have been standing in her office talking with her.
But then, when had she ever beheld a real man in a tuxedo? The high school boys at prom hardly counted compared with the virile maturity Wyatt McKenzie exuded.
When Rebecca realized she’d been gawking at the photo for way too long, she set it aside and went out to her front porch to wait. A big maple tree shaded the west side, blocking the intense sun. As she rocked in the swing, she wondered what to talk about—besides websites. She didn’t know much about horses . . . had never attended a horse race. She’d grown up in a middle-class home in a small town. Her adoptive dad, Bob Oliveri, was a man of means who’d invested in a few Willow Ridge businesses to assist her Amish family—he’d bought her mother’s Sweet Seasons Bakery building, and he’d financed the new Grill N Skillet that had risen from the bakery’s ashes.
But Bob, bless him, was almost bald and a little too cushioned around the middle, and he easily disappeared in a crowd. Growing up with him had not prepared Rebecca in the least for dealing with Wyatt’s magnetism.
She glanced at her watch. “Hmm. Fashionably late,” she murmured. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so nervous, so ready to impress someone who already impressed her immensely. And maybe arriving at the Grill N Skillet after most of the supper crowd had left wasn’t such a bad thing.
Ten minutes later, a white van with pictures of flowers on it pulled into her driveway. Rebecca stood, her eyes widening as the delivery kid strode toward her carrying the largest bouquet of red roses she’d ever seen.
“Um, let me find you a tip,” she murmured, grabbing her purse.
“No need,” the young man said with a grin. “The guy who sent you these has already taken care of it. Big-time.”
Rebecca gestured for him to set the large vase on her wicker porch table. Did these flowers mean Wyatt would be late? Or was this a kiss-off? Her home phone and cell hadn’t rung—so was there a reason he didn’t want to talk to her? Or text her?
As the delivery guy jogged back to his van, Rebecca stood before the bouquet in awe. Maybe it was tacky to count—but then, when had she ever received three dozen absolutely stunning roses? They were the lush color of Christmas-red velvet, and she marveled that every single flower was open slightly, flawlessly promising her several days of enjoyment.
Rebecca carried the bouquet inside so it wouldn’t wilt in the evening heat. As she set it on her dining room table, she noticed that vase was made of exquisite faceted glass—not like the cheap, plain glass containers that often accompanied floral deliveries. She was almost afraid to open the little ivory envelope she plucked from the wide band of shimmery gold ribbon that was tied in an elaborate bow around the vase.
My dearest Rebecca, I’m so sorry I can’t be with you this evening. Ever yours, Wyatt.
Rebecca frowned. That was it? No explanation? No mention of calling or coming another time? Even though she knew it hadn’t rung, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She found no message or missed call from him.
As she dropped down onto her couch, she felt totally flummoxed. If she was Wyatt’s dearest Rebecca and he was ever hers, didn’t those sentiments—and such a sumptuous bouquet—imply a relationship? A connection worth gracing with a few explanatory words about why he’d stood her up?
“You are such a fool, little girl,” she muttered. For all she knew, Wyatt was escorting that socialite in the Internet picture to a fancy-dress ball at some billionaire’s estate, via his private jet, and couldn’t be bothered with showing up in Willow Ridge. Oh, he was a pretty package who said all the right things and knew precisely how to make her hang on his every perfect word, but what else was he? Why had he walked away from those two women he’d almost married—or had they shown him the door? Had Wyatt showered those women with gifts, too, until they’d seen through his broken promises?
Before her lower lip could tremble, Rebecca grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Dinner at the Grill N Skillet was still a wonderful option—much better than sulking at home—because she would see folks she knew, none of whom had any idea she’d been stood up. And she could stop at Mamma and Ben’s house for a visit, too, because chatting with them while playing with six-month-old Bethlehem would be a surefire lift for her wilted spirits.
The image of Wyatt wincing because her tiny sister had spit up on his expensive silk shirt made Rebecca laugh out loud. It was clearly time to fill her head with images of someone besides the alluring man who’d so quickly captured her fancy.
What Wyatt says paints a pretty picture, she thought as she pulled her Ford Escape out of the garage. It’s what he doesn’t say that sketches in the wrinkles and warts.
Chapter Ten
Loretta quickly dried the plates Rosalyn was stacking in the dish drainer, feeling a little on edge. Nora had asked her to come to her house around seven thirty this evening, but she hadn’t elaborated on the purpose of the visit. Maybe she wanted to talk about the two rug-making classes, which were attracting more interest than they’d anticipated—but wouldn’t they know even more about how many ladies to expect by next Tuesday, when Loretta would be working in the shop again?
“You’d better scoot, missy,” Rosalyn said as she glanced at the kitchen wall clock. “You don’t want to keep Nora waiting.”
“And what in tarnation does Nora want from you now?” Dat groused. He was sitting at the kitchen table behind them, catching up on the week’s edition of The Budget. “You were with her all day yesterday in that fancy, fandangled shop of hers. If she wants you to work more days each week, the answer is no. It’s not fair to leave your sister responsible for the house and the garden—”
“I don’t intend to work any more days than I do now,” Loretta insisted, more sharply than she intended. Dat had been irritable all day, and she was eager to escape for a little while. “I have no idea how long our visit will take, so please be patient.”
She hung her damp tea towel over the back of her chair at the table. “See you later,” she said, returning Rosalyn’s wink. “Let’s pick zucchini tonight, before they get as big as ball bats.”
“And we’ll dig up our poor sun-bleached lettuce and spinach,” Rosalyn put in. “The heat has really gotten the best of them.”
Loretta nodded her agreement and headed out the back door before Dat could think of any other reason to detain her. She jogged past the garden and the chicken yard, where the hens and rooster pecked at the dry dirt in one corner of the fence. The Grill N Skillet was having a typical busy Friday night, judging from its parking lot full of cars and buggies. The aroma of grilled beef filled the air, and Loretta wished they could eat at the café more often, as a break from having to cook and clean up every single evening. Now that she worked three days a week, she better appreciated the reason why so many people flocked to Josiah and Savilla’s restaurant for their lunches and suppers.
Once she’d passed behind Zook’s Market, she walked on the shoulder of the county highway, amazed at the cars that passed in either direction. Willow Ridge was a lot busier than Roseville had been, yet it was still very much a small, Plain community where a few Mennonites and English lived among the Old Order Amish. Up ahead, the big waterwheel of the mill was still, and the mill’s parking lot—as well as the Simple Gifts lot—stood empty.
Loretta strode up the Hooleys’ driveway, pausing to catch her breath when she’d reached the porch of the biggest white house in town. She’d only been inside Nora and Luke’s home once, on the day Ira and Millie, Nora’s daughter, had gotten married. It was no surprise that Nora had been watching for her.
“Come on in, sweetie!” she said as she stepped out the door. She was barefoot, wearing a loose seersucker dress. “On a day as hot as this one, I have to admit that having an air conditioner is a real advantage to being Mennonite.”
“Jah, it’s really warm at home,” Loretta remarked as she entered the spacious front room. “Rosalyn and I baked
cinnamon rolls and canned about twenty quarts of tomatoes today. I should’ve brought you some!”
“Nothing prettier than fresh tomatoes in a jar,” Luke said as he came from the kitchen. “But then, I can say that because I’m not the one who has to do that hot canning work. Gut to see you, Loretta,” he added, gesturing toward the overstuffed chairs and matching couch. “Help yourself to lemonade.”
Loretta eagerly poured a glass of the pale yellow liquid, recognizing it as fresh-squeezed rather than made from powder. She caught the look Nora and Luke shared as they glanced at the rustic barn board clock that hung above the sofa.
“I might as well fill you in,” Nora said as she came to sit in the chair nearest Loretta’s. “After your run-in with Will the other day, Luke and I decided we needed to iron out this situation before it gets out of hand.”
Loretta’s eyes widened. She appreciated the Hooleys’ efforts on her behalf, but what could they possibly say to change Will’s attitude?
“I asked Will to come over this evening, too,” Luke continued. His handsome face was set in a serious expression. “I hired him on Asa’s recommendation—and Will’s an excellent farmer—but we can’t have him threatening you or causing any further trouble. It’s one thing to be grieving the loss of his wife. It’s another thing entirely for him to fly off the handle at you because your feelings toward him have changed.”
When the doorbell rang, Loretta lost all taste for her refreshing lemonade. She had a pretty good idea that Will would feel he was walking into a trap when he saw her here. But what can he do ? Luke and Nora are in charge.
Would Will resent the Hooleys’ interference? Would he scowl every time he saw her from now on because he believed she’d asked Luke and Nora to take her side?
As the two men’s voices drifted in from the porch, Nora smiled kindly at her. “It’ll be all right, Loretta,” she said quietly. “We’re just setting some boundaries for—ah, hello, Will,” she said as Luke and Will entered the front room. “Denki for coming over.”
A Simple Wish Page 8
