His Daughter's Prayer

by Danielle Thorne

  Callie was speechless. He’d never kissed her like that before. No one had. She stared out over the water, with him, afraid to even say a word.

  Feelings she thought she’d moved past and erased had only been hidden, not fully healed. She’d been fighting them since she’d walked into the Market this summer to find him as handsome and sincere as he’d ever been; and more mature and thoughtful. Could this really be happening? Mark Chatham was making her fall in love with him all over again. And this time it was faster and harder.

  But what if he broke her heart again? There’d be no city far enough away to get over him this time.

  Chapter Nine

  Callie decided to stay home the next day and work on her laptop. There were sketches to do and emails to write, although she couldn’t send any unless she used her phone’s Wi-Fi as a hot spot. It made for clumsy and time-consuming work, but she wasn’t up to leaving the house for Wi-Fi anywhere else. With her planner in her lap, she slept off and on in short naps to catch up on sleep.

  “Finally!” Amanda cried when she picked up the phone.

  “I’ve been busy,” Callie said in a cool voice.

  “Mr. Martin is on a rampage! One of the house closings fell through yesterday because of a bad appraisal, and he just lost the bid to buy the Quik Mart on the corner of Broad.”

  Callie slumped into the couch and put her ankles up on the Queen Anne-style coffee table. “I texted you that things were under control.”

  “One text? I told you the farmhouse had flooded, and you ran off without telling me what you were doing.”

  “I handled it,” Callie retorted. “By the way,” she said, unable to fight off the warning to let things go, “thanks a lot for telling Mr. Martin about the floor without calling me first.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “What do you mean? I texted you.”

  “Yeah, after the fact.”

  “No,” Amanda denied. “The real estate agent from Burlington called me after his showing and then I left a message for you at the office because I was on my way out. I did text you, just not right away.”

  “Well, the secretary was so happy to let Mr. Martin know.”

  “He must have called the other agent to find out what happened.”

  “It’s fine,” Callie relented. “Although next time I don’t do something perfect, you could speak with me first.”

  “Callie,” Amanda said in exasperation, “no one expects you to be perfect. I walked through a mud puddle once and tracked it all over the white carpet of a house I was showing. I had to pay for the whole place to be professionally shampooed.”

  Callie wrinkled her lip. “Gross.”

  “Did you get it taken care of? I haven’t had a chance to get out there.”

  “Yes,” Callie said. “Leave the listing up. Mark and I stayed up all night replacing the wet flooring. You can’t even tell now, and I’ll seal it in a couple of days.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “Several floorboards around the window were damaged. I’ve moved the dining table out a couple feet to let it cure. It’s just going to have to sit that way for a couple weeks.”

  “Sure, yeah, that’s fine.” Amanda sounded relieved. “By the way, Mr. Martin said something to me about you getting your real estate license?”

  Callie frowned. “Why would he think I’d do that?”

  “No, I mean he suggested it.” Amanda hesitated. “I mean, I think so. It’s not a bad idea. It’d be great if you were to stay in Ragland. You’re already on staff and just doing the staging.”

  Callie narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean just? It’s a full-time job. All I do is run around for the company like a stagehand. I haven’t had any time to purchase inventory for myself to set aside.”

  “I know, and you’re doing a great job! Everybody loves you. There’s an offer on the Maple Street ranch house already. Did you know?”

  “I needed to hear that. Thanks, but no, I don’t want to get my real estate license. That’s not in the plan. Either I start up a boutique by autumn or I head back to Nashville.”

  “Have you thought about consigning furniture with Mark on the side? You can do some high-end stuff, and it’d bring a whole new kind of client into his shop, not just collectors.”

  “That’s an idea,” Callie admitted, “but I still want my own place.” She didn’t tell Amanda that it’d already flitted through her mind. There were so many possibilities living just blocks from a respected antiques store, and she knew the owner.

  “Listen, we’re having a picnic out at the lake for the Fourth of July,” Amanda said. “Everybody’s going to be there. Do you want to come?”

  Callie hadn’t thought that far ahead. Mark’s description of watching the parade and other festivities from his shop on the Fourth sounded like a fun way to spend the day. “I’ll let you know,” she said, afraid to commit.

  “How about tomorrow night?”

  “For a picnic, or do you need a babysitter?”

  Amanda laughed. “Um...both. Todd has a softball game, and I could use some help with the kids at the field. They get so cranky after school.”

  A ball game meant seeing Mark. “All right, but dinner’s on you,” Callie said.

  Amanda sighed with relief. “Meet me there at seven thirty, and I’ll buy you a hot dog with the works.”

  They hung up, and Callie let out a breath. She’d been afraid of a big fight, another argument that would separate her from her sister the way disagreements and disappointments had separated her from her mother. The farmhouse fiasco had been fixed. She couldn’t make any more mistakes if she wanted to keep working for Martin Realty this summer.

  She thought about her father and realized she hadn’t talked to him since she dropped by when she first arrived in town. They didn’t speak often, but she knew he wanted to keep in touch. She flipped through the phone for his number and hit Call. He’d love to hear about her job on the wood floors.

  * * *

  Mark pulled up alongside his mailbox and pulled out the mail. A bill from his car insurance read Second Notice. He sighed in frustration. He’d never been behind like this. Speeding down the drive, he parked at an angle in front of the house and urged Hadley to hurry in.

  “I’m hungry, Daddy.”

  “Give Daddy a few minutes, then I’ll make us dinner.”

  She skipped toward the television, and he winced. There were leftover frozen meals he’d boxed up on a whim a while back, and now he was glad he’d done it. He’d teased himself at the time; he was becoming quite the homemaker.

  Thinking about being alone still made him think of Callie. He couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her. It’d felt so natural, and she’d had a twinkle in her eye and a flush on her cheeks afterward. He was sure she’d felt something. She’d held his hand the whole way back to the car, talking and laughing, and that made him realize that he wanted this again. With her.

  Mark picked up a browning apple from the wire fruit basket on the counter and munched on it while the microwave defrosted some leftover spaghetti. Callie still lived her life a hundred miles an hour, but she was solid, had a natural cheery attitude and was always sincere. He never had to guess what she was thinking or what she wanted. She spoke her mind and did it with a smile on her face.

  The microwave pinged, and he reset it to a lower heating temperature. They sure still had a lot in common. They both appreciated the value and stories of the past, and she knew her antique furniture, even if she had no use for sports cards. Plus, they both loved being outside or on the water.

  The doorbell rang, and when he opened the front door, he found a sweaty, short man with thinning hair on the porch. By the look of his dress clothes, he hadn’t planned on spending the day outside.

  “Hello,” he said with a flashy grin.

  Mark immediately k
new he was selling something. He forced politeness. “What can I do for you?” he asked, as Hadley wandered over, grabbed Mark’s hip and hung from his leg.

  The man held out his hand to shake, and Mark accepted. “I’m Ronald Brown from Burlington Realty.”

  Mark froze. He put his hands on his waist where Hadley dangled. He was interested, but for all the wrong reasons for poor Ronald Brown. “What do you want?”

  Brown wiped his hands off like he had sand on them. “Well, I was having a look at that lot across the street. How far does the land go?”

  Mark’s blood pressure kicked up a notch. “I don’t know what you’re looking at, but I own three acres across the way, and the rest belongs to the farm over on Taylor highway.”

  “Ah, I see,” Brown said, like he didn’t have access to maps or satellites. “You just have a small patch of land there.”

  “Yes,” Mark said, trying to be patient. “We used to own much more, but it was sold off years ago.”

  “And that old house down the way?” Brown continued.

  “On my side?”

  Brown nodded.

  “That’s my old family home my grandparents built, but it was sold around the same time. My parents built this place.” Mark decided to act ignorant. “What’re you looking at land out here for? Not much for sale.”

  “Oh, well,” Brown said, “the farm off Taylor that comes up behind your lot across the street is going up for sale. They have over a hundred acres.”

  Mark raised his brows. He knew the place. He didn’t know the farm was selling, though.

  “So, it’d be nice to pick up the few acres you have right here. It’s sitting right in the middle of their back property.”

  “Hmm.” Mark hesitated.

  “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

  Mark peeled Hadley from his leg. “Go into my room and get the treat jar off my dresser. You can have one piece of candy.”

  She looked at Mark in shock.

  “Then watch your cartoon until Daddy’s done talking and we’ll go get a hamburger at your favorite place.”

  Hadley dashed off for her candy. Mark turned back to Brown, his mind racing. McIntyre had hinted that the bank wanted more land out this way, but he didn’t know it was that serious.

  “Well, I sold off some there to the south a while back,” he said to the Realtor, motioning behind the trees lining the far side of the driveway. “I figured they’d subdivide it into big lots and put in a house or two, but it’s still sitting empty.”

  Brown gave him a mischievous smirk. “Right, well, they’re looking at more than a house on a couple of acres here and there.”

  An alarm went off in Mark’s head. He forced himself to rest his hand on the door frame and act casual. “What do you think they want to do with all this land out here?”

  “You’ve heard of Whiteside Developers?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “Yes, they’re based out of south Atlanta, but they have an office over in Burlington now. They’re the ones that put up that development on the north side of Ragland. You know, a few miles down from the new superstore?”

  Mark’s throat turned dry so suddenly it hurt. “You mean that fancy subdivision with the lots that are so small?”

  Brown went from sweaty to gleaming. “Yes, I’ve sold three houses in there. Beautiful homes. Great lawns, quality craftsmanship and upscale amenities.” He leaned forward and said in a silky tone, “They even have a neighborhood pool.”

  Mark shifted around and tried to push down the swelling ball of nausea that had expanded in his gut.

  “What do you think?” Brown had cooled off in the porch shade. Mark should have asked him in, but he’d been so shocked it hadn’t crossed his mind. He stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. He motioned toward two rocking chairs a few feet away, and they sat down.

  Brown looked so pleased about how things were going, Mark almost felt bad that he had to disappoint him. His heart thumped in his chest, but he tried not to show it in his voice. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. It was his very worst nightmare; his parents’ fears, and McIntyre and his banking cronies were all in on it.

  They rocked for a moment, neither man speaking. Brown’s motion was short and jerky, like he couldn’t contain his excitement for a potential sale.

  “I’ve been asked about selling.” Mark motioned across the street with his chin but didn’t mention the bank. “I only sold the acreage a few years back because it was too much for me to keep up, and my parents had talked about it once.”

  Brown nodded in sympathy. He probably wasn’t that bad of a guy.

  Mark relaxed his shoulders, which had pulled back tight. “I guess it looks trivial to keep the land across the street, but I like having a view and want to protect it. We used to have horses over there when I was a boy.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Brown smiled. “My daughter takes equestrian riding lessons.”

  Mark nodded. “We never did that, but this isn’t really a farm anymore. I do have the hay cut and rolled every year.”

  “Nice little income.”

  “As long as they cut it, it keeps it down for me, and they give me a quarter of the profit.”

  “Oh, that’s a good deal.” Brown’s frantic rocking calmed, and he seemed to relax. The evening air cooled. The sun melted from gold to bronze.

  “So, it’s like this,” Mark said. “I have no intention of selling any land right now. Maybe in about twenty years or so when I’m ready to retire, and that’s a big maybe. I don’t want any neighbors too close next door, and I certainly don’t want any across the road.”

  Brown looked crestfallen, but he seemed to understand. “I can see how you feel that way, and I’d say the same thing, but if you saw the proposals I’ve seen, you’d probably change your mind.”

  Mark stopped rocking. “What do they think they’re going to do?” He waited for a response, hoping the man didn’t clam up.

  Brown bobbed his head in time with the chair’s rhythm. After a pause, he raised a hand and pointed across the driveway. “A cul-de-sac would back up here to the road, and then skipping over your lot, a back street would run about a block from the eighth mile marker and turn west. You’d basically have houses on all three sides of your land over there.” He stopped and thought. “They’d probably leave trees, but you never know.”

  “Right,” Mark said. If the farm across the street sold, his land would be smack in the middle of a subdivision. They’d take down any trees along the fence line in a minute. He’d seen it all too often.

  After a few minutes’ silence while Mark absorbed the information, Brown stood up. “Well, I didn’t mean to bother you, Mr. Chatham.” He stopped himself and explained the gaffe. “I just wanted to get out here before someone else in Burlington or Ragland got to you, especially the developer. It’s easier for them to come in here waving their money around.”

  Mark tried to look amused, but he didn’t feel it. “I don’t need any money. I’m not selling any more land.” He gave a sharp shake of his head.

  “I understand. There’s a lot of old families out here and not everyone is ready to give up the lifestyle.” He sighed. “Our area is growing by leaps and bounds, though. People are anxious to get out of the city and find a nice neighborhood.”

  Mark stood up and offered his hand. “I get it. I don’t have a problem with the suburbs. I know owning a lot of acreage isn’t for everyone. I just don’t want houses all around me, not to mention seeing a strip mall go up and before you know it...”

  Brown shook his hand and gave him a light tap on the shoulder with his other one. “It’s just part of the future. Progress, you know. Lakefront property is too expensive for the average Joe, and there’s so much undeveloped land out this way with the lake nearby, it makes it prime real estate.”

  “Thanks for lett
ing me know,” Mark said, and he meant it. Now everything made sense.

  “Sure.” Brown handed him a business card. “If you have any more questions, or if there’s anything I can do for you, here’s my number.”

  Mark thanked him, waved goodbye and watched the man walk down the driveway to his car on the street. A buzzing at his ear made him jump, and he swatted a mosquito. He frowned. This was just the beginning. The rest of the swarm was on the way.

  * * *

  Callie began painting the hutch as soon as she finished at the office Friday morning. Her mind drifted back and forth between her work and Mark’s kiss, and even Hadley, too, whose limitless energy and creativity amused her. She wondered if she would see Mark and Hadley on the Fourth of July, and how soon the Pierce farmhouse might sell.

  It had a showing scheduled for Sunday morning, and she wanted to get the hutch done before then. The paint would be dry enough Saturday night to replace all of the hardware, and the cabinet doors and upper drawers, too. She smiled to herself as the milky chalk paint glided on like thick pudding.

  Her phone pinged, and she leaned over to where she’d set it on the floor. It was Amanda wanting to know if she was still coming to the softball game.

  Grimacing at the paint drips on her fingers, Callie held the brush out a few feet away and carefully hit buttons on the cell phone with a pinky finger. She’d be there in time, she promised. And not because Mark’s going to be there, she fibbed.

  The house remained silent. She felt so comfortable and at peace here. Who wouldn’t treasure this place?

  It was strange that Ragland hadn’t changed much in reality, but to her it seemed so different. Kind of like Mark now.

  She really enjoyed his company. He was laid-back, thoughtful and kind. True, he wasn’t the most social guy, but she could tell he still enjoyed people. He was a listener, a watcher, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a thinker. He was a smart man, he just didn’t seem to feel the need to advertise it.

  Speaking of advertising, Mark definitely needed to work on that with his shop. The man felt so guilty for disappointing everyone that he couldn’t see running a store the way his parents had wasn’t working. But she hoped he was coming around.