Her Heart's Promise

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “It sure has been a blessing for all the farmers and ranchers in the area,” replied Nadine with a smile.

  Freda nodded, her red hair glinting in the sun—a bright contrast to the yellow sweatshirt she wore—then leaned closer. “You know, I’ve always meant to write you a letter, but I’m not much for doing that.” She smiled apologetically. “I’ve always wanted to say that I sure appreciate all the support you give this project. Douglas, my husband, got involved because of an article you wrote. How it’s a chance for us, who have so much, to share.” Freda scooped up a spoonful of salad and paused a moment. “But even more than that, I appreciate your honesty. How you’re not afraid to take on who you do.”

  Nadine couldn’t stop a niggle of unease. She knew one person who wouldn’t agree with her.

  Her thoughts piggybacked on what Elaine had said to her. About backing off. About how her quest to bring Skyline to justice had become detrimental to her happiness and well-being. How Nadine was letting this battle define her.

  And yet. Freda’s comment seemed to fuel Nadine’s quest.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That’s good to know.”

  Freda grinned back at her. “I imagine writing what you do is quite a contrast to volleyball scores and hockey summaries.”

  “Your daughter plays volleyball, doesn’t she?”

  Freda nodded, and the talk moved to sports and children. Nadine found out that Freda had two girls in volleyball, one in senior high and one in junior high. They also had one foster child and one adopted child. The Harpers were a giving, loving family, and Nadine had lots of questions for Freda.

  By the time they got to the end of the line, they were chatting as if they had known each other much longer than the ten minutes they had spent together, and Nadine’s busy reporter’s mind had another idea for a feature article.

  But even as she plotted, even as she thought, her eyes couldn’t help drifting to Clint.

  Couldn’t help think, again, of what Elaine had said the other day.

  Could she, for his sake, let go of the battle she’d been fighting so long?

  What would she gain?

  And what would she lose?

  Chapter 10

  “Sorry Nadine, but I told you I was stuck in a meeting...”

  Nadine tried to smile as she shifted her phone to her other hand. “You have quite a few meetings, Trace.”

  “It’s this new business. It’s a lot of work to set up.”

  “Whatever.” Nadine tucked the phone under her ear and squatted by her filing cabinet. She tugged it open with an angry jerk, an expression of the uncertainty that had been dogging her the past few days.

  Uncertainty about Trace and, even more, about Clint.

  “Really, Nadine. I’m not trying to put you on. I’ll be in town in the morning. Can I come then?”

  “No. I’ve got to interview a reporter for the opening here.”

  “What about Thursday night?”

  She hesitated, not sure she wanted to chance the loneliness that could be created by Trace’s unreliability.

  “C’mon,” he said, his voice wheedling. “Don’t make me suffer.”

  “Why do I have such a hard time believing you?”

  “Nadine. I really wanted to come last night.”

  Still she hesitated, unable to shake the feeling he had been avoiding her.

  “Once things slow down, I’ll have way more time. I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up, and once that happens, I’m all yours. You have to believe me.”

  Nadine didn’t know if she was imagining the pleading tone of his voice. She thought of Clint and the time they had spent together earlier that day. Going out with Trace would give her the emotional distance she needed from Clint. Trace was becoming less important, while what she felt for Clint could hurt her more in the long run. She and Clint were on the opposite sides of a fight she was determined to win.

  “We’ll aim for tomorrow night,” she said with a sigh, hoping she wouldn’t regret this.

  “Great, that’s just great,” he enthused. “I’ll pick you up at five o’clock. I can’t wait to see you.”

  She fiddled with the phone cord, frustrated with her wavering attitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Trace.”

  “For sure, Nadine. I won’t let you down.”

  “I hope not,” Nadine said. She ended the call and dropped the phone in the cradle, pulling a face at it as she did so. My life and welcome to it, she thought. Another potential loser “boyfriend.”

  With a shake of her head, Nadine picked up some papers from the desk and shoved them into the appropriate folder in the file cabinet. She was acting in such a typically feminine fashion, even if she didn’t dress the part. She glanced down at the blue jeans she wore today—and most every day. Running her finger over them, she remembered Clint’s reaction when she’d worn a skirt. Remembered the surprised look on his face, and the way his eyes had seemed to linger.

  So different from his usual, penetrating look. When he dropped that aloof manner, his eyes could sparkle, his usually firm mouth would soften, and he was suddenly charming, infinitely appealing.

  She recalled this morning—how the wind had teased the groomed line of his hair, how his eyes had crinkled as he smiled. Her hands dangled between the file folders as she relived each time their gazes had locked, each time they’d seemed to make a connection.

  The tinny ring of the phone broke her thoughts and Nadine pulled herself up short, mentally giving herself a shake. What in the world is wrong with me? Getting all dreamy over Clint Fletcher.

  She was losing it, she thought as she got up and picked up the phone. “Hello,” she said curtly, pushing shut the door of the filing cabinet with her foot.

  “Is this Nadine Laidlaw?” a woman’s harsh voice asked on the other end of the phone.

  “Yes.” Nadine frowned as she tried to place the caller.

  “I sent you a letter. The one about Skyline. Did you get it?”

  Nadine felt her breath leave her as she fumbled behind her for a chair. “Okay. I remember. You said you knew something and wanted to talk.”

  “I can’t tell you over the phone. I want to meet you somewhere. Will you be at the volleyball tournament next week?”

  Nadine hoped a new reporter would be hired by then and the new person would cover the game. But, she couldn’t chance this, not after all this time. She had to meet this woman wherever and whenever she asked. “If you are talking about the one at the high school, the answer is yes.” She scribbled a note on a pad, her hands shaking.

  “Good. I have a son on the team. I’ll be there.”

  “And who is this?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” The woman sighed. “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’ll be wearing a green sweatshirt and gray pants.” A pause. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to.”

  Nadine swallowed, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re willing to talk to me.” Nadine wiped a damp hand on the leg of her jeans. “I’ll see you at the tournament, then.”

  A sharp click in her ear signaled the end of the conversation. Nadine slowly replaced the handset. Her heart refused to slow down, her thoughts spun. Six years she had speculated on the circumstances surrounding her father’s death. Six years she had asked questions and received no answers.

  And now.

  Now she was so close, so close.

  She felt a deep conviction that now, finally, she would find out the truth.

  It was what Nadine had been striving for. She longed to be finished with the struggle. As her grandmother and Elaine chided her for her near obsession with Skyline, a small part of her knew they were correct. Even while her mother was alive, there were many times she had been tempted to quit, let it all go and realize there would be questions that would not be answered. Then she would come home or visit her mother in the hospital. Brenda would be lying in her bed, barely able to speak, but always able to make it understood that sh
e wouldn’t have peace until Skyline was exposed.

  Once she talked to her mysterious tipper, she might be able to work something into an article. She knew Clint would hit the roof. She didn’t want to antagonize him, but the new information was a chance for her to assuage the guilt that clung to each thought of her mother’s death.

  But for now, she had pictures to edit and a few articles to write up.

  Nadine pulled out the camera and removed the SD card. If she didn’t edit the pictures now, her time would get eaten by phone calls and paperwork. She held the SD card in her hand, and slipped it into her laptop instead of her desktop computer. Then she walked down the hall and up the stairs to the employee lounge. Her new office had no windows, and after spending the day outside, she didn’t want to feel boxed in.

  She walked up the stairs, thankful for the changes that Clint had made when he came to the Sweet Creek Chronicle. One of the first things he had done was empty out the upstairs storage room and turn it into an employee lounge. It was a welcome addition, as it had large windows that looked out over the valley. Everyone had pitched in to buy a new coffee machine and a local furniture store exchanged a couple of couches for some free advertising.

  With a heavy sigh, she dropped onto the couch, kicked her shoes off, and, sitting cross-legged on the couch, opened the photo editing software.

  As the pictures loaded into the program, she heard feet coming up the stairs, and then Clint stood in the doorway with his own laptop under his arm.

  “I have to do some editing,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “I don’t have the software on my desktop computer in my office. And this is where the coffee is.”

  “You don’t have to make excuses to me,” Nadine said with a nervous laugh. “This all belongs to you.”

  “Technically it belongs to the bank,” Clint replied with a tight smile. “But I’ll go back downstairs. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “No, please don’t do that,” Nadine said hurriedly. “I can move.”

  “Or we could just both sit here,” Clint said.

  Nadine replied to that comment with a faint shrug. It wasn’t what she wanted, but he was the boss, and she really didn’t feel like working in her office.

  So she stayed where she was, working on the pictures.

  As she tilted, cropped, and enhanced, she was far too aware of the man now sitting across from her. She didn’t want Clint, of all people, to have that kind of control over her.

  The silence between them was heavy. Nadine felt she should say something, anything, but it was as if her mind had shut off.

  She moved on to the next picture, her eyes on her screen, but her entire body aware of Clint.

  “I thought today went well,” Clint said, breaking the silence, his eyes on his own laptop.

  “Yes, it did.”

  “You’re keeping quite late hours today, aren’t you?”

  “Have to.” Her voice sounded small.

  “I imagine your grandma will be waiting.”

  “Yes.” Brilliant conversation, Nadine, she scolded herself, trying to come up with anything to say. She nudged the color bar on the picture, bringing out the blue.

  “She’s quite the go-getter,” he continued.

  “She can be a little overwhelming.”

  “She was always really friendly when I came over,” Clint said quietly.

  “Yes, she was.” Nadine almost groaned at her lame response, resisting the urge to smack herself on the forehead. What’s the matter? You spend the morning with him, then he corners you in the break room, tosses a few lame questions at you, and you freeze up.

  Even as she formulated the thought, she knew why. It had to do with the daydreaming she had indulged in a few moments ago in her office and with seeing him all morning. It had to do with a sudden and unwelcome awareness of Clint as an attractive man. It had to do with old emotions and old feelings. With new emotions, too. And she didn’t like it.

  The silence lengthened. Then Clint cleared his throat. “I never gave you proper condolences with the death of your mother. I can tell it’s been hard for you.”

  Once again Nadine’s chest tightened as still-painful emotions clenched her heart. “Yes, it has.” She sniffed and reached into her pocket for a tissue, but her pocket was empty.

  “Are you okay?” Clint’s voice was a soft, rich sound.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, blinking; then, to her dismay, a tear drifted down her cheek.

  He set his laptop aside, got up, and tugged a tissue out of the box beside the coffee maker. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He handed her the tissue, and she awkwardly swiped at her cheek. But another tear fell, and another.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m still so sad.”

  “It’s only been six months,” Clint said quietly.

  She sniffed again, grappling with emotions that threatened to swamp her. She couldn’t allow herself to lose control in front of him.

  A sob crawled up her throat, followed by another.

  Then Clint’s arm slipped around her. His warm fingers cupped her shoulder. He gently drew her toward him, cradling her head in the welcome refuge of his arms. She kept one hand pressed against her lips, as if to contain her sorrow, but her other hand gripped his shirt.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his hand stroking her hair. “Of course you miss your mother.”

  The sorrow she had held for such a long time finally found a place for release. The bitter loneliness and emptiness from her mother’s death had been sequestered and stifled. No one could comfort her, until today.

  She closed her eyes and let the sorrow take over.

  Her body wracked with sobs, and she allowed the waves of grief to wash over her.

  And all the while she cried, Clint stroked her head, whispering that he was here, that it was okay.

  Finally the last sobs shook her body, and she took a deep breath, her head aching.

  She knew she should pull away, but it felt so good to be here, held by the man who occupied so many of her thoughts.

  She shifted her head to look up at him. His eyes were mere inches from her and she lost herself in them.

  His fingers gently pushed her hair back from her face and lingered on her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat, and then, as if inevitable, their lips touched with tender hesitancy.

  His arms tightened around her, and the kiss deepened. She cradled his head with her hand, tangling her fingers in his thick hair.

  Time wheeled and slowed, and Nadine willed this moment to last forever.

  The shrill ring of her cell phone broke the moment. Nadine jumped and pulled back.

  She thought she should apologize; yet, she wasn’t sorry.

  Her phone rang again, and Clint gave her a wan smile. “Are you going to answer it?”

  She didn’t want to; she wanted to be back in his arms, but this wasn’t the time. There was too much between them right now.

  As she looked at the number on her cell phone, her heart sank. She also had this so-called boyfriend.

  What was she doing? How could she do this to either Clint or Trace?

  “I guess I should take this,” Nadine turned away from him, her heart pounding. She got up and turned her back to him as she answered. She had waited too long. There was no one on the other end. She kept her back to Clint, trying to regain her composure and sort out which emotion she should feel.

  Clint had been such a huge part of her life; it was hard to know where to put him now. They were both in different places in their lives. Much had happened since that high school crush.

  And yet...

  “I’m sorry, Nadine,” Clint said as she turned to talk to him.

  “Excuse me?” she said, not sure she had heard right.

  “I was out of line. I was just...feeling sorry for you, I guess.”

  He couldn’t have hurt her more than if he tossed his laptop at her.

  Sympathy. He was only feeling sorry for her, that�
��s why he kissed her.

  A rush of anger surged through her—anger born out of deep emotions and a pain that had nothing to do with her mother’s death, and everything to do with the death of hope.

  “Of course. I’m sorry I dumped on you. I should have been more circumspect.” She gave him a tight smile, and then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, she picked up her phone and dialed Trace’s number.

  “No. That’s not—”

  “Hey, Trace,” she said with a false brightness as Trace answered the phone, cutting off another apology from Clint. “Sorry I missed your call.” She looked at Clint, holding his gaze, a hardness coming over her. “No. Not doing anything important at all.”

  Clint lifted his chin, his eyes narrowing. Then he gave her a tight nod, grabbed his laptop, and left the room.

  Nadine swallowed a knot of pain as she watched him walk away.

  Trace was saying something, but she couldn’t concentrate. Pain and betrayal gripped her. She wanted to run after Clint, but she did have some pride.

  There was no way she wanted anything to do with a man who only kissed her out of pity. Besides, she had a boyfriend who was talking to her right now.

  Yet, even as she brought out all these reasons, she knew things between her and Clint had shifted, and she could never go back.

  When Nadine woke the next morning, her first thoughts were of Clint.

  Then Nadine groaned and dragged her hands over her face as his words echoed through her weary brain.

  I was just feeling sorry for you.

  Yesterday, she had been so angry and hurt when he said that. And then she became more upset with her reaction to it all.

  What made it all even more pathetic was that despite her anger, she could resurrect the feel of his lips on hers and of his arms around her. She hadn’t slept well as a result, and when sleep finally caught her in its soft grip, it was a restless venture.

  She pushed herself up and trudged across the hall to the bathroom, grimacing at the tangled nest of hair and the rings of exhaustion under her eyes. She knew Grandma would notice and would comment, and she didn’t have the energy to deflect the questions.