Her Unexpected Detour (Checkerberry Inn)

by Kyra Jacobs

  Oh, sure, she could stand to look at them in small doses. Could even stand to deadhead them once their lemon yellow blooms shriveled away. But having to mulch around bed after bed full of them? As much as she hated to admit it, the tears that clouded her vision late-morning spoke volumes.

  Kayla still hadn’t gotten over her mother’s death. She doubted she ever would.

  As she knelt upon the ground, clearing away a handful of last fall’s leaves taking refuge beneath a cluster of daffodils, the tears that had been threatening for several minutes finally broke free from their bondage. She yanked off a glove and hurled it to the ground.

  “Hey now,” Brent said from somewhere close by. “What’d that glove ever do to you?”

  “Nothing, it just…got in the way.” Kayla swiped at her cheeks and kept her head turned from him. “So you can go back to painting the porch now.”

  Which, of course, he didn’t do. Instead, his large frame drew closer and cast a shadow over where she knelt.

  “Kayla?” The teasing tone in his voice had gone, replaced now by surprise and concern. He knelt down beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

  She shrugged out from under his touch and lifted her chin. “No. Please, just leave me alone.”

  He made no move to go. From the corner of her eye she saw him turn to look out over the sea of yellow before them. “You know, most people love daffodils. At least, that’s what Ruby insisted when she made Miles and me plant a gazillion of them.”

  “Yeah, well, most people haven’t been through what I have.”

  Brent reached out and tipped her chin in his direction. “Tell me.”

  The anger that had been so quick to surface yesterday was gone, his stormy gray eyes softened with concern. Concern for a woman who didn’t deserve it, not from him or anyone else. She couldn’t stay mad at Brent, not with him looking at her like that. It was almost like he cared about her, like he truly wanted to know what was wrong.

  Like she mattered.

  It’d been so long since anyone had looked at her in that way, since she’d let anyone get close enough to do so. Kayla felt an overwhelming need to comply, to tell him what had brought her to her knees. And yet, the notion of opening up scared her. Because opening up would unleash the grief she’d worked so hard to contain, to suppress.

  But it had to be done if the healing was ever to follow, didn’t it? Miles said Brent had dealt with his own grief. Of anyone she’d ever met, he might best be able to relate. It didn’t make the task ahead any easier, though.

  When she finally worked up the courage to speak, the words scratched at her throat like broken glass. “Daffodils were my mother’s favorite flower. She loved to garden. Lived for it. When I was little, she’d take me to one of our local greenhouses each spring and steer me toward the annuals: petunias and marigolds, snapdragons and impatiens. She’d say, Pick anything you like, sweetheart, and set me loose. Once our cart was full, we’d head back home and spend the day planting.

  “Well, she would spend the day planting. I usually got bored fairly quickly with the whole affair.” An embarrassed grin tugged at her lips. “But not my mother. She would spend hour after hour out there. My father would bring her water or lemonade every hour or so, just to make sure she didn’t shrivel up out in the sun.”

  Kayla could still picture her mother, kneeling before a flower bed, hands protected with pink gardening gloves and dirt smudges on her cheeks. She looked so much younger. So full of life. One whose days were unfairly numbered.

  “Gardening was her joy, her passion. If she wasn’t planting, she was pruning, or taking cuttings to bring inside. When the weather cooled in the fall and frost claimed the last of her blooms, she never complained. Instead, we’d venture to the home improvement stores and look for new varieties of bulbs to add to her collection. Daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, crocus—we always came away with something. Then we’d wait for a good planting day and head outside with a trowel and the bulbs. Mom would dig, I would drop bulbs into the holes. She showed me which end went up, and how to cover them just so. And then, we’d wait and see what happened next spring.”

  Kayla drew in a long, shaky breath as a familiar weight settled upon her chest.

  “Eventually, though, I stopped caring so much about the flowers. The excitement wore off, and the planting rituals got in the way of me playing with my friends, or going out and doing my own thing. And then one day I woke up, and…”

  She shook her head, wishing the gesture could sweep away the rest of the story. But of course, it couldn’t. The guilt that weighed so heavily upon her was now joined with another emotion: regret.

  “The call came spring of ’08. My mother’s gynecologist requested she come back in, something about test results not looking quite right. She’d been having some issues but never said anything to us kids. Didn’t want us to worry. Tommy and I just assumed it was something minor. Cholesterol or blood sugar. But it wasn’t, not even close. Within a week, the verdict was in: stage four ovarian cancer. The doctor said there aren’t any standard tests for it, and since its symptoms mimic so many other problems, no one made the connection. We had no idea, no idea at all…” A small sob escaped her.

  Brent pulled her onto his lap and held her close. For the first time in forever, she didn’t try to resist sympathy or condolences. Instead she savored his warmth, his strength, as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry, Kayla.”

  “Mom fought it as best she could,” Kayla whispered after a long moment. “They had her do chemo and radiation, which seemed to work for a while. But after a few months that type of chemo stopped holding the cancer at bay, so they went to a harsher cocktail. And a harsher one after that. Eventually, her body just couldn’t take it any longer. She passed away the first week of December.”

  His arms tightened around her, and she felt Brent lower his cheek onto the top of her head. “She sounds like a true fighter. Something she clearly passed on to you.”

  “Thanks. I think.” She felt Brent chuckle. “My mom was a believer, so I try to remind myself that she’s in a better place now. That she’s no longer hurting. But it doesn’t make the pain go away.”

  “I know. It doesn’t.”

  Kayla looked out over the bed of daffodils, their faces ever sunny, their scent intoxicating. “I’ll never forget sitting on our couch, staring at a vase full of these darned flowers, when she told us about her terminal diagnosis. All I could think was would she be around long enough to plant them with me one last time? Or to see them bloom the next spring?”

  Kayla clamped her eyes shut, wishing she could wipe that image from her mind and yet terrified someday the memory would fade. Because when that one faded away, the other memories of her mother would soon follow. Memories were all she had left.

  All because she’d been so selfish.

  “I took our time together for granted, Brent. Blew off our gardening traditions as I got older. If I’d spent more time with her, been there instead of being so self-absorbed, I might have picked up on her symptoms. Convinced her sooner to see the doctor, maybe bought her some more time—”

  “Stop.” Brent tipped Kayla’s face up to his, then ran a thumb gently across each of her cheeks to wipe away the tears. “Thoughts like that will eat you alive. There was nothing you could have done to stop that cancer from happening. When it’s your time, it’s your time, and we just have to learn to accept that.”

  “Did you?”

  He paused, his gaze wary. Would he close her off? Push her away? She hadn’t meant to hurt him, to dredge up his own painful memories. She’d just been looking for, well, for hope.

  “I see Miles has been shooting his mouth off again.”

  “Brent, I—”

  “No, it’s all right. He’s always been better about talking about this than me.” Brent sighed, then looked out over the sea of daffodils. “Did I learn to accept my parents’ deaths? Yeah, I guess so. Do I stil
l think it sucks, that it was unfair to them? To me? Yes. And I don’t think that will ever change.”

  “I’m really sorry about your mom and dad,” she said, and laced her arms around his waist.

  “Thanks, me too.” He rested his head atop hers and let out a long sigh. “You want me to mow over this flower bed for you? ’Cause if it’d make you feel better, I’d be more than happy to do it.”

  “What? No!” She pulled back and gave him a playful jab to the stomach. “No, I think I can do this now. Guess I just needed to get that off my chest.”

  “Well, if there’s anything else you need help getting off—”

  “Lunchtime!”

  Kayla turned toward the sound of Ruby’s voice and felt Brent’s arms draw back from around her. She rose to her feet and leveled a stern look at him. “Now what were you starting to say?”

  “Me? Nothin’.” He winked, then bent to brush mulch from his jeans. “You’d better get inside, before your lunch gets cold.”

  “You’re…not joining me? I mean us?”

  He looked from her to the inn and back. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Only if you promise not to do any more yelling.”

  He studied her for a moment, as if waiting for her to change her mind. “I promise not to yell—with one exception.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  A slow grin stretched across his lips as he draped one arm over her shoulders. “If you ever even think of rooting for the Yankees.”

  Lord, that smile was swoon-worthy. And contagious. Kayla slid her arm around his waist to keep her balance as they started for the dining room.

  “If that ever happens, you’d better yell and smack me.”

  “Oh, no. There’s only room for one smack-happy pipsqueak around here,” he said, ruffling her hair as they drew to a stop outside the back door. “And I think you’ve got that role covered.”

  “Darn straight,” she mumbled, a fire lit in her cheeks. “So you just remember that.”

  “Oh, I will, princess.” He pulled the door open and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. “I will.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brent sat on his front porch Wednesday morning with a cup of joe in hand, watching the day chase away the night. It was another glorious sunrise, full of pinks and blues, and not a cloud in the sky. He drew in a deep breath of the humid, pine-scented air and tried to find peace. But peace had left him the moment he stepped into the path of one Kayla Daniels.

  And he’d yet to find it since.

  Every day—hell, every hour—since their accidental meeting on Friday had been an emotional roller coaster for him. The sight of her tugged at his carnal side, made his heart race and his libido spike. But it was her kind heart and giving nature that repeatedly drew him in and held him captive. Add in her musical voice and those unassuming beautiful blue eyes, and he was a goner.

  At first, it’d pissed him off. He didn’t want to be a goner, didn’t want to feel, to want. But it seemed the harder he fought to push her away, the more determined fate was to thrust her right back into his arms. Except for Friday night, he’d more or less succeeded. Yesterday, though, had been the coup de grace.

  Kayla had lost her mother to cancer. She was hurting, just like him.

  It was rare to find people his age who’d experienced a loss similar to his. Most people didn’t know what to say when the subject came up. They couldn’t relate to his pain, his misery. Over time, he’d learned to bottle it up. To keep it out of conversations entirely.

  It was easier that way for everyone involved. Or, at least, that’s what he’d grown to believe.

  When Kayla sat with him yesterday, in desperate need of someone to listen and comfort her while she poured her heart out about the loss of her own mother, it’d caught him completely off-guard. He wasn’t used to talking about loss, let alone offering advice on the subject. She’d asked him if he’d come to accept his parents’ deaths.

  Until that moment, Brent hadn’t realized that he had.

  He drew in another deep breath, then slowly released it. The weight on his shoulders felt lighter somehow today, as though the knowledge that he’d achieved even a minimal amount of healing brought with it a lessening of the burden he’d long carried. A knowledge that he might not have come to discover for who knows how long had it not been for Kayla.

  Bear gave up on tracking the animal that had long since skedaddled, and moseyed his way up onto the porch. He stopped before Brent, lowered his hindquarters onto the floor, then set his massive jowls in Brent’s lap.

  “You miss her, don’t you, boy?”

  Bear looked up at him, his eyebrows shifting in a silent admission. Brent ran his free hand over Bear’s head and rubbed behind his ears. For his efforts, he was rewarded with a quick, sloppy kiss to the hand.

  “Yeah, I kinda miss her, too. Guess I ought to get used to it, though.”

  Bear scooted closer, crowding Brent’s legs with his own.

  “She’s not from around here, Bear. And I can’t do long-distance relationships.”

  The pup dug his nose into the side of Brent’s leg.

  “Yeah, you’re right—I can’t do any relationships. Which is why I have you.”

  Brent offered his dog a halfhearted grin. He loved his four-legged roommate. But this morning, for the first time in forever, he felt the need for more. For companionship of the two-legged variety. His gaze shifted back to the sunrise, its glow brightening the skies from pinks and lavenders to a fiery orange. The view lit something inside of him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in far too long.

  Hope.

  Maybe it was time he stop fighting fate and let the cards fall where they may. He might not have forever with Kayla but, as far as he knew, he still had today. Sure, he’d already planned to stick close to her, to see if he couldn’t talk her into helping come up with some advertising tricks that might help him save the inn. But now, as he sat on his porch, a lonely man with his dog, Brent couldn’t help but wonder if the inn wasn’t the only thing needing saving.

  And if Kayla might be the one who could save them both.

  Kayla hit the flower beds first thing Wednesday morning. It was either that or stare at her computer, willing emails to appear. After staying up into the wee hours of the night crafting the perfect angle with which to approach the Follinger project, she thought it would be a struggle to wake up. But instead of having to drag herself out of bed she’d sprung out, dying to know if anyone from her team had gone in early and seen the proposal.

  Of course, no one had. She’d held the position of “team member with no life” for years; why would this week be any different? But instead of being discouraged by the radio silence, she chose to keep her chin up. They would get to work, be wowed by her research and suggestions, and dive in to crafting the perfect bid proposal.

  And it was perfect. Not even that smug little twerp Joe Freimann would be able to refute it. To hear him admit that, to watch him squirm beneath the weight of his stepfather’s scowl when his assured subpar proposal was placed next to hers, would almost be worth a week off with no pay.

  Almost.

  For now, though, she needed to get some work done outside to earn her keep at the inn. The air around her was cool, and a sheer blanket of dew lay across the Checkerberry’s broad green lawn. In the distance, birds chirped their happy springtime songs, and chipmunks chattered. Kayla stood beside the inn, wishing there were a way to bottle up the moment and save it somehow. Then, when she was back in Fort Wayne and stuck behind her desk on some gloomy, stressful day, she could uncork the bottle and let Michigan’s natural beauty soothe her frayed nerves.

  “Lollygagging already?” Brent asked, appearing out of nowhere.

  Kayla jumped, then felt her pulse quicken. He had that effect on her, every time.

  “No, I was savoring the moment.” She swatted at him with her empty garden gloves, but he was quick on his feet and easily dodged her strike. “‘Was’ being the key
word.”

  “There’s plenty more where this comes from when you live around here.” Brent sucked in a deep breath, his sandstone T-shirt stretching tight against his chest as he did so. Not that Kayla noticed. Much. He exhaled then threw her a smirk. “Nope, none of that city smog stinking up our air.”

  Kayla laughed. “I live in Fort Wayne, Brent, not Detroit. We don’t have smog. At least, not on my side of town. Though it’s not nearly so peaceful in the city this time of day.”

  “Pretty noisy there, is it?”

  She looked up to study him. Why so much interest in where she lived all of a sudden? “It can be. Especially when you live in an apartment. You never know what your neighbors will be up to at any given moment.”

  “Something tells me I wouldn’t do so well as an apartment dweller.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I like my sleep. If someone started blaring their stereo at odd hours of the night, it’d probably come to blows between us.”

  The image of him lying on his back beside her, naked and spent from their moonlight activities Friday invaded her thoughts without invitation. She’d managed to stay awake a few minutes longer than he had and had just stared at him, fascinated. Asleep, his face softened and took on a youthful, almost angelic look. But awake…

  Well, she’d seen his ticked off, not-so-angelic looks, too.

  With a shake of her head, she pushed the memories aside. “Yeah, I guess not everyone’s cut out for city life.”

  Brent stood beside her, his gaze sweeping the yard. Heat rolled off his body, chasing away the chill in the air around them. Kayla found herself wanting to lean in closer and soak up some of that warmth. But that wouldn’t help her get the landscaping done any faster, and she was already itching to get back inside and check her email inbox.

  “You sick of playing in the petunias yet?”

  She looked up, surprised by how close he’d come to reading her thoughts. “Um, no. Since there aren’t any petunias out here.”