The Emerald Hills Collection

by Judith Post

  Her mouth felt dry. She nodded. "Just a little."

  He opened the bottle and brought them each a glass. She sipped hers and her pulse quickened. Oh lord, she was having an attack of some kind. Maybe she was allergic to spices?

  Neil leaned back, relaxing in his chair. "I talked to Bill at work. He was feeling a little under the weather, so I recommended buying some produce from Midu's stand. Told him it would cure what ailed him. And he laughed."

  Mallory went very still. She stared at her empty glass of cider. "Really? What did he say?"

  "He said it had cured him a long time ago, when he was in high school and met Tillie. He seemed to think Midu's magic was for a little bit more than good health."

  Mallory could hear her pulse pound. Was that a good thing? She kept her voice even. "You don't believe in magic, so it doesn't matter."

  Neil shrugged. "I believe in cause and effect, though, and ever since I ate those squash, I can't keep my mind off you."

  She stared.

  "It struck me that if the magic's really true, it would have to work on both people, if they were truly right for each other. So I thought I'd put it to the test."

  Damn, she admired a smart man. Smart and noble. He'd slept outside in a sleeping bag to catch the poacher.

  "So I went to Midu's to buy the carrots for my cake, and I thought I'd throw in her cider for good luck."

  Mallory sighed. "What are you getting at?"

  "You're right for me. And I'm right for you. Do you feel it?"

  "I feel something."

  He laughed. "Give it a minute. It's starting to work."

  A minute was all it took. There really was no point in Neil driving back to the lodge when the park was right outside Mallory's door. After all, there'd be no mistakes this time. Midu's produce never lied…and later, much later, they had cake and cider for a midnight snack.

  SHERI HITS THE RIGHT NOTES

  To the readers at Goodreads.

  Thanks for the encouragement:

  Wendy, Midu, and Jen

  And for all the help, Tana and Sheri.

  And last, but never least, for my friend, Joyce—Keep Hitting the High Notes!

  July fourth—always a scorcher with high humidity. At least there were no thunder clouds that threatened rain. Sweat trickled down Sheri's back. She stood in the gazebo in the center of the park and watched two of her former students carry her piano keyboard toward her. A strand of damp hair curled and escaped from her bun. The gray hairs beginning to creep into her light-brown locks had a tendency to frizz. She pushed them back in place, but didn't expect them to stay.

  Each year, Emerald Hills sponsored a potluck picnic, followed by a fireworks display. Shops closed early. Friends rushed home to change clothes, grab their casseroles or desserts, and hurry to the park. Sheri provided the music.

  Her jeans stuck to her thighs. Everyone else was dressed in shorts, but they didn't have to sit on a platform and have people gawk at their chunky calves. She'd start the program with "America the Beautiful," then zip through a few patriotic tunes while friends settled on their blankets or at picnic tables scattered across the freshly mowed lawn. The smell of green grass lingered in the air. The mayor would give his annual, welcoming speech, and she'd play a few more songs as people loaded their plates with food. Then she'd take a break to eat and join her nephew, Nate, and his wife, Tana, along with Midu and Kyle.

  She smiled encouragingly at Tyler and Ethan. They balanced the keyboard between them and wove their way between people who'd come early to claim a favorite spot. They made it to the gazebo steps, but as Tyler started up them, he tripped on a shoe lace that had come undone. Ethan gripped his end of the instrument more tightly, trying to compensate, and bumped Tyler off balance. Ty fell sideways, taking the keyboard with him. Both boys ended up on the ground. The keyboard bounced off the sidewalk.

  "Holy crap! Are you boys all right?" Sheri hurried to check on them.

  Tyler sprang to his feet, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Miss Hudson. Is it ruined?"

  Ethan got up and tried to make the keyboard stand too. No luck. A leg was bent, and the entire instrument slanted.

  Sheri waved away their worries. These were good boys. She gave piano lessons to Tyler, and Ethan often played drums for the school's concert choir. She forced a smile. "I'll balance the keyboard on something to play it."

  Together, they carted it onto the gazebo platform, dragged up a picnic bench, and Sheri ran her fingers along the keys. More than a few ivories came off. Oh, boy. What now?

  Tyler looked down at his feet. Ethan grinned. "My uncle!"

  Sheri shook her head, not following his train of thought.

  "My uncle," Ethan repeated. "He's staying with us this week. He can help." Both boys ran toward a blanket on the far side of the park.

  Sheri watched as they circled a distinguished-looking man with silver hair. They pointed at her while they told him their story. The man rose, walked to a van, opened its back door, and took out two guitars. He started toward her.

  Sheri sighed. This was going to be one of those days, she could tell. She played guitar, but it wasn't her instrument of choice. Still, it might do in a pinch. One thing she'd learned after so many years of teaching was how to improvise.

  The man smiled as he got closer. His skin was smooth and unlined, in contrast to his pewter hair. "Ethan tells me he mucked up your keyboard. He thought maybe you and I could play a duet and cobble together an anthem or two."

  Sheri gave a quick nod. "I'm not the best on guitar, but I can do the basics. You?"

  "I've been known to strum a tune or two."

  Ethan laughed. "He makes guitars. Big name stars come to buy them."

  "You make them?" Sheri stared. That was a rare talent these days.

  "This town is full of craftsmen, isn’t it?" He grinned at Ethan. "By the way, since my nephew isn't going to introduce us, I'm Morgan Nash, and you're Ethan's music teacher?"

  "Sheri Hudson, and I really appreciate your helping out." She reached for the guitar. Merciful heavens, please let the chords come back to her! She glanced at the last people placing their dishes on the buffet line. Faces turned to her, ready for her to play the opening songs and let the mayor welcome them, so that they could eat.

  Morgan followed her onto the gazebo platform, glanced at the sheet music propped up and ready, and cradled his guitar. He gave Sheri a nod and notes flowed from the strings beneath his fingers. Sheri jumped in to keep up, playing harmony. "America the Beautiful" had never sounded so good. Two songs later, they stood silently while the mayor took the stage.

  "What a special treat we have this year," he said. "A celebrity guest to play with our own Sheri Hudson—Ethan's uncle, Morgan Nash, all the way from California. We've got great food and better company. Eat up, folks!"

  Bless the man, he was more about people than politics. Families left their blankets, grabbed their plates, and loaded up. Morgan and Sheri strummed more songs. When the line grew short, they put their guitars aside and went to get their food.

  Lord, she was hungry! Morgan watched her choose pieces of Nancy's famous, fried chicken, Thea Patek's potato salad, and Neil Franklin's carrot cake. "These are some of the best cooks in town," she told him. "They always bring extras of their dishes, so fights don't break out."

  He looked amused. He was so tall and fit, she wondered if he ever allowed fried foods to pass his lips. He made her feel shorter and plumper than usual.

  When she reached Midu's coleslaw—something she looked forward to every year—she was happy to see there was none left. Like many things in Emerald Hills, her friend's produce had a special magic grown into it. Whoever ate it could look at someone and tell if he was a soul mate or not. She didn't need another reminder that no man was meant for her. While her friends paired off after high school, she'd never once seen a male who was destined to be hers, until she'd finally given up. It was better that way. No more disappointments.

  At the end of the table, Mor
gan gave her a nod as he went to join his family and she went to sit with Nathan and Tana.

  Laughter rang as people finished their food and began to mingle. Friends came to greet them. Sheri knew almost everyone in the area, having taught for twenty-seven years. Before she knew it, though, it was nearly sunset, time to return to the gazebo.

  Morgan followed her onto the platform. This time, they were joined by Joyce Abrams, who sang for most of the weddings and special events in town. Her beautiful voice soared on the high notes of "The Star Spangled Banner," the program's finale before the fireworks began.

  Finally finished, Sheri began gathering her music while Ethan took off with the guitars. Joyce beamed at Morgan. "Too bad you're not in Emerald Hills more often. We make beautiful music together."

  Morgan's lips quirked at the compliment. He glanced at her ring finger. "I bet you lead your husband a merry chase."

  "He's never complained." With a laugh, Joyce waved at Richard in the crowd and went to join him.

  "I owe you a big thank-you," Sheri told Morgan. "Without you, I might have had to resort to my harmonica."

  "Are you good at that?" His question caught her off guard. He hurried to add, "I'll be in town for a while if you ever want to get together to jam."

  Like music teachers jammed! She smiled. "You're a nice man. Ethan's lucky to have you as an uncle."

  She started toward Nathan and Tana's blanket, but Morgan called after her. "I mean that. I'd like to see you again."

  She could feel heat rush to her face. Men didn't come on to her, usually didn't notice her, other than as a friend. Then her shoulders relaxed. He was just glad he'd found a kindred soul who loved music as much as he did. She turned to call back to him, "Emerald Hills is a small town. We'll bump into each other somewhere."

  He clamped onto her keyboard. "I know. I'm going to make sure of it. I'm taking this with me. When it's fixed, I'll bring it over."

  Bring it over? To her house? She thought about rushing back to grab the instrument, to haul it home with her, but Morgan had already motioned for Ethan to help him cart it to his van.

  She could feel his eyes on her as she walked to join Nathan and Tana. When she settled on the blanket with the others, she glanced up, and he was still watching her. She hadn't felt so awkward since grade school. She gave a quick wave and looked away.

  * * *

  Four days later, Sheri sat on the wraparound porch of her brick, Queen-Anne-style house, sipping lemonade, when Morgan's van pulled into her driveway.

  Oh, shit. She'd expected him to call before he came. Had he suspected that she might not pick up or stay home if she was warned ahead? She had on old work pants with green stains at the knees and a faded T-shirt—her gardening clothes. Her beat-up, straw hat had made her hair dent in a ring around the top of her head. Any makeup she'd bothered with had melted away.

  She started to push herself to her feet to greet him, but he stepped out of his van and motioned for her to stay put. "Looks like you've put in a long day. Time to relax."

  She felt at a disadvantage, sitting down as he stood. She made herself smile.

  "Is that a pitcher of lemonade I see?" He wiped sweat off the back of his neck and sank onto the chair next to hers. "You even have an extra glass. Are you expecting company?"

  "No, my paper boy usually stops for a while, but he was in a hurry tonight."

  "Mind if I have a drink?" She was about to warn him off when he poured himself a glass, took a sip, and grimaced.

  Sheri felt her cheeks burn. She hadn't blushed in years, and she was starting to make a habit of it. "I'm not known for my cuisine. Sorry."

  He sat the glass down. "Tell me that's not Kool-Aid."

  Her gaze slid away from his. What was this, home ec. class? She was no Little Miss Homemaker. So what?

  He grinned. "Lucky for you I'm pretty handy in a kitchen. I'll have to stop by sometime to rustle you up a supper."

  "Oh, no, that's not necessary!" The words flew out too fast. They sounded ungracious. She tried to remedy them. "I usually grab something at the store's deli."

  Morgan shook his head. "Home cooking is so much better…and healthier. I'll be happy to teach you a trick or two."

  She tried to hold her ground. "I love to garden and entertain, but I have no patience for cooking. To me, recipes are as hard to follow as advanced calculus."

  "Is that so? Sounds like you need a personal chef then, and I'm just the guy."

  She frowned. "How long are you going to be in Emerald Hills?"

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  Okay, she hadn't handled that so well, but why was a gorgeous man, who was obviously sophisticated and worldly, pestering her about her eating habits?

  He quirked a brow at her. "Am I interfering with your summer plans?"

  "Does it look like I'm gearing up for a social season?" She motioned to her work clothes.

  His gaze turned serious. "No, it looks like you're the type of woman who does what she loves, cares about people, and is generally fun to be around."

  She squirmed. Where did that come from?

  Morgan leaned back in his chair, looking smug. "Can't think of a come back for that, can you?"

  She felt her jaw drop. "I'm not the type of person who likes to argue. I don't have to have the last word."

  "No, you just consider yourself generally right. Which makes the rest of us generally wrong."

  Her hands went to her hips, her arms fanning over the sides of her wicker chair. "I find that a little presumptuous, considering that you don't know me much at all."

  "But you are a caring person, right?"

  Was this some kind of trap? She considered her answer carefully, couldn't think of one. Finally, she gave a quick nod.

  "And you know Ethan pretty well?"

  She nodded again.

  "Did you know he's worried sick about his girlfriend?"

  She hadn't expected that. "Why would he worry about Wendy?"

  "She broke up with him two weeks after they graduated and told him that she's not going to college."

  Sheri inhaled a sharp breath. Kids broke up after high school all the time, especially when they were going to two different colleges, but Wendy was a top honors' student. "Why would she change her college plans? Did she give Ethan a reason?"

  "All she'd say was that things had changed. She had more important things to worry about."

  Sheri leaned back in her wicker chair. She needed a minute to think. Her gaze wandered to the flowerbeds, brimming with daisies and roses, that she'd just weeded. Was there something she'd missed during the school year, some reason Wendy might be acting this way? A bee droned by, and she grimaced.

  Morgan studied her. "Nothing comes to mind, huh?"

  "Not a thing. Wendy seemed like a solid contender for 'Most likely to succeed.'"

  He pressed his lips together, disappointed. "I was hoping you'd have some answers. I've never seen Ethan so worked up."

  "Because she broke up with him?"

  "I think he expected that." He ran a finger around the back of his shirt collar. Even in jeans, he didn't look like her idea of a musician—no long hair, hippie or rock vibe. No tattoos or piercings. He looked like a businessman—or a model.

  Sheri poured herself another glass of lemonade. "Something's not right. This is too sudden." Morgan waited, letting her take up and cast away one idea after another. Finally, she sighed. "It doesn't make sense."

  "That's what's bothering Ethan." The man must really like his nephew. "So what now? Count it as a loss to mankind and move on?"

  "I'm not wired that way."

  A smile tilted his lips. "I didn't think you were."

  "That's why you came. That's why you told me." Suddenly, she felt a lot more at ease around him. He saw her as everyone else did—as the Pied Piper of Emerald Hills students.

  He answered slowly. "I thought I'd come to the right person."

  She gave a quick nod. She was in her element again. "I'll t
hink of some pretext to go visit her. I like Wendy. I want the best for her. If I can make that happen, I will."

  "I was hoping you'd say that." He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees—almost touching her. "I've sort of spoiled your evening, bringing Ethan's problems to you. You had a nice day, playing in your gardens, and I ruined it. Let me make it up to you. What if I drive you to town for an ice cream cone?"

  Her stomach rumbled. "Don't worry about it. I need more than ice cream. I haven't eaten yet."

  "Really? Neither have I. I'm starving. Let's go grab some food."

  She glanced down at herself. "Like this?"

  "I saw a root-beer stand on the other side of the bridge. I've never met a Coney dog I didn't like. Let's down a few."

  "You eat hot dogs?"

  Smile lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "Is that a problem?"

  Another blush. She could feel it. "I just figured you for a health nut."

  "Everything in moderation," he told her. "I promise I won't eat more than three."

  She tried to think of a way to refuse, but she'd already admitted she was hungry. Was there some other way to worm out of going with him? Finally, she said, "I'm a lousy date. Ask anyone."

  His gray eyes glittered. "We're past dating, don't you think? We've lived too long. I know what I want, and I bet you do too. Playing at couples is for kids."

  Sheri blinked. "I just meant I'm not very exciting company."

  "There are all kinds of excitement, Miss Hudson. I'd like to sample most of them."

  "The thrill of friendship?" Her voice quavered. He was still too close. He had a way of making her nervous.

  He cocked his head to the side, slanting a gaze at her. "Do you know, one of my oldest clients told me that the best marriages happen when you marry a friend. I'm not sure if that's true. I never thought of my wife as a companion. She was more of a challenge. We didn't have much in common."

  "Was? You're not married any more?"

  "Maria died six years ago. Cancer. But she went out as well as she lived, embracing every minute of it."