JOSH’S BRAINSTORM TO have a family dinner came after observing the connection between his mother and Joe. Despite his mother’s new friendship with the tea shop owner, she was clearly unhappy, as was his father. What better holiday to bring family back together than Thanksgiving, when we’re all supposed to be thankful? And Joe was left out. He wasn’t sure if he should feel a glimmer of satisfaction about how things had turned out. He didn’t feel nearly as good about the spur-of-the-moment invitation to Wendy. He had been on his way out when he heard the commotion. He stayed in the kitchen long enough to hear Hawkeye’s granddaughter being introduced. Wow. Talk about secrets. Of all the men Josh knew, Hawkeye was the one he would most want to emulate. He had seemed to have such a handle on the world, so in control of his life. But even he had a secret.
En route to the cabin, Josh stopped by the house. His rumpled attire in the midst of the well-dressed townspeople had reminded him he hadn’t showered for a while. The key was still under the third flowerpot to the left, and he let himself into the place, took a quick shower and found some clothes in his room that, miracle of miracles, still fit.
Thirty minutes later he was back driving to the cabin. Despite his dad’s offer, he would rather be alone, even if the cabin was cold and uncomfortable. A few coals remained in the fireplace. He was able to add wood. Gradually the cabin heated up. For a few years, he and his parents had come out to the cabin in the summer. They would work on the place together, then his father and he would fish and his mother would read. Then they stopped coming and the cabin was left unfinished. He looked at the pile of stair treads. Nothing said he couldn’t do a little work while he was here. He knelt halfway up the stairs, installing the risers and treads.
“About time you came home.”
The sunlight lit the lanky form from behind, leaving the face in shadows. But even so, Josh recognized the voice. Hawkeye Smith.
“Hey, you’re the last person I expected to see.” Josh pounded one last nail. He was almost at the top. Laying down the hammer, he made his way down the stairs. He met Hawkeye in the middle of the room and gripped his hand. The man may be in his seventies, but he had the grip of a twentysomething.
“You disappeared before I had the chance to talk with you.” Hawkeye covered both their hands with the other, then released. “I saw the tracks coming to the cabin, so I thought I’d see if it was you. Your parents don’t make it out much anymore.”
Josh dropped his gaze. “Things got a little crazy.”
One corner of the old man’s mouth curved upward. “Just a bit.” He walked over to the bottom of the stairs. “Finishing the cabin finally? That’s good. This is such a prime location.”
Many a day Josh had sat with his father and Hawkeye along the bank of the stream. “Still fishing?”
“Not lately.” Hawkeye wandered around the room, running a hand over the mantel and admiring the wooden counter in the kitchen. “Your father does nice work.”
Josh leaned against the wall, seeing the cabin through Hawkeye’s eyes. “He does. Too bad he didn’t finish.”
Hawkeye took off his ball cap and ran a hand over his bald head before returning the cap to his head. “Is that what you’re doing?”
Josh shrugged. “I won’t be here long enough, but while I am, I’ll do a little.”
Hawkeye continued around the room until he came to the foot of the stairs. “One step at a time.” He threw Josh a rare smile.
Josh wasn’t sure if the man made the pun on purpose or not. “Think there are any trout left in these waters?”
Hawkeye put one foot on the first stair and leaned on his knee. “I wouldn’t mind finding out sometime you get the urge to drop a line in the water.”
Josh stuck his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans. It was obvious Hawkeye Smith didn’t want to talk about the fiasco at the tea shop. The one time Josh had met with a counselor, she had used the term compartmentalize when talking about traumatic events. Josh understood completely. Hawkeye was a private man. He could talk fishing. “I’d have to look around the house. Who knows what my dad did with my gear.”
“I can probably come up with an extra rod.”
The man just wouldn’t give up, but then, Josh wasn’t surprised. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hawkeye tapped the bill of his cap with two fingers. “What are you using for railing across the top?”
Josh followed his gaze to the loft area, which extended halfway over the downstairs. “I hadn’t got that far.”
Hawkeye kept staring up. “There’s a place a few miles from here collects pieces from old houses they demolish. We could see if they have any spindles and banisters. Might get lucky.”
“Good idea. Thanks.” Not that he would be here.
A car door slammed, and a moment later Josh heard footsteps on the porch. What happened to his self-imposed isolation? This place was busier than a fast-food joint at lunchtime on Saturday. The door flew open.
“Hi. I thought you were here. I brought a picnic.” The weather girl stood in the open doorway, a picnic basket in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of Josh’s other company. “Mr. Smith.”
Hawkeye had turned, his back against the wall like an old-time cardplayer. He responded with a slight nod, his expression inscrutable.
Josh wondered what had transpired between the two after he’d left the tea shop. Surely Wendy hadn’t tried to turn the woman’s announcement into a news story. Then he remembered Skinny’s observation. Ever since the Atlanta job fell through she’s been looking for a story. “I’m surprised to see you here. This place isn’t the most comfortable.”
Wendy’s smile dimmed, but she closed the door and set the basket and wine on the small table. “I was bored. The Wildflower is closed, and I thought...” Her gaze flicked to the older man still standing like a statue against the wall. “Would you like to join us? I have plenty.”
“I was just leaving.” Hawkeye raised two fingers to his ball cap, gave a nod to Josh and without another word was gone.
Walking over to the door, Josh watched the older man drive his weathered truck carefully down the road. He had sensed some sort of undercurrent between Wendy and the farmer. What had she done? Just how desperate was she? He leaned against the closed door and focused on Wendy shrugging out of her jacket.
How had he missed the station emblem? It was right there, in plain sight.
She unpacked the basket. Wineglasses, plates, cloth napkins, cut-up meats and cheeses. Moving toward the table, he looked down at the bounty and then up until he caught her gaze. “So, you’re a news reporter?”
* * *
THERE IT WAS AGAIN. The implication that being a news reporter was somehow unworthy. She had seen the guarded look in his eyes when she talked to him at the tea shop. She had gone straight home and emailed all the footage to Walt who, not surprisingly, was at the office on a Sunday afternoon. Her phone rang thirty minutes after she hit the Send button.
“No? Are you kidding me?” Wendy sank into the living-room chair. The black dog studied her from his favorite place on the carpet in front of the fireplace.
“Your assignment was to cover the opening of a tea shop in Bear Meadows and interview the proprietor. What part of that message did you not understand?”
“I did interview the man. After I finished, his old girlfriend from California showed up and announced he had a fifty-year-old daughter and twin grandchildren.”
“You sabotaged them, Wendy. This nice old couple who hasn’t seen each other for fifty years. And there you are with the camera like a...a paparazzo.”
“Thus the story, Walt. Why did Betty marry another man?” She jumped up and started to pace around the room. The dog’s eyes followed her everywhere she went.
“So you want to do entert
ainment news now?”
“I’m just looking for a story. You used the interview with the little girl during the blizzard.”
“A perfect human interest story. A baby being born during a blizzard. Ties in with the weather, too. Your job.”
Wendy bit back a groan.
“I might use the tea shop interview for a filler. Look, if this is about your sister...”
“It has nothing to do with my sister.” And everything to do with her father’s adoration of her sister. The sudden revelation caused her to sit down hard on the couch.
“You do a good job with the weather. Why isn’t that enough? The public loves you, and that’s why we’re keeping you there. So get used to it.”
An hour later Wendy still steamed over Walt’s rejection of her footage. The dog had finally risen from his spot and now rested his chin on her knee. “What do you think I should do?”
And now here she was. Because if she had stayed home she would have thought about the rejection all night. Also, she had nowhere else to go.
She chose to ignore Josh’s question for the moment. “Are you hungry?” Opening the wine, she poured them each a glass. “Not knowing the type of wine you prefer, I brought a merlot and some cheddar.” She handed Josh a glass. “Cheers.”
Josh accepted the glass. “Cheers.” But instead of sitting down, he continued to walk around the room, his head down as if he were thinking heavy thoughts.
Taking her glass, she went over to the fireplace. Encountering Hawkeye when she opened the cabin door had completely thrown her for a loop. She had only made it halfway across the tea shop, microphone in hand, when the older man shot a warning look in her direction. Hawkeye was the kind of man who preferred to stay in the shadows. He wouldn’t take kindly to camera lights. And watching Josh here, she realized he was a younger version of the reclusive farmer. They both played their cards close to the vest. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I interrupted your work.”
Josh stopped at the base of the stairs. “You don’t like asking for help, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When I said I saved your life. I was just teasing. But your face...you had this expression...” Josh joined her in front of the fire. A log dropped, scattering sparks.
Wendy sipped the wine, welcoming the brief fizz on her tongue and the warmth sliding down her throat. Josh had hit the nail on the head. The revelation she had earlier, of how her father continuously praised her older sister’s accomplishments, had caused her to question her goals. But he and Hawkeye weren’t the only ones who didn’t want to talk about personal issues.
“Maybe we should put this away.” Finishing his wine, Josh set the glass on the table with a quiet thump.
Instead, Wendy picked up the bottle and started to refill his glass. Before she could, Josh placed his hand, palm down, over the top of the glass. She looked up and caught his gaze. “The party’s just getting started.”
Taking the bottle from her hand, Josh set the wine on the table. He pulled her toward him. “You’re a complicated woman, Wendy Valentine. I don’t have room in my life for complications.”
She wanted to resist. She really did. No men, no kids, not even a pet. The dog currently in her house had a home somewhere else, she was sure of it. And the man who had his arms around her and smelled of sandalwood and spice with a hint of wood smoke was leaning in for a kiss. He belonged somewhere, too...just not with her.Still, it didn’t stop her from kissing him back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE ARRIVED PROMPTLY at noon. They were eating at two. When Josh opened the door, the sight of her almost took his breath away. Her dark hair, as always, swung in a smooth line that ended just under her chin. She wore ivory wool slacks, a matching turtleneck sweater and a navy blue peacoat. The red scarf added a pop of color. She stood there expectantly, and Josh realized she was waiting to be invited into the house. He stood back. “You look...nice.”
He hadn’t seen her since Sunday evening, when they had ended up enjoying the food and the fire, and kissing again before Wendy said she had to go. The intensity of his feelings for her had frightened him.
She shrugged as she passed him. “Thank you, but you’ve been looking at cows all summer so...” The smile she threw at him almost knocked him back. Shutting the door, he paused, wondering what had possessed him to invite her for a family holiday dinner. Then he remembered his goal. Right, reuniting his parents. Wendy was here as a buffer. She lifted her chin as she sniffed. “The turkey smells great. I’m not surprised, since your mom is cooking.”
“Can I take your coat?”
She set a bottle of wine on the hall table and swirled so he could pull the coat from her shoulders. Her floral scent enveloped him, and he shut his eyes for a moment. “Mom’s in the kitchen. We got here at ten.” He led her down the hallway, passing the archway into the almost empty living room. His mother had yet to comment on the disappearance of her furniture. Josh had returned his grandmother’s rocking chair, thinking the room wouldn’t look so bare. But it did.
“Hello, Wendy.” Josh’s mother didn’t look up as she stirred a thick white dressing into shredded cabbage.
The kitchen was warm and filled with the scent of roasting turkey. Steam bubbled from a pan on the stove, filming the window over the kitchen sink with fog. Wendy glanced at Josh and then back at his mother. “I brought wine. You’re such a good cook I figured you had everything else.”
“Wine is fine. I’m sure we’ll need it before the day is over.” His mom dropped the empty container in the sink and acted as if she were on the job, instead of preparing a meal for her loved ones.
“What can I do to help?”
“The glasses are probably dusty. If you want to check them, maybe wipe them out. You can set the table.”
“What about me, Mom?”
His mother looked him up and down. “Well, son, you could clean up a bit.”
Josh ran a hand over his beard. “Okay.” He was glad to leave the kitchen. Four days since he and Wendy had cozied up in front of the fire in the cabin, and he thought he finally had his feelings under control. But when he saw her on the porch, he was unprepared for the longing he felt. He needed to get a handle on his feelings. Heck, he needed to get a handle on his life. Ever since he had seen that picture of his mother, things had been tumbling out of place.
In what was once his childhood bedroom, he looked in his closet. His baseball trophies sat on the top shelf along with his high school yearbooks. The clothes he had worn to church Easter Sunday with his mother over three years ago still hung in the closet. If he hurried, he’d still have plenty of time to spend in the company of the lovely weather reporter.
* * *
WENDY HADN’T SPENT much time with the bakeshop owner. The few times she had encountered Mrs. Hunter in The Wildflower the woman had been brusque. Today, in the home she used to share with the man who cheated on her, she didn’t seem much friendlier.
“Just four of us, right?” Wendy propped her hands on her hips and tried to figure out where the glasses would be stored.
“Um-hmm.”
Wendy opened four cupboard doors before she found matching water and wineglasses. Opening a drawer under the counter, she lucked out on the first try and found a tea towel. “Mrs. Hunter, do you know—”
“Remember? I go by Campbell these days, Wendy, but you can call me Sue. Everybody else does.” She transferred the coleslaw to a crystal bowl and placed it in the refrigerator. “Except Joe.” Hands in the dishwater, she stood by the sink, staring out the window. “He calls me Suzanna.”
The woman was in her own home, with her husband and son, but she seemed conflicted, that much was certain. “You must be glad to have Josh home.” Wendy held a glass up to the light. Definitely dusty. She wiped out the interior of the glass and hazarded a
look at her hostess.
A smile lit the woman’s face as she resumed washing the dishes. “I’ve missed him.” She was quiet a minute. “I’ll do anything to spend time with my son, even spend a day in this house sharing a meal with his father.”
Wendy eyed the stack of paper plates in one corner of the counter and the half-empty potato chip bag on top of the refrigerator. “You can tell a woman doesn’t live here.”
“Anymore.” Sue stressed the last half of the word as she rinsed and dried the dish with a towel. “The dishes in the china cabinet need a swipe with the cloth, too.”
Wendy had glanced into the dining room as she’d followed Josh down the hall. The only thing on the dining-room table was a stack of newspapers. “Shall I set the table?”
Sue nodded. “There should be a tablecloth in one of the drawers.” She muttered under her breath. “Should be.”
Relieved to escape the tension, Wendy spent the next few minutes getting the table ready for their dinner. She found long white tapers and a set of crystal candleholders and put them in the center of the table, which she had covered with a green cloth. Finally, she could think of nothing more to add and carried the stack of newspapers into the kitchen where she put them next to the chip bag. “I love your dishes.”
“My mother’s wedding china. I should pack up the dishes and take them home. Heaven knows Brad won’t need them.” She opened the oven door and removed the turkey and set it on the stove. Then she placed a tray of rolls in the oven. “But then, I don’t have a home. Almost ready.”
“The turkey smells terrific.” Wendy had to admit she was starved for some homemade food. Since her parents had left she had existed on yogurt and cereal. She caught a glimpse of her hostess’s face as she set the timer. She had watched as the woman’s weight had steadily dropped in the last year. Her deteriorating marriage must have taken away her appetite. “So you don’t see yourself moving back in?”
“Are you kidding?”
Wendy knew she was digging where it was none of her business, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself. And she wanted to understand Josh’s need to leave home so quickly. “Things must have been different when Josh was still around.”
An Allegheny Homecoming Page 9
