Until Winter Comes Again: (An Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (Cane River Romance Book 6)

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Until Winter

  Comes Again

  by

  Mary Jane

  Hathaway

  All rights reserved. © 2017 by Gumbo Books and Mary Jane Hathaway

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Find me on facebook at Mary Jane Hathaway and on my blog at The Things That Last www.virginiacarmichael.blogspot.com

  This book is dedicated to all the wonderful readers who were disappointed when I decided to end the Cane River Series at five books. Every so often, I’d think of a story that would be perfect for Cane River and although I told myself I needed to move on to other projects, I always thought of you.

  So, this book is for you, my friends, with all my love.

  A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. Proverbs 17:17

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Love and Friendship

  The cats of By the Book

  Music mentioned in Until Winter Comes Again

  Calas Rice Fritters

  Ruby’s Pineapple Cheese Salad

  Excerpt of The Pepper in the Gumbo

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...

  I could walk through my garden forever.”

  ― Alfred Tennyson

  Paul Olivier tugged the patchwork quilt over Alice’s shoulder just the way she liked it, and she pressed her ear against his chest, right over his heart, as she always did. She had told him once that before they were married, she’d used a litany of sleep-inducing meditative techniques to reach a state of relaxation required to fall into a light dream, but now his heartbeat was the only aid she needed to trick her body into surrendering. Paul had been simultaneously touched and concerned. He imagined several future scenarios, all worse than the last. It was a skill he’d honed with careful practice and it was largely responsible for his success in business. He wondered how Alice would fall asleep when his heartbeat ceased to be available to her. The next day he’d added another mile to his running regimen so that his heart might continue its service to Alice as long as possible.

  Winter rain pelted softly against the bedroom window and the forecast had predicted it was going to continue all night. The river had been straining against its banks for a week. Their old farmhouse was set on a small hill, and somewhat protected from flooding, but plenty of homes along the Cane River were at risk if the rain didn’t let up soon. Tomorrow they would set up sandbags around the bookstore and start moving the collection from the lower shelves. Floodwaters invading By the Book would be catastrophic, not just because of the loss of income but because so many of the vintage books were irreplaceable. He couldn’t stop what might be happening to his company, but he could stop a flood from ruining Alice’s beloved collection.

  “Flannery Beaulieu is popping in tomorrow afternoon to look at that empty apartment,” Alice said. They usually spoke Creole French at home but she spoke English now. Her voice was carefully neutral.

  “You’re meddling, sha.”

  Her quick intake of breath against her teeth was a protest, but he knew she was less offended by the accusation than surprised. He almost smiled. She still thought she was a mystery to him.

  “How? I would be a terrible friend to Bix and Ruby if I knew their granddaughter was looking for a place and didn’t offer ours. Plus, it’s only a block from the library. She can’t hardly get any closer to work.”

  “And she’ll be right next door to Punky Becket.”

  “Nobody calls him that anymore but his mamere.”

  Paul wanted to point out that in a small town, nobody ever outgrew their childhood nickname, but instead said, “Remington. My apologies.”

  “How could I explain opening up an apartment to Rem, and not Flannery?”

  “Because you were saving him from having to decline Gideon’s very generous offer of staying with them until he found a place. Henry’s due any day now. ” There were other reasons that Rem might decline his cousin’s offer but nobody liked to mention it. Gideon was a reformed ex-convict but he still gave off an intense vibe on his good days. On the bad days, nobody wanted to get close enough to check.

  “Anyway, I think he’ll be happy as a clam. They’ve been friends for years. Best friends, really. Have you seen them together?”

  “Yep.”

  It was difficult to miss Flannery and Rem. More than a few times at backyard barbeques and baptisms, he’d wondered if they were a couple. Not because they looked good together, although they were both attractive. Flannery was short and plump, with long, curly dark hair while Remington Becket was tall and lanky. She had a penchant for stripes, polka dots, and bright colors while Rem dressed like an accountant trying to blend into a crowd of accountants. Even before he’d become a history professor, Rem looked like he was auditioning for the role of Willy Loman in ‘Death of a Salesman’.

  Of course, there were a lot of similarities, too. They were both Creole, educated, and had a wit sharp enough to draw blood. But even before they opened their mouths, there was something that gave him the impression that they were more than friends. They seemed attuned to each other somehow. He’d seen them have a whole conversation across a crowded room, saying nothing out loud, using only the barest of expressions.

  “They both say they’re not romantically involved. I think we should respect that,” he said.

  “I’m not trying to out them to the world,” Alice said. “If I thought they were dating and didn’t want to tell anybody because they wanted to keep things private without the interference of the whole town, I would never breathe a word.”

  “If it hasn’t happened yet, it probably won’t. I’m sure they have their reasons.” He could tell he wasn’t swaying Alice in the slightest. “Besides, maybe he thought he was getting a nice quiet apartment where he could get some work done on his sabbatical. Moving Flannery next door might put a wrench in his research time.”

  “Nonsense. He knew he was moving in above a very popular bookstore and a floor below a nursery for three babies. If he’d wanted peace and quiet, he would have found a place far out of town.” She shrugged and his hand moved with the movement of her shoulders. “I don’t see the harm.”

  “You have to admit you have a motive. You think the apartments are ―”

  “Don’t say cursed. It’s rude.”

  “― are jinxed… in a good way. And you are meddling.” He paused, searching for the best argument. “You’re a romantic to your very core, but I’d think a die-hard Austen fan would realize nothing good can come from this. Emma illustrated that perfectly.”

  She didn’t take the bait. “I’m not a die-hard Austen fan, never have been. I can’t believe we’ve been married for four years and you don’t know that.”

  “You have cats na
med Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet.”

  “They’re bookstore cats. There’s also Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Gaskell, Jane Eyre, and Van Winkle.” She was quiet for a moment. “I’m a die-hard Pride and Prejudice fan. There’s a difference.” He could feel her smiling against his skin. “Not a real big difference, but there is one.”

  They lapsed into silence. The rain pattered against the window. The baby monitor on the bedside table echoed with a soft, rhythmic snoring. Probably Aurora. Although she’d zipped through the day with her usual three-year-old energy, he’d noticed her coughing several times that evening. Another winter cold, probably. And of course the twins would get it, too. When one kid got sick, they all did. He wondered if the girls should stay away from the bookstore, just until the flu season had passed. Alice didn’t want to put in central heating, preferring to use the older gas heat. He teased her that if she had her way, she’d go back to using only the fireplaces for heat and the oil lamps on the walls for light. She’d said that he was being ridiculous, that of course she’d use the coal boiler in the basement.

  “Anyway,” she said, “It’ll be nice to have the apartments occupied around Christmas. It always makes the place seem like home. Really, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Do you want me to answer you honestly? Because this sounds like a done deal.”

  “I won’t take back the offer, if that’s what you mean. But go ahead and tell me what your savvy says.”

  Paul’s innate ability to consider all the worst outcomes was giving him quite a few possibilities, but one loomed larger than the rest. “No woman ever hates a man for being in love with her, but many a woman hate a man for being a friend to her.”

  “Alexander Pope was a misogynist. You can’t take anything he says very seriously.”

  “Then imagine it the other way. Rem could hate her if she doesn’t return his love.”

  Alice was quiet for a while. “I know I’m not the first to try and fix them up with people. Remember that guy Flannery’s sister kept pushing at her― the weatherman for the local news?”

  “Sure do. Joe Lassalle. Bix said the guy thought the sun came up just to hear him crow. Was always name-dropping and bragging about his promotions.” Paul could see how that wouldn’t have been a good match. Flannery didn’t care about popularity or wealth, and she didn’t have an ambitious bone in her body. Not that she lacked drive. Not at all. She was simply focused on things the world didn’t find very important. She was driven to make libraries a refuge for communities, to help every child learn to love reading, and to bring the Cane River community together through the library. But those weren’t things most people rated very highly on the scale of grand accomplishments, which suited her just fine. She didn’t seem to care a bit whether she impressed anyone at all.

  “You know,” Paul said, “Austin did the same thing to Rem last summer during the zydeco festival. It was out of the blue, like a blind date. Rem almost revoked his cousin status.”

  “Oh, right. I remember her. Abby, I think. Just moved from Philadelphia. Said she couldn’t find a thing to eat. We were all enjoying our meat pies and gumbo and beignets, and she’s going on about calories and lard and carbs. Rem can’t stand it when people pick apart the nutrition of the food he’s eating like he doesn’t know what’s in it and he’s going to die of a heart attack at any moment.”

  “Don’t think anybody likes that,” Paul agreed. He closed his eyes. The sound of the rain and Alice’s soft voice was lulling him to sleep.

  “Anyway, I won’t be the first to try and fix them up, but I’ll be the first to try and fix them up together.”

  He made a noise in his throat that could be interpreted as disagreement or acquiescence.

  She took it as disagreement. “Just because we found each other in a miraculous mix of happenstance and coincidence, it doesn’t mean that everybody else has to struggle around in the dark. Look at Blue and Rose. They never would have found each other without my help.”

  She had him there. “It was a beautiful.” A lot of people would prefer to be married at the minor basilica downtown, but their wedding last weekend at St. Augustine’s had been perfect.

  “Despite it being a real frogwash,” she added.

  “Wé, that lying weatherman said forty percent chance of rain but it just never let up. The reception room was sure crowded.”

  The little white historical church on the Cane River National Historical Park had been the setting for generations of family weddings. Paul and Alice’s reception had been outside, with a low country boil and zydeco band. He remembered the day vividly. He’d been terrified. Not of being trapped or having his whole life changed, but of failing Alice. He lived in fear of her discovering that he really wasn’t as literate, or kind, or good as she imagined him to be. Fr. Tom had found him in the sacristy minutes before the ceremony, his head in his hands. He’d told Paul that of course Alice would discover all of those things. The question was whether Paul thought Alice loved him enough to get over her disappointment.

  He’d been slipping into sleep but anxiety made his heart rate pick up. He never considered that Alice’s disappointment would be more than the usual realization that he was a very ordinary man, but life was full of ugly surprises. He wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure yet, but there were whispers and rumors and rumblings. His company― the one he had built with a poor kid’s determination to stick it to every person who had told him he couldn’t amount to anything― might not even be his in a few weeks.

  His gut twisted. There was nothing he could do about it. Not now and not tomorrow. No use worrying. He certainly wasn’t going to share rumors with Alice, either. He wouldn’t even know how to start that conversation. By the way, we’re about to lose everything. Goodnight!

  Paul forced himself to focus on what Alice was saying.

  “― and it’s not like I’m demanding that they to date. They’ll live down the hall from each other, is all.”

  For a woman who believed with all her heart that the apartments above the bookstore spelled true love and marriage, that was an illogical thing to say. He chose not to point it out.

  “Singlehood is a perfectly acceptable calling,” he said. “They both seem happy just as they are. He definitely could have found someone by now if he’d wanted to, and she can’t be hurting for offers. Plus, maybe they know each other too well to be fixed up. Familiarity breeds contempt, and they’ve been friends darn near forever.”

  “Mark Twain says familiarity breeds contempt and children.” She pressed a kiss to his chest.

  “And children are wonderful, but I don’t see why Flannery and Rem in particular should be pushed to fall in love.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. It was very dark in the bedroom, but he could see the faintest reflection of light in her eyes.

  “But Paul, I’m not pushing them to fall in love. They already are. They just haven’t realized it yet.”

  Chapter Two

  “Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house,

  you can never tell.”

  ― Joan Crawford

  Flannery Beaulieu picked up the pace as she slogged down 2nd Street, dodging the deepest puddles and walking in the grass when necessary. The rain was reaching Old Testament proportions but her spirit couldn’t be dampened. She was on a mission, and nothing could keep her from her goal.

  The gutter flowed with a small river of brown water and she attempted to jump to the sidewalk but was just a few inches too short. She shivered as the cold water sloshed in her shoes. She never should have left the car in the Historic District. The brief respite in the pouring rain had lasted only long enough to reach the library and now she was forced to retrace her steps under a deluge. Her Hello Kitty umbrella was giving adequate shelter to her head, but her leather flats squished with every step and her black tights were soaked to the knee. Of course she should have worn her rainbow rain boots but this morning she’d convinced h
erself they would seem too trendy or young or something, and had picked the more demure and mature footwear. She’d overthought a simple choice, like she always did, and now it was coming back to her in uncomfortable ways, like it always had.

  She resolved, for the tenth time that week, to become better at making split-second decisions. Or even just any decisions that didn’t take fifteen minutes of internal debate. She’d recently realized that the longer she considered a problem, the more confused she got and the worse the outcome.

  Remington managed to make excellent decisions in the amount of time it took her to frame the question. He didn’t change his mind after the fact, either. He’d make his choice with perfect confidence and it always seemed to be the right one. She needed to be more like Rem, to go more with her gut, and rely less on complicated lists of pros and cons. Maybe her gut was one of those guts that was hopeless at assessing a situation with any kind of accuracy, but Flannery tried not to consider the possibility.

  As she passed the Chaplin House Bed and Breakfast, she couldn’t help smiling at the delicate multicolored lights decorating the window trim. Some people liked Easter. Some liked Mardi Gras. Some liked Lent, heaven help them.

  Flannery was a Christmas girl.

  As a kid, she’d always felt adrift, out of place, overlooked. She was a “last chance” baby, born after all her siblings was well on the way to high school. It wasn’t just the age gap, either. Her childhood was like trying to dog paddle in a pool of Olympic swimmers. With her siblings playing every sport available, their athletic commitments overwhelmed the family’s schedule to the point where everyone was going in a different direction most days. Or maybe they were all headed in the same direction except for Flannery.

  She wasn’t born with the lithe, graceful body of the Beaulieus, who were famous for being star quarterbacks and leading teams to state championships. Even her sisters snagged athletic scholarships to the colleges of their choice. Flannery had been dealt the short, pudgy body of her mother’s family, the Richards. Her sisters ran a seven minute mile. She ran a seventeen minute mile. Her brothers could do fifty push-ups in a row. She could do one or two before her arms started to shake. She always cheered them on and never missed a game, but it was clear to everyone in Natchitoches that she was missing the gene needed to hit a ball or run faster than a twelve minute mile.