Romance Grows in Arcadia Valley (Arcadia Valley Romance Book 0)

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  Alex came through the door, staggering under the weight of a giant box, and she hurried to help him steady it and put it down on a table. He opened it up, and they both looked inside.

  In addition to crepe paper for streamers, a large birthday banner, and straw floral centerpieces, she saw a baggie full of pictures and a large tablecloth. “I see what they were after,” she said. “They want to make a display for people to come look at. Why don’t you go through and choose some pictures — yes, see, they’ve got some stand-up frames here. I’ll do crepe paper and make some kind of a special setup for your grandma. I’m good at it.”

  So he sat at the table sorting through the photographs while Patricia stood on chairs to tape up crepe paper streamers. At one point, when she was reaching up and to the side, he hurried over to steady her chair. “Thanks,” she said, looking down. Her sweater had hiked up and Alex was exactly eye level with her waistline.

  Her none-too-small waistline.

  And moreover, he was staring at her bare skin.

  She yanked her sweater down, her cheeks burning, waiting for him to make a comment as Carl would’ve. Instead, he reddened and stepped away. “You okay? It looks great.”

  She blew out a breath. If he could pretend that hadn’t just happened, so could she. “We’re halfway there. You’ll see, it’ll look amazing once I’m done.”

  “Just be careful and tell me when you’re reaching somewhere awkward, and I’ll come help.” He spun and strode back over to the table.

  It doesn’t matter what men think of me, it matters what God thinks of me. Patricia believed that with her mind, but her heart hadn’t quite caught up. She didn’t want to care what someone like Alex thought — in truth, didn’t care — but still, the notion of him being turned off by her body stung her deep inside.

  She needed to focus on what she was doing. Creating beautiful decorations for an old woman’s party. An old woman who’d probably lived through so much that she was beyond worrying about what a man thought of her looks.

  Patricia twisted another strand of crepe paper, taped it up, then hopped down from the chair to see what other supplies she could find. When she returned, she worked for a while before letting herself look over at Alex. He sat with his dark head bent over the table, studying various pictures.

  Something about the slump of his shoulders told her he was struggling. No doubt there were photographs of relatives long gone, and it had to be hard. She knew what it was like to grieve.

  She went back to the kitchen, poured them both some hot tea, and brought it out. “Hey.” She set it down on the table beside him. “How’s it going?”

  He looked up. “Okay.”

  “Are you finding what you need?”

  He nodded and set aside the picture he’d been studying. It portrayed a dark-haired woman surrounded by three boys and a girl, all teenagers.

  “Are you in the picture?”

  He indicated the middle boy who was about fifteen. Of course, handsome.

  She pointed at the woman. “Your mom?”

  He swallowed visibly and gave a quick nod.

  “She was beautiful.”

  “She devoted herself to us. It was all about family for her.”

  She picked up the photo and looked more closely. “How long did you say your dad was gone before this?”

  “Since I was ten, so about five years.”

  “She raised all you teenagers alone.” Patricia shook her head. “I bet that was a challenge.”

  “We did some crazy things, that’s for sure. But she was tough. She never let us get away with anything. If she felt like she couldn’t handle it, she called one of my uncles. Or Father Joel, who was six five and over three hundred pounds.”

  “She sounds like a smart lady.”

  “She was.” He blew out a sigh, put the picture down, and picked up his cup of tea. “Thanks for this. How’s the...” He looked up, then swiveled to look at the whole room, his eyes coming to rest on the latticework backing that she’d made into a wall of flowers. “Wow! Looks nice!”

  It was just repurposed plastic centerpiece flowers with green tissue paper in between, but pleasure washed over Patricia at his praise. “If we put it behind where your grandma sits, it’ll make a nice background for pictures.”

  “Great idea.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’m kind of a decorating fiend. My friends always make me come early to parties, to set things up just right.”

  “Well, I, for one, am impressed. And I’d better get cracking on the photo table.”

  “I could help you, or do you want to go through this stuff alone? If you do, I totally understand.”

  “I’d welcome the company. Your company.” He put a hand over hers.

  Heat seemed to rise in her. Their gazes caught, held.

  They looked away from each other at the same time.

  Alex cleared his throat. “Plus, I could use the help. Artistic I’m not.”

  So she focused on the photos rather than the pounding of her own heart. She put those he’d already chosen into frames and then set up the table while he continued going through the photographs, tucking some aside quickly as if he didn’t want her to see them.

  Pictures of him with girlfriends, maybe? But why would he care if she saw those?

  When she’d done all she could, she sat back down at the table beside him. “Can we use that to decorate?” She pointed to a beautiful necklace made of antique-looking beads and an ornate gold cross. “It would look good... oh, wait. Is that a rosary?”

  “My mom’s. Mi abuela gave it to her.” he frowned. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking, putting it in with the decorations. It’ll make her sad, maybe.”

  “Or maybe she wishes people would talk to her about the daughter she lost.” Patricia shrugged. “Sometimes, it feels like everyone tiptoes around a death, afraid you don’t want to be reminded of it. When the truth is, I bet your grandma thinks about your mom every single day.”

  “I know I do.” He set the rosary out. “We’ll ask my brothers and sisters what they think when they get here.” He ran a finger over the beads.

  “Is your family pretty religious? Are you?”

  He nodded. “We always went to mass, when we were small. And when we were teenagers, Mama took us kids to Grace Fellowship, and we still go there. But am I religious?” He shook his head quickly. “I’m no good at it.”

  Patricia frowned. “What do you mean? Is there a way to be good at religion?”

  “Mama was. And Abuela is. I’ve made so many mistakes...”

  “Do you believe in Christ?” she asked bluntly. She’d learned not to soften a question like that, and her instinct proved right when he jerked his head up and stared at her.

  “Of course! That’s... well, it’s central. He’s gotten me through.”

  “Then you’re fine,” she said gently. “God knows we’re not perfect. That’s what Jesus was all about. If you’ve repented of your sins and asked forgiveness, then all you have to do is accept that he’s paid for them.”

  “I know, I’ve done that, but…” He shrugged. “Other people seem so much more holy. And so much better of Christians.”

  “There’s no scorekeeping in Christ’s kingdom, at least I don’t believe there is. Anyone who acts superior at Christianity is kind of acting like a Pharisee.” She squeezed his hand. “God’s standards aren’t the same as the world’s.”

  He turned his hand over to capture hers, and Patricia felt it all the way from her hand to her heart, a current of feeling that shocked her. She couldn’t look away from him.

  “You know what?” He looked in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re here. You. Not just anyone to help out. You, specifically.”

  “I... I think I’m glad, too.”

  He ducked his head and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This is strange.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. She also figured they’d better stop mooning at each other. She glanced over at
her pallet and a yawn took over.

  “Hey, okay. I’ll finish up, only a few more photographs.” He dug through.

  She watched him idly, so she noticed when he came upon a photo, glanced at her quickly, and tucked it back in the box before she could see it, his expression almost guilty.

  Patricia’s romantic haze dissipated. Another girlfriend? Nice of him to hide it, but it put her in her place. Despite the romantic feeling of a late night project, she had to remember that someone as good-looking as Alex wasn’t going to want anything to do with her after the sun came out.

  Chapter 9

  Alex stepped into his boots and pulled on a jacket, all the while looking at Patricia. In the morning light, her skin shone fair, her cheeks rosy. Her hair flamed across the folded blanket she’d used as a pillow.

  He’d been so tempted to make a pass at her last night, but looking at her now, so sweet and innocent, he was glad he hadn’t. She wasn’t that kind of woman. He’d known that even before she’d shared her faith with him.

  He’d just have to stop thinking about the way she’d cuddled into the dog, and inadvertently into him, during the night.

  Beside him, Bear leapt and woofed, eager to get outside. Alex reached to open the door and looked back to see her stretch and open her eyes.

  Wow.

  His mouth felt dry. “Coffee’s made.” He heard the gruff sound in his own voice. He had to get outside or he’d do something he’d regret. “Take your time and relax.”

  “Is the restaurant opening soon?”

  “Nope. Closed today for the party.”

  “Where are you going?” She propped herself on her elbows, squinting at him.

  “Out to shovel. There are a couple of feet of damp snow out there, so it may take awhile.” And the exercise will cool me down.

  “I’ll come help.” She sat up.

  He held up a hand. “No. You’ve already done enough for us. Take it easy for now, and later we’ll go dig your car out.” He left before she could argue.

  Because she would argue, he was pretty sure of that. She was a helper at heart. Just look at how she’d thrown herself into cooking and decorating, all for an old woman she’d never met. Even his friends wouldn’t have done half as much. Even his brother and sister, when he’d updated them this morning, had just sounded relieved that Alex had found a way to improvise. Understandable, given that Veronica was helping their grandmother dig out and get ready and Daniel’s babysitter was snowed in an hour away. Still, the lack of assistance from his family made him even more grateful for Patricia’s help.

  He located a snow shovel in the shed behind the restaurant and walked around front, still thinking about Patricia. She’d awakened him from the slump he’d been in, that was for sure. He wanted to get to know her, and more than that, he wanted her to get to know him. He had the feeling she wouldn’t be overly impressed by his athletic success or his money. She’d have to decide whether she liked him based on who he was inside.

  He had to tell her the truth before she discovered it some other way. Which, given the plan of a big family party today, meant he had to do it within the next couple of hours.

  Except he liked being mistaken for an ordinary Joe. He’d enjoyed the simplicity of being with Patricia last night, hidden by the snow, sitting by the fire. It had been domestic and cozy and real.

  He hadn’t experienced much that was real, with women, during recent years.

  He shook off his emotions and attacked the snow, relishing the workout. It wasn’t long before the door opened behind him and Patricia came out. Bear rushed to her, bounded joyously out into the snow, and then ran back and jumped at her, ready to play. She rubbed the excited dog’s sides, looking from side to side. “I thought we were isolated last night, but we’re really not that far from civilization.”

  He nodded, scanning the few shops and commercial buildings spotted along the road. “Everything was closed and dark. Most people went home early. We’re open the latest, on this stretch.”

  “I’m so grateful you were still here. What would’ve happened to me and Bear?”

  “I’m glad I was here to help.”

  Their gazes met and tangled for just a little too long, and then she shook her head quickly as if to get rid of whatever she was feeling. “Where’s another shovel? I want to help.”

  “Not without a hat and gloves. Tell you what, you go inside and find some — there’s a basket in the pantry with stuff people have left here — and I’ll see if I can find another shovel.” Although he had no intention of letting her work hard, he would welcome having her beside him.

  And he didn’t want to examine exactly why.

  A few minutes later they met at the partially shoveled walk, laughing as Bear bounded around. “You look cute in the hat.”

  “I look fat in the hat,” she corrected. “Chubby cheeks.”

  “What?” He felt his mouth fall open. “Why would you think that?”

  She wrinkled her nose as if smelling something foul. “My ex. Carl. I told you, he was always after me to lose weight.”

  He stood his shovel in a drift of snow and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Carl was an idiot. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  She shook her head a little, her cheeks going pinker.

  “I mean it. You’re gorgeous just as you are, from head to toe. Anyone who says different is full-on crazy.”

  She looked into his eyes for a second and then looked away, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “What’re we doing here?”

  “We’re shoveling this walkway,” he said, “and you’re telling me about Carl.”

  “No way.” She tried to take the shovel from him.

  He held onto it. “Yes, way.”

  She tugged. He held on.

  She tugged harder.

  “You’re not getting this shovel until you tell me the rest of the story about this jerk who put you down.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. The short version.”

  “Fair enough.” He handed her the shovel.

  She took a few strokes and he thought she wasn’t going to open up. Usually, women wanted to talk a lot, but Patricia seemed to be a different type.

  “He lied to me,” she said finally, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it.

  “What about?” Alarm bells rang in Alex’s head.

  She shook her head quickly, like a dog shaking off water. “He didn’t lie, exactly, I guess. He just didn’t tell me the whole truth.”

  Like I’m not telling you the whole truth.

  “See, we’d been going along, talking about getting engaged. He even bought me a ring. And we were going to announce it at a party at his parents’ house. I actually got partway down the stairs before his sister took me aside and gave me the message.”

  “Which was?”

  “That he just didn’t feel it for me, hadn’t for awhile, and he didn’t want to get engaged. Wanted to break up, instead.” Her voice got a little tight on the last words, and she tightened her grip on her snow shovel, cracking at a patch of ice with it.

  “Wait a minute. He didn’t even have the guts to say it to your face, in private?”

  She shook her head, still chipping at the ice, not looking at him. “That doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that he kept the truth from me. Here I’d been going along, thinking one thing, and it turns out something else entirely was going on, beneath the surface.” She looked at him, finally, leaning on the handle of her shovel. “I just felt like such a fool, you know?”

  “I understand.” Behind him, an icicle crashed to the ground, then another. Melting off in the spring sun. Their blanket of protection was fast disappearing.

  Out on the highway, a snowplow slowed down in front of the restaurant. “Quint is mint!” the driver, Mrs. D’Angelo, yelled at him.

  She’d known him since he was a boy, had cheered on his progress in the majors when that had been the chant of the crowds.

  He waved and the
plow chugged on.

  “What’s she mean, Quint is mint?”

  Tell her. “Oh, it’s just an old high school joke.” Which was true; he’d first gotten the label in high school, when everything athletic he’d done had been golden, perfect, mint condition.

  He wasn’t lying.

  Except by omission. Which she’d just told him she hated.

  He dug in his shovel, arguing with himself, condemning himself as a coward. What did it matter if she knew or didn’t know? Later today, she’d be on the road and he’d never see him again.

  He turned and watched her shoveling and knew he didn’t want that to happen. Didn’t want her to leave.

  Cars were starting to pass on the cleared highway, and one, a red SUV, pulled in. Morgan.

  “Hey!” She hopped out, sporting a short swingy coat and hat, and opened the back of the vehicle where several crates of what looked like fresh vegetables were stacked. Then she approached Patricia with her hand extended. “I’m Morgan, good to meet you in person.”

  “Likewise.” The greeting was friendly, but a little guarded. “Do you need a hand carrying it inside?”

  “That would be awesome. We don’t need a burly old athlete like Alex to do our heavy lifting.”

  “If you want something said, ask a man. If you—”

  “Want something done, ask a woman.” Morgan chimed in, sounding delighted. “Margaret Thatcher, right?”

  Patricia went over to the SUV and Alex started to join her, but Morgan stopped him with a hug. “Muy bonita,” she murmured into his ear. “La quieres, eh?”

  Yes, Patricia was pretty. And yes, he was attracted. But Morgan didn’t need to advertise his feelings to the woman in question. He extracted himself from Morgan’s arms, laughing a little. “Stop! She knows Spanish!”

  “I know! That makes her even more perfect for you. Come on.” She hooked her arm through his. “I was just kidding about not needing your brawn. Look at your poor friend doing all the work!”

  He shook his head. He’d known Morgan since elementary school and she was like a little sister to him, albeit an extremely successful one. “Give that to me,” he said to Patricia, reaching for the crate she’d hoisted.