by Deb Kastner
“If you’ll follow me, Old Bessie is around back,” Jo said, breaking into her thoughts.
“Bessie?” Phoebe repeated, confused. She hadn’t recalled Jo mentioning a Bessie in their correspondence.
Jo chuckled. “My truck. My husband, Paul, God rest his soul, named her.” She sighed deeply, and her pale green eyes took on a hazy, faraway look. “I know it sounds silly, but continuing to call the truck by Paul’s pet name makes me feel close to him.”
“It’s not silly,” Phoebe assured her. “And I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, my dear, don’t be. Paul has been gone these ten years now, and we had a long and happy marriage together while he was here on earth. Now he’s awaitin’ me in glory. I’ll see him again soon enough.”
Phoebe smiled and patted Jo on the shoulder. She already felt closer to this woman than to any of the people back home, even her friends. It was nice to hear her talk so comfortably about her Christian faith, as if she were chatting about the weather. She especially envied the way Jo talked about Paul. Phoebe wasn’t sure there was such a thing as a long and happy marriage, but if there was, it couldn’t happen to a nicer person than Jo.
“I’ll be around in a moment, dear, and then you can follow me home.”
“Home? Your home? Oh, my. That’s not necessary. I know there isn’t a hotel nearby, but surely there’s a bed-and-breakfast where I can stay, or an apartment where I can get a short-term lease.”
“Don’t be silly,” Jo chided. “There’s no reason for you to be paying rent when I have an extra bedroom all set up and ready for you.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Phoebe protested.
“Nonsense,” Jo replied. “Now, I won’t hear another word about it. Get yourself behind the wheel of that fancy car there and follow me to your new home.”
Home. Phoebe’s own parents had moved to Florida, and she’d been alone for years. She wasn’t sure she remembered the meaning of the word home, much less in the context of a small town like Serendipity and a family which included Jo Murphy and Chance Hawkins, but she had the feeling she was about to find out.
Chapter Two
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Things aren’t going quite as I expected. The truth is, I guess I didn’t really know what I expected. Not this. It may be a very short adventure, after all.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: Now don’t you give up on us yet, dear. Things will work out. You’ll see.
Chance settled his worn buckskin cowboy hat on his head and pulled it low over his eyes, and then shrugged into a trench coat of the same color. Being late spring in west Texas, the air still had a definite nip to it, and the wind was always blowing; but he was walking home anyway.
He always walked.
He closed his eyes against the sharp, stabbing wave of pain that descended on him every time he thought of driving. Of Lindsay.
He locked the back door of the café behind him, though there was little need for that in Serendipity, where many people didn’t so much as take the keys from the ignitions of their cars, much less lock the doors.
Adjusting the bandana around his neck to a more comfortable position, he traced the scar that ran from the corner of his jaw to his collarbone. The physical scar was easily hidden by the cloth. It was what was inside that couldn’t be stitched up, that would probably never heal.
Not even after four long, painful years. At this point he doubted if such wounds could ever truly mend. He wasn’t even sure he wanted them to, since those tender jabs of pain were all the feelings he had left.
Besides that, he was empty. Void. Hardly what a man could even call human, so distant had he become from the life he’d once known.
And yet life continued, such as it was. Get up every morning. Go to work. Come home again, do chores. Try to sleep, though rest never came easily to him and nightmares plagued him.
He was empty inside, just going through the motions. He wasn’t sure he’d even do that were it not for his thirteen-year-old daughter, Lucy, and the fact that Aunt Jo depended on him to keep the café running.
He wasn’t going to let Aunt Jo down, and he certainly wasn’t going to fail Lucy. For her, he at least had to try, even if he failed on a daily basis. That little girl was the sunshine in his otherwise dark life.
Okay, so maybe Lucy was not quite so little anymore, though he was loath to admit it, even to himself. Chance’s heart twisted at the thought.
Lucy was moving into her teen years with an alacrity that frightened him. It was bad enough that she’d had to grow up so fast after her mother had died. He hadn’t been able to help her much then, and he knew he’d be less than useless when it came to female hormones and mood swings.
Lately, that was all he seemed to be getting from her. She was driving him crazy. He’d never been real good at trying to figure out the female mind, and he’d quickly discovered that reading a teenage female mind was so far beyond him it wasn’t even funny.
He was useless. But that didn’t stop his throat from tightening when he reached the house and Lucy bounded down the front steps to meet him. She had the light brown hair and emerald-green eyes of her mother, and his heart tugged yet again. His little tomboy still wore denim overalls most of the time, and today was no exception.
“What’s up?” he said by way of greeting. He held his arms out to her and she gave him a quick, awkward hug. He held her, even when she tried to pull back. Something was obviously bothering her.
“You know,” he continued when she didn’t immediately speak, “you used to meet me by the door all the time when you were a little rug rat.”
She brushed him away with a huff, where he’d expected a giggle, since he’d been teasing her. She was frowning and scowling and he only now noticed her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders, troubled that it had taken him so long to realize Lucy was upset.
“It’s her,” Lucy said, her voice muffled by the sleeve of his shirt.
“Who, honey?” he asked, confused by her vague reply. “Did something happen to one of your friends at school?”
“Auntie Jo said she was going to live with us for a while and stay in the extra bedroom. Of our house! She can’t do that, Daddy. I don’t want her here.”
Chance’s stomach knotted with suspicion as he navigated his way through his daughter’s harsh, emotional words. She had called him Daddy. She never called him that unless she was really upset.
Lucy still hadn’t told him who she was, but he already knew.
“Is her name Ms. Yates?” he asked, trying not to grind his teeth.
“I don’t know.” Lucy shrugged, both answering his question and pulling away from his fatherly embrace. “Auntie Jo just called her Phoebe.”
“Phoebe,” he repeated softly, though alarms with the intensity of fire trucks were blaring in his head.
Aunt Jo wouldn’t do that, not without talking to him first. She couldn’t. It was bad enough that it appeared he’d have to share his kitchen at work with the stranger. He was none too happy about that.
But his house? No way.
This was the place where he and Lindsay had shared their lives together, and it was the only home Lucy had ever known. Hadn’t Aunt Jo thought about how this would affect him and Lucy? It wasn’t like her to be insensitive, especially considering she’d only moved in with them after Lindsay’s death. It was his house. He’d just have to talk to her—get her to see reason.
“Tell you what,” he said, giving Lucy an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “You go feed the horses for me, and I’ll have a talk with Auntie Jo. I’m sure there’s been some kind of mistake.” He hoped Lucy had misread the situation, but the disgruntled look she flashed him didn’t bode well.
“I heard what I heard,” she informed him, her voice higher and thinner than usual. “For your information, I’m not making this up.”
“Of course you’re not, hone
y,” he assured her. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like you were. What I meant was, maybe I can talk your great-aunt out of it.”
Lucy frowned and tilted her head. “Yeah. Well, good luck with that.”
She whirled around and stalked toward the barn, her brown braid swinging behind her like the tail of a raccoon. Chance knew he shouldn’t have let her get away with sassing him the way she had, but he didn’t know what he could say that would fix the problem. The most important thing to him right now was not to alienate her by making her apologize. They needed to be able to put up a united front, especially since it appeared Aunt Jo was going to be on the other side of the battle.
Watching Lucy walk away, he decided to let it go. The poor girl was upset, after all, and rightly so.
He shook his head in bemusement. One second she was running into his arms for comfort, and the next she was talking back to him.
He didn’t know what to do with her. Lindsay would have known, but she wasn’t here.
And he didn’t have time to wallow in his grief. There was a stranger in his house, probably busy unpacking her things while he lingered outside with his thoughts. There was no time to waste.
Stepping into the foyer, he first shed his trench coat, hanging it, along with his hat, on a coat rack near the front door. His muscles tensed as he began searching the house room by room. If she was here, and he had no doubt she was, she’d probably be in the spare bedroom, but he couldn’t help but inspect the rest of the house first, his hackles raised like a cougar stalking its prey.
His mind circled his options. If Phoebe had already unpacked, it wouldn’t be easy to get her to leave, especially if Aunt Jo had already asked her to stay. He could go around Aunt Jo and order her to leave anyway, but he wasn’t sure it would be worth it in the long run to butt heads with the older woman.
What he wanted was peace and quiet in his own household, but that didn’t look like it was going to happen, at least not easily. Maybe he could just take Phoebe aside and ask her politely to find other lodgings.
Except there weren’t any, not in Serendipity. Up until this moment, he hadn’t really considered the position Phoebe was in—if she didn’t stay at the house, where would she go? There wasn’t a single hotel or inn for miles, for the simple reason that Serendipity rarely had visitors, and when they came, they were usually family. The closest thing to family Phoebe had here was some distant relationship with Aunt Jo.
But that wasn’t really his problem, was it?
None of this was his idea. Aunt Jo hadn’t said a word to him, which was problematic—and annoying. But if Lucy was upset by Phoebe’s presence, then his concern immediately escalated from four-alarm to five-alarm. The truth was, this whole matter troubled him more than he cared to admit on any number of levels—an attractive woman in his age range staying at his house. He could just hear the gossips humming.
But at the end of the day, the fierce compulsion to protect his daughter trumped anything else he might be feeling. And that was what he intended to act on.
The door to the spare bedroom was open. There was no sign of Aunt Jo, but Phoebe sat straight-backed on the far corner of the bed, her hands folded serenely in her lap as she stared out the window. Long, straight chestnut-colored hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her suitcase lay at her feet, apparently unopened.
She stiffened when Chance rapped his knuckles against the door frame, though she did not immediately turn to see who was standing at the door.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said without so much as a glance in his direction. Presumably, she thought it was Aunt Jo at the door.
“Were you, now?” he asked, expecting to catch her off guard. When she turned to him, he found that her gaze was solemn but not the least bit surprised. She had hazel eyes—an entire palette of browns, greens and blues all mixed together in the most attractive way. That he even noticed her eye color alarmed him more than whatever small fright he had hoped to have given her.
Yet one more reason for her not to stay in this house, under any conditions.
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “Your Aunt Jo insisted I stay here, but I can already see that I’ll be inconveniencing you, and that’s the last thing I’d want. Where is the nearest boardinghouse? I’d ask Jo, but she already has her mind set on my staying here, and I’m sure you no doubt realize more than anyone how formidable she can be when she wants something.”
Chance snorted. “You’ve got that right.”
Two understatements in a row—Aunt Jo was more than formidable, and as for Phoebe inconveniencing them…what could he say to her, except that it was the truth?
“I hear you’ve met Lucy,” he said instead.
“I have,” she agreed with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. In fact, he thought maybe Lucy had hurt her feelings. He hadn’t anticipated that. Phoebe hadn’t so much as flinched at his earlier rudeness.
“While I think she’s a lovely girl,” Phoebe continued wryly, “I don’t believe I made quite the same impression on her.”
Chance smothered a chuckle as he imagined this well-spoken city girl bumping heads with his straight-talking tomboy daughter. Was it any wonder someone’s feelings had been hurt? Although in this case it appeared emotions were raw on both sides.
Phoebe lifted an eyebrow. Her hazel eyes were glistening, as if she was trying to hold back tears. He wondered if she was, and if he—or his daughter—was the cause of it. Probably.
“So?” she prompted.
Was there a question? He’d forgotten, so he just shrugged and shook his head.
“No, you don’t know of any boardinghouses where I can stay, or no, you aren’t going to help me?”
Maybe he’d misread her expression. She didn’t sound like she was about to cry.
Before he could answer, he heard the back door slam. Both of them jumped, startled, like children being caught where they weren’t supposed to be.
Lucy. Chance groaned inwardly. Too soon. He hadn’t had the opportunity to work things out yet. If she came blustering in here it was just going to make things worse.
“I’ve got everything I need from the market,” came a singsong voice from the kitchen.
Worse than Lucy. Aunt Jo. The small, negligible window of opportunity to send Phoebe off on her merry way without any sort of confrontation with his family had just closed with a resounding bang.
Phoebe apparently thought the same thing.
“So much for that idea,” she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Chance to hear her.
“We’ll talk,” he promised her; although once Aunt Jo had Phoebe settled in, there was little he’d be able to say to change the situation, and he knew it.
Unfortunately, at the moment, he had a bigger problem, as he heard Lucy come in just behind Aunt Jo. There was about to be an explosion. A big one.
“Set the table, will you, dear?” Aunt Jo asked Lucy as Chance sauntered into the kitchen and leaned his hip against the counter. Aunt Jo was already bustling about, laying out vegetables to prepare a salad.
They had a system, the three of them. Since Chance was in the kitchen all day, Aunt Jo cooked, Lucy set the table and Chance washed the dishes. A fourth person would break up the whole routine—at least that was how Lucy would see it. It seemed that way to Chance as well.
“Remember to set an extra place,” Aunt Jo said over her shoulder.
She didn’t see Lucy stiffen, but Chance did, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before a volcano of emotion erupted in the middle of the kitchen.
He stepped forward to intercept the drama, but not fast enough. Lucy darted under his arm in order to confront Aunt Jo head-on.
“Didn’t Dad tell you she can’t stay here?” Lucy demanded, her face turning red with anger.
Instead of answering Lucy, Aunt Jo turned to Chance, her hands propped on her ample hips and a determined, fiery light in her eyes. “Did he what?”
Chance would have taken a step backward, ex
cept the table was in the way. Instead, he assumed a casual posture and shrugged.
“Don’t you shrug at me, young man.” Aunt Jo shook a finger at him as if he were two years old. Flames of humiliation billowed within him. If Lucy wasn’t so distracted, she would have laughed at the scene, and he was certain the beautiful stranger would be doing just that, if she’d been there to witness it. Thankfully, she was still in the bedroom and out of earshot.
At least, he’d thought Phoebe was in her room, but he knew he was mistaken when he heard her sudden, shrill intake of breath from behind his shoulder.
Could this day get any worse?
Phoebe had obviously seen, or at least heard, everything—private, family stuff she had no right listening to. That’s why he didn’t want her in his house—at all.
“I’ve caused enough trouble here,” Phoebe said, stepping forward with her suitcase in her hand. “It’s been very nice meeting you all, but I think I should go.”
“Good,” Lucy declared.
“Lucy!” Chance and Aunt Jo exclaimed at the same time.
Chance narrowed his eyes on his daughter, wondering when she’d become so blatantly disrespectful that she should speak to an adult that way.
Any adult. Even Phoebe Yates. It was bad enough that she talked back to him, but a stranger? He’d taught her better than that.
Or maybe he hadn’t, he thought, as guilt sliced through him. He hadn’t always been there for his daughter. Not like he should have been.
In any case, it was his responsibility to fix things right now.
“Apologize to Ms. Yates,” he ordered, trying to sound stern.
Lucy stared at him as if he’d just told her to stick her hand in a rattlesnake’s nest. Her mouth opened and closed without words. Most likely, she’d been about to talk back at him, and then had thought better of it.
