by Rula Sinara
“They’re charming stories, Emily. Well written, too. Actually, they remind me a little of Garrison Keillor’s work.”
“Oh.” Charming. Well written. Garrison Keillor? High praise from a man who most likely didn’t have time to read much more than police reports and witness statements. “Wow. Well, thank you. As I said before, Ken Bartlett wouldn’t let me put those stories in the Gazette so I found a work-around.”
“And a good one, considering no actual crimes have been committed.”
Emily shot him a sideways look. “You sound pretty sure about that. Or are you saying it’s not okay to steal a car or rob a bank, but it’s quite all right to make off with a gnome, a welcome mat or your mother’s garden trowel.”
“Never, but based on my experience—”
“You have experience with missing garden gnomes?”
Jack smiled. “Mysterious disappearances don’t always equate to theft, and a good detective always looks for the motive.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know about the thief’s motive, but mine is to entertain my readers.”
“Then I’d say mission accomplished. I enjoyed reading your stories—all of them—and I can see why everyone in Riverton and beyond is following along.”
“Thank you.” His praise meant a lot. “I’m trying to capture small-town life, you know? Really get to the heart of it. Not because it’s old-fashioned or silly, but because it’s real and special, and because even though the things that happen aren’t always earthshaking or newsworthy, they’re real for the people experiencing them.”
Jack was full-out grinning now.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m wondering if you’re going to write about teaching a city slicker how to ride a horse.”
“You know, I just might do that.”
The woods thinned out as they approached a grassy meadow surrounding the pond.
“Nice spot,” Jack said as they rode out of the trees. “Is this still part of your family’s farm?”
“It is, and the fields we rode past are ours, too. We lease them to Arnie Jacobson, and he gives us hay for the horses as partial payment.” Emily let him ride ahead, then quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a photo as he and the horse gazed over the pond. By the time he glanced back at her, she had stowed the phone in her pocket and was drafting a story in her head.
“The lease sounds like an ideal arrangement.”
“It is.” She slid off Honey’s back and stepped up to hold Heathcliffe’s bridle while Jack dismounted. “A lot of people thought my dad should sell the place after he was injured and my mother left.”
Jack gave her a sharp, almost startled look, but he didn’t say anything.
“There was no way my dad would have sold the farm, and we’re all grateful for that. It still provides livelihoods for my sisters, and Isaac is the fifth generation to live here.” She led the horses to the pond’s edge, and both animals lowered their heads to drink.
“I know I keep saying this, but your father’s a pretty amazing guy.”
“We think so.”
Honey lifted her head first, then Heathcliffe, and together they backed away from the water. Emily pulled a carrot out of her pocket, snapped it in half and offered a piece to each of them. “Good girl, Honey. Gently, Heathcliffe. No need to take my fingers with it. Good ride, you two.”
She handed Heathcliffe’s reins to Jack. “We’ll tether them to the rail over here,” she said, indicating the birch log on a pair of fence posts, which CJ had put up for this very purpose. After the horses were secured with leads long enough to let them graze, Emily unbuckled the saddlebags and handed one to Jack.
They strolled to a grassy spot near the pond. Emily pulled out the old picnic blanket and spread it on the grass. They both sat down, Jack somewhat gingerly.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. “Riding usually tests a few muscles most people don’t even know they have.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll know about them tomorrow. How about you?” he asked pointedly. “Are you feeling okay?”
Emily met his concerned gaze with a direct one of her own. “I’m fine. I saw Doc Woodward this week, and he says riding is okay.”
Emily opened one of the leather saddlebags. “Let’s see what Annie packed for us.”
As usual, her sister had outdone herself. She’d made two of her famous meatloaf sandwiches—one of Emily’s all-time favorites—with little containers of coleslaw to go with them and chocolate brownies for dessert. In addition, she had packed napkins, plastic forks and two bottles of water.
“Wow,” Jack said. “I’m impressed.”
“Wait’ll you try one of these sandwiches. You’ll be completely blown away.”
They both bit into a sandwich, and Emily smiled at the ecstatic roll of Jack’s eyes. “What did I tell you?”
He simply nodded and took another bite.
“So, what were we talking about before we got here?”
Jack swallowed and took a swig of water. “You were telling me about your father.”
“Right. A lot of people see my dad in that wheelchair and immediately think of him as disabled. But other than not being able to walk, there’s nothing he can’t do.”
“I believe you,” he said. “Especially knowing he rides a horse. And I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house when he danced with Annie at her wedding.”
“Oh, my gosh, wasn’t that incredible? I’ll never forget that. None of us will. We still have my grandmother’s record collection, and that Maurice Chevalier song “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” has always been special to us because our dad played it at every one of our birthday parties. He and CJ came up with the idea of using it for the father-daughter dance and they practiced when no one was around. It was a complete surprise to everyone, even Annie.”
“Maybe it’ll become a family tradition.”
Emily, about to take another bite of her sandwich, paused and stared at him. “You said you wouldn’t ask again until I was sure I was ready, remember? You promised.”
“And I haven’t asked. That wasn’t even a question.” His eyes held a subtle glint of defiance, but she wasn’t backing down.
“Now you’re nitpicking.”
“I’d say you’re the one who’s nitpicking. I’m a patient man, Emily, and I haven’t asked you anything. I was making an observation that your father’s choice of songs for a father-daughter dance would be a nice touch at your wedding, too. The fact that I expect to be there is, of course, a given.”
She knew she was blushing like crazy and wished she could make it stop. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t ready to talk about marriage. Jack had made his presence known every single day since she’d told him about the baby, texting her in the morning before he left for work, calling every evening, sending emails with interesting tidbits about his day. He was holding something back, though, and it was the most important thing of all. He had never said he loved her.
They finished their lunch in awkward silence. While Emily stuffed the sandwich wrappers and empty containers back into the saddlebags, Jack stretched out his long jean-clad legs, crossed them at the ankles and leaned back on one elbow.
“There is something I’d like to tell you,” he said, finally breaking the silence that was now beyond uncomfortable. “And I promise not to turn it into a question, okay?”
“Okay.” The word felt thick in her throat.
He picked a daisy from a clump blooming next to where they had spread the blanket. “Last Saturday, when I had to make the unexpected trip back here, I was kicking myself for being such an idiot. Not calling you for all those weeks was easily one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.”
At this point, she decided it was best not to agree or disagree.
He stu
died the daisy thoughtfully, as though looking for an answer to a question. “I’d thought about you a lot since our night together, but something always came up, and I put off calling. Once I knew I would be in town, I didn’t call because it would be too easy for you to tell me to get lost.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that.
“And you probably would have.” He tugged a petal from the daisy.
“Well, not likely, given the current...situation.” Startled, Emily watched the petal fall onto the blanket. He loves me.
“Right. Still, I decided the element of surprise would be to my advantage.” Another petal fell.
“And instead it was just...surprise!” He loves me not.
“It was.” He dropped a third petal.
He loves me. “And you seem sort of okay with it, which surprises me.”
He let the daisy fall to the blanket along with the few scattered petals. She wondered where he was going with this, if he would try to soften her up and suggest she move to Chicago, and if he would pick up the daisy and finish what he’d started.
“After we were best man and maid of honor at Eric and Annie’s wedding, you were on my mind. A lot.”
Okay, that was a surprise. She wasn’t completely sure she should believe him. He must have sensed her thoughts, because he kept talking.
“And after we became Isaac’s godparents.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Honestly, I assumed I didn’t have a shot. I thought you and Fred Morris had something going on.”
“Fred and I are friends.”
“I know, but even back in high school the two of you were joined at the hip. And then when you came back to Riverton after college, you were always together.”
“How do you know that? You were living in Chicago.”
“Eric and Annie mentioned you from time to time. From the way they described you and Fred, I figured you were at least friends with benefits.”
Emily’s face flamed. “Friends with benefits? Benefits? Is that what Eric told you? That’s just...ugh... That’s disgusting.” She picked up the daisy and threw it at him.
He laughed and ducked, and the flower sailed over his shoulder. “And yet his was the first name that came to mind when your sisters asked who the baby’s father was.”
Blurting out Fred’s name—dumbest thing ever. Emily knew that. What she hadn’t known was that she had been on Jack’s mind, just as he had been on hers. She wished she hadn’t thrown the daisy at him because she was dying to know how the game ended.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A WEEK AFTER the picnic with Jack, life had taken on an easy rhythm. Relatively speaking. Emily talked to him on the phone every night and for the most part, he was the one who initiated the call. He had come to Riverton two weekends in a row to see her, three if she counted their fateful encounter in the barbershop. Her sisters’ nagging to accept Jack’s offer of marriage—she refused to consider it a proposal because it hadn’t been—had tapered off from incessant to periodic. And she and Fred had resumed their easygoing friendship, including meeting daily for lunch as they were doing today.
Emily pushed her empty plate aside and picked up her coffee cup.
“I have to stop eating like this,” she said to Fred, who sat across from her in their usual booth at the Riverton Bar & Grill. The lunch special—corned beef on rye with salad or fries—was far more food than she usually ate. She didn’t even like corned beef, and she should have ordered the salad.
Fred grinned. “Isn’t this normal? You’re eating for two now.”
“Unless the second person is a seven-hundred-pound sumo wrestler, I need to stop eating like this.”
That morning, she had been hard-pressed to find business attire in her closet that still fit. She had settled on a sleeveless beige dress for two reasons. One, she was able to put it on and zip it up, and two, the gathering on one side of the dress produced a series of asymmetrical folds across her tummy that had been designed to hide a multitude of sins. To wear with it, she had debated over a black blazer and a dark beige one. The weather promised to be too warm to wear black, so she’d opted for the beige on beige, and accessorized with small onyx hoop earrings and matching bangle, a pair of black pumps and her black briefcase.
Last night, while she and her sisters were clearing up after dinner, Annie had taken her and CJ aside and suggested they take a day off and drive into St. Paul to shop for maternity clothes. Out of necessity, Emily had agreed. CJ, who hated the city, passed, saying she would stay home and take care of Isaac.
Fred leaned against the back of the booth, giving her the once-over. “You do realize that with all the food you’ve been devouring, the reason for this gluttony is going to become very obvious, very soon.”
“Gluttony. Gee, thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear.”
He was undeterred. “Have you made a decision yet?”
“About what?”
“Jack’s proposal.”
“That wasn’t a ‘proposal.’ It was an idea, a suggestion, an attempt to remedy a situation. And, no, I haven’t accepted. Besides, he hasn’t brought it up again.” Not exactly.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“You asked if I’d accepted, and I said no, I haven’t.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. I asked if you’d made a decision about how you will answer the next time he does bring it up.”
Talk about splitting hairs. “Do you know what he told me when I took him riding? He said he’s been interested in me since we were in Annie and Eric’s wedding party, but he was afraid to do anything about it.”
Fred blinked, fully taken aback. “Afraid of you?”
“No, he was afraid of you. He thought there was something going on between us.”
Fred’s coffee cup clattered against the saucer. “That’s crazy. Everyone knows we’re just friends.”
“Yes, well, he thought we were friends with benefits.”
Poor Fred. Now his ears were blushing. He opened his mouth and closed it again. “What?” he said, finally finding his voice. “You set him straight, right?”
She cast a glance at the ceiling, then back at Fred. “Of course I did.”
Flustered now, he picked up his cup and set it back down. “Well, that’s a relief. Do you think maybe he’s waiting for you to make a move?”
“I am not making a move. And if I’m going to say yes to a—” she gave a quick glance around the café and lowered her voice to a stage whisper “—to a marriage proposal, it will have to be a proper one.”
“I don’t know, Em. Jack doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who comes up with one of those over-the-top, sweep-a-girl-off-her-feet proposals that goes viral on YouTube.”
“I don’t need a grand gesture. I just need to know...” She glanced around the restaurant and lowered her voice. “That he wants to marry me for the right reasons instead of just the obvious one.”
“Fair enough. I’m only saying—”
“I know what you’re saying. I’ve already heard it all from my sisters.” She checked her watch and reached for her briefcase next to her on the bench seat. “I need to get over to the town hall. The council meeting starts in half an hour, and I’d like to be there a little early to see what I can find out about the new chief of police. Have you heard anything?”
“Not a word,” he said. “The mayor has been playing this hand mighty close to his chest.”
She nodded. “The consensus seems to be that no one who is currently with the Riverton PD is either interested or qualified, so he’s had to look elsewhere.”
“Interesting. Well, the wait is almost over.” Fred stood and so did she. Emily fumbled for
her wallet.
“My treat,” he said, reaching into his pocket and tossing several bills onto the table with the check. “You can get it next time.”
They left the café and walked to her car, which she had parked near the entrance so she could get underway right after lunch.
“Thank you.” She hugged him.
“No problem.” He hugged her back, but without his usual enthusiasm. “You’d better go before someone else starts thinking we’re friends with benefits.”
Emily gazed up at him. “Can we promise each other something?”
“What’s that?”
“That we’ll never say that friends thing out loud ever again.”
“Works for me,” he said. “Give me a call if there’s any earthshaking news at the meeting. My customers like it when I have the inside scoop.”
“This is Riverton. Nothing earthshaking ever happens.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I, for one, will be on tenterhooks till someone cracks the case of the missing garden gnomes.”
Very funny. “Maybe the new chief of police will take this case seriously.”
He opened her car door for her. “Or he may be even stodgier than Gord Fenwick. Either way, the new chief is going to be announced without you if you don’t get over there.”
“All right, fine, I’m on my way. I’ll text you with the news, so you’ll have something to gossip about with your customers this afternoon.”
He waved and crossed the street to the barbershop. Emily slid behind the wheel of her car, made the short drive to the new town hall, and congratulated herself on arriving early when she easily found a parking space.
Inside the council chamber, she took a seat next to the reporter from the Wabasha, MN, newspaper. He was the only other person at the press table. If Ken Bartlett had been hoping for a reporter from the Minneapolis Star Tribune or even the Madison Capital Times, Emily had a hunch he was going to be disappointed.
