by Colleen Coble, Kristin Billerbeck, Denise Hunter, Diann Hunt
Realization dawned. “It’s you?”
He nodded. “Heather works with single moms in the community. She sees who’s in need and tells me so that I can get toys for the kids, grocery money to the mom, that sort of thing. I handle it through Heather so they don’t know it’s from me. You know, that whole “don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” thing.”
Guilt tinged Anna’s heart for not trusting him. She should’ve known the kind of man he was. She squeezed his hand. “That’s so like you, Michael.”
He grinned, a teasing light in his eyes. “So you thought I was seeing Heather? Anna, she’s young enough to be my daughter.”
It was going to be all right. More than all right. “You’re a good-looking man. I can see how she’d be interested in you.” Anna smiled back at him.
He glanced toward the entrance. “Well, my son might have something to say about that.”
Anna followed his gaze and saw Christopher walking through the door with Heather on his arm.
“Christopher and Heather are dating?” Joy erupted in Anna’s heart. Or was it relief?
“Yep. Getting along pretty well too. Listen, I told Christopher about the Parakaleo Pal thing, and now you know. But no one else does, and I’d like to keep it that way, okay?”
“Absolutely. Your secret is safe with me.” She smiled.
“Want to dance?”
“Sure.”
Michael swept Anna onto the dance floor. She nestled against his chest as Sawyer sang the song he’d introduced last year, “Smitten.” Her heart had never been so light and carefree. Michael wasn’t dating Heather. They were exclusive. She was exclusively his. And they shared a secret. A good secret. Magic was in the air.
“Anna,” he whispered. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Could this really be happening? Michael’s words permeated every part of her being. He loved her. Michael Conners loved her.
“I love you too, Michael. And you know what? I’ve been keeping a secret from you too. Well, more like a surprise,” she said. “Something fun.”
He pulled his head back and searched her face. “Oh?” A glint of pleasure flickered in his eyes.
“Tomorrow. Can I meet you at the ski resort tomorrow after work?”
“Oh, a woman of mystery. I like that.” He grinned and pulled her close again. “I can’t wait.”
As much as Anna didn’t want to get involved, she had to stop by to see if her mom and her aunt were all right. She had a little time before meeting Michael at the ski resort. The air was fresh with the smell of winter and burning wood from a nearby home. Anna took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Dressed in a bright red pullover and polyester tan pants, Aunt Violet opened her front door. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t look all that happy to see Anna.
“May I come in?”
“Your mom isn’t here.”
“That’s all right. I want to see you.”
Aunt Violet stepped aside. “I figured the whole family would shun me.” Tears filled her eyes.
Anna’s heart squeezed. “Oh, Aunt Vi, we still love you.” Anna hugged the older woman. “You did what you thought was right at the time.”
They stepped away from the door and walked over to the living room sofa and sat down.
Aunt Vi twisted a handkerchief between her fingers. “I’m so sorry I hurt Rose. I was a foolish kid. She was married, and I thought . . . Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve made a mess of things.”
“Mom will come around. She’s just hurting right now.”
A pensive look settled on Aunt Vi’s face. “She thinks I was trying to steal what was hers because I didn’t have a man in my life. I thought I cared about David, but that was so long ago it feels like another lifetime. Being single works for me. I’ve managed just fine.”
“Yes, you have.”
They sat in the silence for a bit.
“I just wanted you to know I love you and that we’ll get through this—though it may take some time,” Anna said.
They talked a little longer, then Anna left, thanking God for giving her the strength to deal with the conflict and praying all the while he would make their family stronger because of it.
Anna’s breath came out in cold puffs by the time she arrived at the foot of the bunny hill. Sunshine lingered, though twilight pushed it deeper into the horizon. Anna’s spirits were high. The lodge was serving dinner; the air smelled of grilled steak and French fries.
She carefully skied over to the rope tow and began her ascent up the hill—and promptly fell down with a plop. Heat climbed her cheeks as she struggled to her feet, but the skis beneath her would not hold still. A little kid came over and held out his hand. He managed to get her to her feet, but once he walked away she fell forward and went careening wildly down the hill.
She fell on her backside three-quarters of the way down the hill and slid the rest of the way, stopping inches from Michael’s feet. Covered with snow, she took his outstretched hand and stood, struggling to keep her balance. Michael grinned and wrapped his arms tight around her.
“It means so much to me that you tried to do that. But just so you know, I love you even if you never ski with me.”
“If it weren’t for wanting to impress you, I’d probably never have gone beyond the coffee shop in the lodge.”
His lips grazed her forehead. “And I love you for it.” He gently let her go, making sure she was steady on her skis. Then a serious expression shadowed his face. He reached into his pocket.
Anna gasped when he pulled out a small black box. “Michael?”
He searched her face, then bent to one knee. “Anna, you have been such a blessing from God. I never thought I’d find love again until I met you. I love you, Anna Thomas, and will till my last breath. Will you marry me?”
Tears filled her eyes. Michael was everything she could hope for in a man. He’d proven himself time and again.
“Yes,” she said with a smile. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.
Michael took the glove off her hand, then pulled the ring out of the box and slipped it onto her finger. “With God’s help, I will spend the rest of my life making you happy.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Now look. I’m crying, and my mascara is going to run.”
He laughed. “Trust me, you’ve never looked more beautiful.” He stood and embraced her once again, making her feel loved and protected.
“I do trust you,” she said, meaning it. “And I love you more than you know.”
Somehow they would make it. Michael had taught her to trust and to love again. Anna Thomas was smitten, and she knew with Michael by her side her life would never be the same.
CHAPTER ONE
Clare Thomas smoothed out the hardwood mulch, spreading it under the newly planted hostas. Partridgeberry now carpeted her mother’s flower bed with green, but soon it would bloom with fragrant white flowers, and its red fruit would add a splash of color come fall.
The realization that it looked ten times better than it had three hours ago soothed her wounded spirit.
Anna Thomas dumped the last load of mulch from the wheelbarrow. “That should do it.” She blew her long bangs from her face, picked up the shovel, and spread the load with the vigor of someone half her age.
“It looks beautiful, girls.” Clare’s sister Tess set a tray of iced lemonade on the porch table. Her blue eyes were lit with a joy that only comes from new love.
Not that Clare knew anything about that.
“Thank goodness we’re almost done.” Her younger sister, Zoe, pulled off her pink garden gloves and appraised the sky. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”
Clare breathed in the scent of loamy dirt and rain, hoping the organic fragrance would relieve her unrest. “Smells like it too.”
“God’s going to water my new plants,” Anna said. “Isn’t he thoughtful?”
Oh yeah, all was coming up roses now that everyone was in l
ove. Everyone but her. Clare chided herself for the selfish thought. She was happy for her sisters, thrilled for her mom. Still, they all had romance and candlelit dinners and kisses, and she had . . .
Plants.
She set down the rake and frowned at the garden. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined it. She was almost thirty, for pity’s sake. Where were her husband, her two-point-five children, her devoted golden retriever? Okay, so she had the dog part covered, but still.
She hadn’t even found love, much less a husband. Somehow her looming birthday hadn’t seemed so terrible when she’d had a relationship in the works. Now there was a countdown clock ticking toward an unavoidable deadline. Was she headed toward an Aunt Violet/Aunt Petunia future?
Her mom nudged her. “What’s wrong, Miss Perfectionist? Did you miss a wilted leaf?”
Clare began gathering the empty plant containers. “I was thinking about Aunt Violet.” Sort of true. “I wonder if she and Grandma Rose are getting along.” Gardening enthusiasts, the two older women helped out at the nursery during the busy spring and summer, mostly giving advice to customers.
“I hope they’re not at each other’s throats,” Anna said. “I shouldn’t have pulled you away.”
“Hopefully they’re too busy to argue. Besides, I needed a break from all the tension.” Clare intended to sit them down tomorrow and talk some sense into them. Their argument over Grandma’s old beau, who had also been her sister Violet’s secret crush, was getting old.
“Some break.” Tess sipped her lemonade. “I hope Mr. Lewis finally gets you some help. You about worked yourself into the ground last year, literally.”
“I forgot to tell you,” Clare said after downing half the lemonade. “He said I could hire someone. I put up some notices around town. Just hope I can find time for the interviews and such. Memorial Day weekend is coming up, and after that it’s a zoo.”
Zoe sat next to Tess on the porch step. “Speaking of Memorial Day, can you ask Josh to bring his camping chairs?”
“Uh . . . Josh won’t be coming.” Clare dumped the containers in the trash bin, mentally dumping the remnants of any feelings she’d had toward Josh. The memory of their date two nights ago still left a sour taste in her mouth.
“Tell me you didn’t break up with him,” Zoe said.
She supposed she deserved that. “He did, actually.” She eyed Zoe just as her sister opened her mouth. “And no, I do not need your help. That’s how I got into this mess to begin with, if you recall.”
Zoe’s lips puckered in a rosy pout.
“Oh no,” Anna said. “What happened, honey?”
Clare shrugged. “Nothing, Mom, really. We’re just too different, I guess. No chemistry, no spark.” No interest, especially on his part.
“Oh rats,” Tess said. “I thought you liked him.”
Their breakup, if you could call it that, had nothing to do with the fact that he’d called her boring. Just remembering it made heat flood to the back of her neck where her hair was gathered in a loose braid. She couldn’t believe Josh Campbell, Mr. President of the high school chess team, had the nerve to call her boring.
Okay, so he hadn’t used that exact word, but she could read between the lines. She’d been raised in a female household. Reading between the lines was necessary for survival.
So she liked her routines. So she liked to look before she leaped. That was just smart, sensible. Not boring, Josh Campbell. You should learn the difference.
Clare rolled the wheelbarrow up the board and into the truck bed, then checked her watch.
“Uh-oh. She’s going to be late for her tea run,” Tess said.
“Better hurry, Clare,” Zoe said. “Nat will faint dead away if you fail to appear at 7:17 on the dot.”
Clare frowned at her sisters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, honey, they’re only teasing,” Anna said.
“We like that you’re predictable,” Tess said.
“I’m not predictable.”
Zoe grinned and flipped her dark hair from her eyes. “Please. There’s a picture of you by the word on Wikipedia. I just saw it yesterday.”
“I go to the coffee shop at 7:17 because I get off work at 7:00. Besides, there’s no line then. It just makes sense.”
“And we love that you’re so sensible, dear.” Her mom rubbed Clare’s rigid shoulders, but it failed to calm her. “It’s a very comforting quality in a world of constant change.”
Zoe stood, brushing off her jeans. “I have to run too. William’s coming over in a bit, and I need to de-grime.” She looked down at her hands. “So much for my manicure.”
Clare shut the tailgate with more force than necessary, then turned to say good-bye.
“You’re not mad, are you?” Tess asked, giving her the hand tools she’d gathered.
Clare stashed them in the pockets of her handy-dandy coveralls. “I’m just touchy today. No worries.”
Her mom thanked her with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“See you later,” Zoe called as Clare pulled from the drive.
The first droplets of rain hit the windshield when she pulled onto Lookaway Lane. Within seconds the slow, fat drops turned into a hard, heavy downpour. She turned on her wipers, her sisters’ words ringing in her ears, louder than the pattering on her roof.
She wasn’t boring. Or predictable. Well, maybe a little predictable, but that didn’t make her boring.
Did it?
Man bored to death by girlfriend. News at eleven.
She squashed the thought, though the mood persisted as she entered town. Tourists huddled under colorful canopies, waiting for the storm to pass. Judging by the gray abyss above, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
She parked in a parallel spot on Main Street and dashed in for her warm tea. Her cousin Natalie had it ready, and Clare was back out the door in sixty seconds flat. See? No line, no waiting. Sensible.
She put the truck in gear and headed toward the nursery. It was closed, but her own shed was full, and she couldn’t let the tools sit in the rain all night.
When she passed the Wind Chill Creamery, her mind returned to Saturday night. Josh had ordered two medium razzmatazz cones.
“Oh, make mine vanilla,” she’d told Bethany Hopkins, who was looking frazzled on their first open night of the season.
“You don’t like razzmatazz?” Josh asked.
Truth be told, she’d never tried the multicolored fruit-flavored ice cream. She shrugged. “I just prefer vanilla.”
The other comments had come three licks into her cone, and the night had only gone downhill from there.
So she liked vanilla. That didn’t make her boring. Maybe it was the whole sensible thing that made her come off as boring. Now that she thought about it, she recalled Josh saying something about taking a chance once in a while. He probably thought she wasn’t spontaneous enough.
Her sisters obviously agreed. Maybe she was stuck in a rut. Well, she could be spontaneous if she wanted to be, take a chance now and again.
And she would. She nodded her head once, confirming the promise. That’s what she’d do. Her next decision— completely and utterly spontaneous. No weighing it out, no pondering for days, and above all, no safe choice. It would be good for her. Healthy. And she’d be sure to let her sisters and Josh know about it. Not that she had anything to prove.
She turned onto the rutted shady lane, passing the old wooden sign that read THE RED BARN NURSERY AND GREENHOUSE, SINCE 1973. Clare had started working there as a cashier during her high school summers and had learned everything there was to know about growing healthy trees and plants. When she graduated, Mr. Lewis, wanting to cut back his own hours, hired her full-time as manager.
Last year she’d talked him into staying open year-round. With the added tourists, she thought it was a feasible plan. They’d offered holiday plants and decorations, and Clare had started growing tropicals in the greenhouse. They’d made a nice profit selling them to t
he local flower shop, but the gift shop hadn’t done as well as they’d have liked. Sure would’ve been nice if Smitten had gotten the train contract. She didn’t want to go back to finding winter work.
The sun was long gone by the time Clare crested the hill, the night pressing in through the woods. She passed the deserted barn with all the artistically arranged potted trees and bushes and rounded the corner, pulling up to the old lopsided shed.
Thunder roared and rain pelted her as she dashed from the truck and lowered the tailgate. She guided the wheel–barrow down the plank and hurried toward the shed. The door opened with a loud squeak, and she pushed it inside.
A movement against the far wall caught her eye. The sight of a man hunkering in the shadows made her jump. Even in the dim light, she could see he was big. And hairy.
She grabbed for a tool and came up with the rake. Her heart thudded as loudly as the rain on the roof. “Who’s there?”
The stranger stood slowly, unruffled.
She’d been right. He was every bit of six foot three and broad as a boxwood hedge. He remained by the wall, his body seemingly on full alert.
Clare raised the tool over her head. She wished she wasn’t alone, wished she’d taken the time to lock up earlier, wished she was holding something more substantial than a rake.
“I said, who’s there?” She heard the fear in her voice and knew he did too.
Thunder cracked.
Hairy Man stared back. “Name’s Ethan Foster. Just taking shelter till the storm passes.” His voice was deep as a country well. He nodded his chin toward the corner.
Her eyes darted to a motorcycle parked against the wall, then back to him. He had longish dark hair and a face that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks.
Without taking her eyes from him, she reached for the string on the naked bulb. Sixty watts flooded the dank space. He was a little older than she’d first thought. Not some kid, but a man of thirty-three, thirty-five. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans that had seen better days.
She gripped the rake. The nursery was well off the road, not the most convenient place to seek shelter. “What are you doing all the way back here?”
