by Mary Campisi
“Well…” His voice dipped as he held Christine’s gaze. “Actually, I love Christine more than five hundred flannel shirts.”
“Yay!” Lily clapped her hands, laughed. “I knew it.”
“I figured you did.” He grinned at his sister.
She gave him the thumbs-up and went back to the letter. He spotted the second her mood changed. Her mouth pulled into a frown, her small shoulders sagged. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Dad says he can’t wait to be here for my first horse ride.” Sniff, sniff. “He didn’t get to come because he died.” Sniff, sniff. “I miss him so much.”
Christine put an arm around Lily, pulled her close. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Nate didn’t miss the raspy voice or the tears in his wife’s eyes. Damn, but he hated to see a woman in tears, especially his wife and sister. He guessed his mother might be shedding a few of her own since she’d been in the bedroom the past forty minutes. “Hey, this letter was supposed to make you happy, not turn you into a sad sack.”
“I know.” She sneaked a peek at him, swiped her eyes from beneath her glasses.
Since Lily believed in angels, then he’d give her a good thought to hold onto. “You know your dad was watching you ride, don’t you? I mean, you couldn’t see him because he was high up in the sky, but he saw you.” The sniffing stopped and she grew very still. “Who do you think protected you from getting more than a broken leg when you jumped the fence? You don’t think that was luck, do you?”
“It was Dad, wasn’t it?” she asked, her voice filled with wonder.
He shrugged. “Who can say? You’re the one who tells us about angels and how your dad’s one of them. Doesn’t it make sense that he’d keep an eye on you and Christine?”
Lily’s head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh.”
He smiled at her, held out his arms. “Come here, kiddo. Give me a hug.”
She sprang off the couch and rushed toward him, flinging her arms around his neck. “I love you, Nate.”
He stroked her hair, whispered, “I love you too, kiddo. More than five hundred flannel shirts.”
The tears stopped after that, replaced with laughter and stories about Anna and Joy’s latest antics. Lily loved being an aunt and told them she wouldn’t mind another niece or nephew. She said it with such conviction that Nate and Christine couldn’t find the words to tell her couples didn’t have more children because someone wanted to be an aunt. But then Lily shrugged and her next words made Nate wonder if she’d been playing them all along.
“It doesn’t have to be a two-legged niece or nephew.” Her lips pulled into a big smile and she said, “A four-legged one is fine, too. What do you think about that?”
Fortunately, they didn’t have to answer because Miriam appeared in the living room doorway, nose red, eyes puffy. She made her way to Nate and Christine, hugged first one and then the other. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
And then she turned and disappeared back into her bedroom.
Harry didn’t find out about the letters until late the next afternoon. He knocked on Nate and Christine’s front door with a bottle of bourbon and six sticky buns, fresh baked and iced this morning.
“Greta’s a keeper,” he said, easing one of the sticky buns from the container and handing it to Christine. “She knows I can’t resist these things; makes them for me and the kids once a month.”
Nate pointed to the bourbon. “Does she know you can’t resist that either?”
Harry laughed. “Those days are gone. I’ll have a drink or two, but I’m not swimming in the stuff like I used to…” He let out another laugh. “I got too damn much to do. Kids and a wife who depend on me. I can’t afford to get bleary and out of focus.” Harry shook his head, lowered his voice. “Greta would clobber me if I stepped out of line, and besides, I’m not gonna disappoint her.”
“Spoken like a husband who knows how to keep peace in the household.” Nate grinned, set a glass of water in front of him. “So, what’s going on?”
“Is everything okay, Uncle Harry?” This from Christine. “Your phone call worried me.”
His blue gaze slid from his niece to Nate. “Nah. Nothing serious.” He shrugged, sipped his water. “I heard you found a few things at the cabin.” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Letters from Charlie?”
Damn, how had he found out about the letters? “Who’s the little bird that’s been chirping?”
He shrugged. “Who else? Lily.”
Of course, it would be Lily. She was so excited about her letter, she’d decided to memorize every word of it, and his mother told him she’d slept with it under her pillow last night. “How did I not see this coming?”
Christine raised a brow. “Did you see the play for the four-legged family member coming yesterday? She’s a sharp one, and very crafty.”
“Huh?” Harry placed both elbows on the counter, clasped his hands together. “What did Lily do now?”
“She tried to talk us into a pet by saying she wanted to be an aunt again.” Christine shook her head. “It was very clever. And when she saw our shocked expressions, she backtracked and said four-legged additions to the family counted, too.”
Harry threw back his head and roared. “Ah, that’s my Lily Girl. I’ll lay money you’ll have a pup by summer.”
“Don’t count on it,” Christine said, “A puppy’s like another baby and we’ve got our hands full.”
Nate considered his wife’s response, slid in an alternative. “We could always rescue a dog that’s a few years old.”
“Rescue? A few years old?” She looked from Nate to Harry. “I haven’t had a dog since I was a child.”
Her uncle raised a brow. “So? Every kid should have a dog. Teaches them responsibility, right?” He paused, his face shifting to pink. “Greta and I are thinking about getting one for our gang. I’m the one who wants one, but I’m going to blame it on the kids.” More pink, swirling to his ears. “What do you think about a Great Dane? I like the name Felix.”
Christine shook her head. “I think no.”
Nate crossed his arms over his chest, pretended to study Harry, and said, “You seem more like a Chihuahua kind of guy.”
“Screw you.” Harry laughed. “Greta made me promise to talk to one of those people who match the dog with the owner and the lifestyle. You know, don’t get a dog that needs three hours of exercise if you live on the couch. Don’t pick one because you think he has pretty eyes, that kind of crap.” He tore off a section of sticky bun, popped it in his mouth and chewed. “Who would have thought people got paid to do stuff like that? Is that even a real job?”
Nate shrugged. “Dunno. Did you come here to talk about dogs? I’ve got a list of honey-do things to get done and your niece isn’t going to be happy if I don’t at least get them started.” He knew the dog conversation was Harry’s way of easing into the real reason he’d stopped by—the letters. But if the man didn’t ask his questions soon, it would be dinnertime and he’d still be yakking about dogs and trainers.
“Greta wanted me to deliver the sticky buns, and I did have a question or two about dogs, but that’s not why I’m here.” The blueness in his eyes shifted to silver. “Were there any more letters?”
Nate darted a glance at his wife. She’d gone pale. He waited for her to respond, and when she didn’t, he jumped in. “Charlie wrote one to Christine, one to me.” Long pause. “And one to Gloria.”
“Oh.” His voice turned rough. “Huh. Guess I didn’t rate.”
There was no missing the hurt in his voice, but hurt was a helluva lot better than despair, and that’s right where Harry would be if he read the letter intended for him. “Maybe he ran out of time,” Nate said. Or maybe he didn’t…maybe the letter was tucked in the top desk drawer fifty feet away.
“Yeah.” Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Uncle Harry.” Christine clasped his hand, leaned forward, eyes bright.
Here it comes. She’s going to tell him
.
“Dad loved you. You know that.”
She’s going to blow his world apart. She’s going to tell him about the letter.
“I loved him, too, Chrissie,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. “So, no letter, huh?”
“No,” she whispered, a tear spilling down her cheek. “No letter.”
The last time Pete saw his Aunt Edith he’d been twenty years old. She’d hugged him tight and slipped an envelope in his pocket containing two hundred dollars and a prayer card of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. She said the money and the prayer card seemed fitting as he was about to embark on a cross-country journey in a vehicle of questionable reliability and might require money and prayers to reach his destination. She’d been right. The water hose burst outside of Omaha, and the cash, along with St. Christopher, guided him to California.
Today, he sat in her front parlor as he had fifteen years ago, and like then, she hugged him and tried to shove money in his pocket. This time, the hug wasn’t as strong and the envelope contained deeds to several acres in and around Magdalena.
“Aunt Edith, I’m not accepting this.” Pete laid the envelope on the coffee table and turned to her. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need help. Besides, you might need these one day.” The deeds contained tracts of land that covered sixteen acres. Everybody knew the area was rich in timber, and if you partitioned off the land, you’d have quite a few lots, Hell, you could plan a small development if you wanted.
But that would destroy the feel of the community. Magdalena’s quaintness would be lost to new construction, overpopulation, and traffic. Way too much traffic. Pete liked progress, but some places should be protected from the hustle-bustle of overbuilding, and Magdalena was one of them. At twenty, he’d been anxious to get out of the small town where everyone knew everyone else’s business, but at thirty-five, he’d developed an appreciation for quiet and having a few friends who knew you back when, as opposed to a roomful who didn’t know you at all.
“Peter, I’ve been waiting for the day you’d come back here.” Her thin lips pulled into a frown. “I’d hoped you’d bring a wife and a baby or two.” She let out a long sigh that sounded an awful lot like sadness mixed with regret. “But there’s still time. You do want a wife and children, don’t you?”
Visions of a fresh-faced woman with dark hair and hazel eyes squeezed his chest. He pushed them away, picked up one of the store-bought vanilla cookies his aunt had set out. “If the opportunity presents itself, I’d be open to it.” And if the woman in question wasn’t keeping a notebook filled with secrets and destruction…
“You’d be open to it?” She shook her head, sniffed. “What does that mean? Love isn’t a negotiation, my boy; it’s magical and wondrous and has great powers. You weren’t here when Daniel and Tess Casherdon were tested by fate. Twice. Oh, but they struggled; first torn apart by tragedy, and later, by another woman.” She tsk-tsked as though she were commenting on a movie and not real people’s lives. “I never gave up on them, no, I did not, even when it looked like there was no hope for them.” She took a sip of tea, said in a voice as soft as cotton balls, “Love prevails. Always.” Her gaze slipped over him, settled on his face. “You’ve had a bit of heartache, haven’t you, Peter?”
He coughed, cleared his throat. “No. Of course not.” Why would she say that? Was it because he was thirty-five and hadn’t brought home a wife and child?
More tsk-tsking, this time aimed at him and his life. “I recognize heartbreak when I see it and you’re a man suffering from it.” She dabbed her eyes with her napkin and clasped his hand. “I want to help you. Tell me about her.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Edith, but there isn’t anyone.” He worked up a smile. “Just me and my sorry self.”
“If that’s true, then it’s only because you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. I’m a patient woman, Peter. When you admit you’re in love, you just remember your Aunt Edith was the first to know.” She patted his hand and nodded. “In the meantime, let’s talk about how to go about transferring the deeds.”
8
Two months later
The sun beat on Pete’s head, made him wish he’d borrowed one of his father’s ball caps. If the local weatherman hadn’t missed his target, it was going to be another hot one. Heat was relative, and it hadn’t bothered him when he lived in California. But he hadn’t lived in the heat; he’d lived in the air-conditioning. Who couldn’t tolerate a cool room with a programmable thermostat? Same with his car—punch a few buttons and the heat evaporated within minutes, leaving the interior crisp and fresh.
But Pete wasn’t in California and he sure as hell wasn’t in air-conditioning. Nope. He was walking the land his Aunt Edith had gifted him, trying to decide which plots to give his siblings. After a bit of deliberation and persuasion, his aunt agreed it might cause a family feud if Pete kept the land all to himself, but he was to keep the majority. Period. It wasn’t open for discussion or debate. When Pete told his father about his aunt’s proposal, Jack scratched his head and told him to take the land before his aunt went and donated it to somebody’s dog.
End of story. Pete accepted the property and was in the process of figuring out how to give an acre to each of his siblings. He’d thought of building a house here, maybe a big farmhouse with a wraparound porch and wicker chairs. That sounded peaceful and right now, that’s what he needed.
But it would mean more to share it with somebody. Oh, hell, he might as well admit the truth. It would mean more to share it with Elissa. He’d heard her name tossed about a few times. Once by Nate, another by Christine, and Pop Benito had mentioned her three or four different times. There’d been a curious look on the old man’s face when he said her name, as though waiting for Pete’s reaction. No luck there, because Pete knew how to keep his feelings tucked away from everyone.
Except Elissa.
He’d thought of contacting her several times since he’d left the cabin, but he had no idea where she was or how to get in touch with her. They’d never exchanged phone numbers and if the Desantros hadn’t mentioned her last name, he still wouldn’t know it. But that wasn’t why he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her and he was a fool to pretend it was. Fear kept him away. Fear that he’d hurt her that last day with his harsh words and accusations and killed whatever she’d felt for him. He still didn’t agree with her allegiance to that Blacksworth woman, but he guessed he had to respect her loyalty—however misguided it had been.
The more time he spent with the couples in town like the Desantros, the Reeds, and his aunt’s favorites, the Casherdons, the more he understood what compromise really meant. You could love a person and not agree with them all the time, and if you disagreed, it didn’t mean you weren’t meant to be together. If you shared fundamental principles and values, then you’d make it as a couple. It was work. Damn hard work. But it sure looked like it was worth it.
Pete swiped a hand over his forehead, wished again he had one of the father’s ball caps. If Elissa were here, she would have remembered the ball cap…and she’d have an idea or two about what kind of house to build. He pictured her face turning pink with excitement when she talked about it, full lips smiling… There were a lot of women in this town, and quite a few had been obvious about their interest in him. Phone calls, flowers, cakes, and pies. He didn’t want any of them.
He wanted Elissa.
So, what the hell was he going to do about it?
A woman could only wait so long for a man to come after her. Two months was a lifetime, and yet there’d been no word from Pete Finnegan, which could mean just about anything. He really had been pretending in the cabin and had no real feelings for her; he’d had feelings for her, but they’d died when he discovered the notebook… Or, he didn’t know how he felt about her and wouldn’t know until he saw her again.
She chose to believe the last one.
What else could a woman think when everything reminded her of him? Darn it all, she was not
going to live the rest of her life waiting for the man to wake up and realize he cared about her, maybe even loved her. Elissa Marie Cerdi was going to take action. No playbooks, no lists or timelines, nothing but her heart and her instincts guiding her.
And they both pointed to Magdalena.
Her parents worried she’d set herself up for serious heartache, worse than the fiasco with Zachary, but what could be worse than the not knowing? The old Elissa would wait and pray, hoping for the day when the man who owned her heart would rescue her from a life of loneliness and despair. The new Elissa said to heck with that and decided to rescue herself. One way or another, Pete Finnegan was going to own up to his feelings. One day in late June, Elissa packed her car, kissed her parents good-bye, and took off for Magdalena with a promise to let them know when she arrived and when she’d return. No need to tell them that no matter what happened in Magdalena, her life would not be in Chicago. That conversation would come later, though the extra-tight hug her mother gave her said she might already know.
It was close to dinnertime when she pulled into the Heart Sent, the bed-and-breakfast where she’d booked a room for the next few days. The proprietor was a spry, inquisitive woman with blue eyes and dangly ball earrings. Elissa’s plan to keep quiet about her reason for visiting Magdalena spilled out over a dish of Chicken Marsala.
“So…you and Pete Finnegan…”
Elissa nodded. “I had an opportunity to tell him the truth about some things, but I didn’t, and when he found out…”
Mimi Pendergrass forked a piece of chicken. “Oh, yes, the Finnegans are big on honesty. I’m sure Pete didn’t take it well.”
“He didn’t, and worse, I tried to defend my reason for not telling him.” She bit her bottom lip. “It was a disaster. One minute we were laughing and happy and the next, he was gone.”
Mimi reached over, patted Elissa’s hand. “He’s had enough time to cool off. I’m sure he’s regretted his decision more than once, but the Finnegan’s are a tough lot; don’t like to admit when they’re wrong. His father’s the same way.” She tsk-tsked and laughed. “Dolly, that’s Jack’s wife, deserves a medal and a straight trip to Heaven when the time comes.”
