Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set: Through the StormHome for KeepsThe Firefighter's RefrainTo Catch a Wife

by Rula Sinara

  “So it’s a breakfast?”

  “All-day breakfast at the Sparrow Lake Farmers’ Co-op.”

  Grace scribbled a note to herself even as she wondered if she would fit in at this kind of social event. “At the co-op?”

  “Right. The building has offices and meeting rooms. That’s where the Dairymen’s Association is located. I’m going around noon. If you like, we can go together, as long as you don’t mind that I’ll be bringing the twins. I can introduce you to people you haven’t yet met.”

  “Great. And I would love to see Addison and Taylor again.”

  Heather eyed Grace’s designer suit. “You might want to...um...dress down a little.”

  “So I fit in. Got it. Now at least I have a plan to influence people more than some transient ghost hunter. I can hope, right?”

  Heather’s expression remained cautious.

  Uh-oh. That didn’t bode well, Grace thought. “Is there a problem I don’t know about?”

  “Just a little one. There’s another reporter going around town, trying to dig up a story about the ghost sightings.”

  Grace groaned. “And I was just thinking what a nice day I had yesterday on the ‘haunted’ property. I say we get down to work before I lose my mind over this nonsense.”

  At her invitation, Heather took a chair on the opposite side of the desk. As always, she was dressed casually compared with Grace, today in pale green chinos and a matching spring sweater. Her light brown hair streaked with blond was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was makeup free other than a swipe of tinted lip gloss.

  “So...yesterday...” Heather cleared her throat and with an interested expression lighting her pretty face asked, “What was going on?”

  “Oh. I, um, gave Caleb Blackthorne a tour of the area.” Grace tried to keep her tone casual.

  “Ah, I see.”

  She simply blinked at the other woman’s knowing tone.

  Heather went on. “Caleb Blackthorne is considered quite a catch to the unmarried women in these parts, you know. Good-looking, great job, beautiful home. Lucky you.”

  “It wasn’t a date,” Grace was quick to assure her. “The other day, his daughter, Angela—or Summer Storm, as she calls her artist self—created some problems at Green Meadows.”

  “So I heard.”

  Sparrow Lake was a small town with an active rumor mill, Grace reminded herself. Probably everyone had heard. “I wanted to talk to Caleb about his daughter, to see if I could get some insight on why she painted that mural, and I learned he teaches environmental studies at the community college.”

  “I know. I took a couple of his classes. Great teacher.”

  Grace thought about telling Heather she’d been considering taking his classes, too, but something stopped her.

  “At any rate,” Grace went on, “Caleb asked me about why we went green with the new community, and I offered to give him a tour of the place.”

  “A tour that put a big smile on your face.”

  “I enjoyed myself,” Grace admitted, then before Heather could question her more indicated the table along the wall. “That should give us enough room to spread out your blueprints, don’t you think?”

  “That it does.”

  Part of Grace wanted to continue discussing Caleb with someone who knew him—she wanted to learn more about him if she could—but she didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic about a man who didn’t necessarily feel the same way about her.

  * * *

  ANGELA WASN’T SPEAKING to him again, and Caleb was ready to pull out his hair.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d come home the day before to find a rickety structure that passed for a sweat lodge in his yard. Not that he objected to the idea of his daughter building one, but she had been grounded for the entire spring vacation. Apparently she’d chosen to interpret what that meant for herself. He’d given her a stern lecture about following rules and taking responsibility. He’d been sorely tempted to order her to tear down the flimsy shelter before it fell down, especially when he’d learned she’d used their winter blankets to build it. But his daughter’s tearful, accusatory expression had torn at his heart. He’d merely told Angela she couldn’t use her sweat lodge until her punishment was over at the end of the week.

  She’d refused to have dinner with him.

  Or breakfast.

  What was he going to do with her? They’d never been at odds like this until the past few weeks. He needed someone to talk to about his daughter—someone who could give him some guidance. A good reason to visit his mother. Angela wasn’t speaking to him anyway, so he was simply spinning his wheels walking through the house.

  Stopping at her closed bedroom door, he raised his voice. “I’m going out for a while.”

  No answer.

  No big surprise.

  “I expect you to stay inside the house.” He waited for a moment, then said, “I need to know that you heard me.”

  “I heard you.”

  Still sullen. What was he going to do with her? Hopefully Mom would give him some good ideas of how to handle his daughter. How to get her to open up and not simply in anger. He thought about calling Mom first, then just decided to surprise her.

  Maddie Blackthorne was a member of the Sparrow Lake Chippewa Band on what was the smallest reservation in Wisconsin. The land was a little more than seven hundred acres, supported by three tiny family farms surrounding a single village. The band that had broken off from its Lake Superior cousins had fewer than a thousand members, only half of whom actually lived on the rez itself.

  It was beautiful land, with a couple of hundred acres of meadows and unharvested old forest that he’d explored throughout his youth. His love of nature had inspired him to become an environmentalist. And a professor of environmental studies.

  The Blackthorne family house was situated on a quarter acre halfway between the village proper and the untouched land. It was a simple two-bedroom with a living room and eat-in kitchen, but the garden surrounding the house would be spectacular in full bloom, the flowers intermixed with rows of vegetables. Caleb had helped his mother start the garden when he was a kid, before he’d begun finding ways to get himself into trouble.

  He’d barely parked the truck before his mother came out of the house to greet him. She smoothed back the silver wings of her long blue-black hair, caught in the back with a clip. She was wearing her usual jeans with a long-sleeved pullover sweater. Mom’s clothing was always practical. A social worker, she spent her life taking care of other people rather than fussing over herself. He appreciated her dedication but wished she would fuss just a little. She deserved it.

  “Hey, Mom.” Stepping up to the porch, he threw his arms around her.

  She gave him a big hug. “This is certainly a surprise.”

  “I needed to talk to someone with more wisdom than I have.”

  “Angela?”

  He nodded.

  “C’mon in. I have a fresh pot of coffee to go with the acorn bread I made this morning.”

  Caleb’s mouth was already watering as he followed her inside. “Any of that rhubarb ginger jam left?”

  “Of course. You know I always make enough to last until the next rhubarb crop comes in.”

  The acorn bread must have come out of the oven a short while ago, because the wonderful smell still filled the air. The kitchen was old-fashioned, a combination of wooden cabinets and shelves with speckled laminate countertops and ancient white appliances. Caleb loved Mom’s kitchen, because it felt like home. She’d said it felt like home, too, when he’d offered to buy her a new stainless steel stove and refrigerator, saying that would be a waste while the old ones still worked. While his mother sliced the bread, Caleb poured them mugs of coffee and fetched half-and-half, butter and the jam from the fridge. When
everything was on the table, they sat opposite each other in comfortable silence for several minutes until they’d spread thick slices of bread with butter and jam, and Caleb had taken a big bite.

  “Delicious,” he murmured as he chewed. “Your cooking always makes me feel better.”

  “What did Angela do this time?”

  Caleb took another bite and washed it down with coffee before answering. “You know I grounded her, which by that I meant study. Instead, she went outside and built a sweat lodge that looks like it would fall over if someone bumped into it.”

  “Well, I would say that’s educational.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”

  “Perhaps she thought ‘house’ included the property, too.”

  “Mo-o-om.”

  “She’s so much like you were before you became a father.” His mother grinned at him. “It’s kind of just retribution.”

  Caleb scowled. “That isn’t helpful.”

  “But just a little satisfying to me, honey.”

  Finishing the slice of acorn bread, Caleb muttered, “What am I going to do with her? She keeps defying me and getting into trouble. I’m afraid that if I can’t find a way to reason with her, she’s going to go too far.” He sighed. “What is it with teenagers?” Including his younger self. “Why do they all seem to go crazy?”

  Maddie laughed. “It’s called hormones. A body that’s mostly adult combined with a mind that’s mostly child.” She added, “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach.” Her smile faded into a more serious expression.

  “Wrong approach?” Was she going to place the blame in his corner? He couldn’t help feeling defensive. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re so demanding with Angela that it surely backfires on you. You need to listen to your daughter, to understand what it is she wants. What is important to her.”

  “You mean this new kick about her becoming an artist?”

  “It’s not new, Caleb. She started drawing the moment she could use a crayon. You’ve been displaying her artwork for years.”

  “That’s what you do when your kid creates something for you.”

  “Even if you don’t like it?”

  “I never said that. I love it. She has incredible potential. But thinking you can make a living as an artist isn’t practical.”

  “So you dash her dreams.”

  “What should I do? Encourage her to live in poverty? Being an artist doesn’t bring in a regular income. I keep trying to tell her she needs to have a real job and that she can do her art on the side.”

  “Which makes her dream sound unimportant. An afterthought.”

  “If I could make it work for her, I would.”

  “Then try to help her find a way. There are jobs with regular incomes for trained artists. Help her see that she can channel her creativity to something that will support her like graphic arts—or teaching art—while she creates a portfolio that she can take to art shows or galleries. When you tell her to do art on the side, it sounds...dismissive. Be positive and supportive instead of demanding she do things your way all the time.”

  Mom had a point. He could be gruff, he supposed. “All right. I’ll think about how I can do that.”

  “Good.” Mom held out a plate to him. “More bread?”

  “Did you think I might say no?” He took another piece.

  As he spread the butter and jam, he realized his mother was staring at him intently. “Something on your mind, Mom?”

  “So what’s going on with you lately? Terese Kistler said she saw you with the Huber woman walking through Green Meadows yesterday. Were you making peace over Angela?”

  The reminder of their private walk through the development warmed Caleb inside. “As a matter of fact, Grace offered to give me a tour of Green Meadows, so I could see how it’s progressing. I was very impressed.”

  “With the development or with Grace?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Both, actually.” Though he’d already realized his attraction to the woman was hopeless until he straightened things out with his daughter.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “No, you don’t.” He quickly tried to backtrack before his mother made a big deal of it. “We simply have a lot in common. Environment-wise, that is.”

  She raised her eyebrows and gave him a challenging expression. “So you don’t actually like Grace? As a woman, I mean.”

  “Yes, I like her.”

  “Then you’ll ask her out.”

  He shook his head. “The timing is all wrong.”

  “Because she’s seeing someone else?”

  “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. It’s not her, it’s me.” He sighed and set his acorn bread back on the plate. “Rather, it’s Angela.”

  “So Angela doesn’t like her.”

  “Angela doesn’t really know her.” But that didn’t prevent Caleb from assuming the worst. He couldn’t count on anything when it came to his daughter these days.

  “Then what’s the problem?” his mother asked.

  “Lily is the problem. I told you about the mural. When I tried to talk to Angela about defacing private property, it turned into something else. She admitted she thought I took her mother from her. I explained what happened, but at the moment she’s obsessed with feeling abandoned. I have no idea where this is coming from. Teenage imagination, I guess. I just don’t see how I can bring another woman into the mix right now.”

  “Angela might not like it at first, but she’ll come around. She has before. You dated several women while you were in school.”

  “None were serious.”

  “So this Grace Huber...” His mother cleared her throat. “You could be serious about her?”

  Caleb started. Not a question he’d asked himself. Not one he wanted to explore too deeply right now. “Mom, you’re jumping the gun. I like her, but I haven’t even asked her out on a date.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you did something about that.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I WANT A big stack of pancakes with lots of whipped cream,” Taylor announced as they left Heather’s van parked just down the street from the co-op. “With cherries on top.”

  “I’m not sure they have whipped cream, sweetie, and I know they won’t have cherries,” Heather told the child. Then she explained to Grace. “Cherries on top are her new thing. Rick bought a big jar of maraschino cherries to put on everything...mashed potatoes, broccoli, cottage cheese.” She grinned, probably thinking of her hunky new husband. “He’s spoiling both twins.”

  “We’re not spoiled.” Addison slipped her hand into Grace’s and smiled up at her like a little angel. The eight-year-old looked incredibly cute with a missing tooth. Grace smiled back and squeezed. “I just want mine completely plain,” the girl said. “Not even syrup.”

  Taylor made a face. “Yuck.”

  “Come on,” chided Heather. “People have different tastes. Just because you like whipped cream doesn’t mean Addison has to like it.”

  “O-o-okay.” Taylor flounced along, then tossed her head. “But pancakes are better with whipped cream.”

  “No, they’re not,” singsonged Addison.

  Heather frowned. “Shh!”

  They stepped up on the sidewalk and walked toward the co-op about a block away. There were so many cars parked in downtown Sparrow Lake that they’d had to hunt for a space, because of the festival. Heather spoke to several people they met on the way, introducing Grace, who appreciated the friendly gesture. Not that she would be able to remember all the new names.

  A whizzing sound made all of them glance behind them. A boy on a skateboard approached swiftly, drawn by a very large, spotted Great Dane on a leash. As the dog and skateboard whizzed past
in a flurry of huge paws and wheels, Heather drew Taylor closer, keeping her out of the way.

  The little girl stared openmouthed. “Wow!”

  “We could do that with Kirby!” cried Addison.

  “No, we’re not getting a skateboard so you can hitch it to the dog,” Heather told them firmly. “It’s too dangerous.” She turned to Grace. “And that kid is a danger, too. He could have knocked us off the sidewalk!”

  Grace merely nodded, smiling, but the twins continued to jabber about the big dog until they reached the co-op building, an old storefront with an entrance refinished with brick. A line of people stood outside, waiting to go in.

  “Wow, Pancake Day must be popular,” murmured Grace. She’d dressed down for the occasion, as Heather had suggested, forgoing her usual business attire for loose black trousers, a short-sleeved blue cashmere sweater and a leather moto jacket.

  Heather nodded. “Free food. Don’t worry, the line will move fast. There are at least two pancake stations set up.”

  “Ooh,” said Addison. “I smell sausage.”

  “And bacon,” added Taylor.

  “Yes,” agreed Heather. “You can have both if you want. Consider this ‘dunch’ or ‘linner,’ okay? We won’t need anything else but a small snack before you go to bed tonight.”

  The line did move quickly and they were soon inside, heading down a hallway toward the main room. There, long tables had been set up for people to sit and eat, and other tables formed a barrier near the walls where grills were being manned to cook mounds of pancakes and breakfast meats. As they approached the nearest pancake station, Grace glanced back at the townspeople already eating, laughing and chatting. All the cooks were men, people she’d seen around town and who Heather had said were employed by the co-op or the creamery. Two tables were set up with butter and cream...but no whipped cream. Taylor stood on her tiptoes and looked around. Addison laughed and did a little whirl.