Promise, Texas

by Debbie Macomber

  “Start at the beginning.”

  If only it was that easy. “Something’s…not right.” There wasn’t anything Dovie could put her finger on, nothing she could pinpoint other than a vague feeling. In fact, until this very moment, she hadn’t intended to say a word, not even to Frank.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Not right” was nebulous, she realized, but it was the best she could do. “I don’t know,” Dovie had to admit again. “I just don’t know. But it seems we’re not as close as we used to be.”

  Frank took a few moments to consider this. “Do you think she might be a little jealous of our taking a trip to Europe?”

  Dovie laughed outright at that, but then, Frank didn’t know Mary the way she did. “Not in the least. Mary doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body.”

  “So, what do you mean you’re not as close as you used to be? Seems to me you two are constantly chatting on the phone.”

  “Yes, but…” What her husband said was true enough, yet lately their almost daily talks had felt strained. Even strained was too harsh a word—this change had begun months ago, very slowly, only Dovie wasn’t sure how she knew that. The difference was subtle, but somehow Mary seemed less attentive, less interested in their conversations.

  That very morning was a perfect example. One thing Mary and Dovie enjoyed was sharing recipes and ideas about food and decorating. Both of them took an unabashed delight in everything domestic—the Martha Stewarts of Texas, Frank called them. Mary had been instrumental in convincing Dovie to open the small tearoom inside the antique store and had encouraged her to serve some of her special recipes. Because of Mary, Dovie’s chocolate-dipped peanut-butter cookies and the buttermilk crust for her apple pie were two of the town’s favorites. Yet this morning, when Dovie had mentioned a new coffee-cake recipe she planned to try, Mary had sounded…indifferent.

  “But what?” Frank asked when she didn’t continue.

  “I just don’t know,” Dovie said, starting to feel a bit desperate. “Something’s wrong. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Come to Promise.” Annie Applegate repeated Jane’s invitation aloud as she drove down the narrow Texas highway toward her new life. Her friends thought she was crazy to pack up everything she owned and move to Texas, to a town she’d never even seen. Perhaps they were right, but it felt good to be taking some positive action.

  When they were teenagers, Jane Dickinson had been one of her best friends. Correction, Dr. Jane Patterson. It was hard to remember that Jane wasn’t simply Jane any longer, but a fully certified physician. Not only that, Jane was married—and Annie wasn’t. Oh, she had been, but a serious car accident had left her with a permanent limp and a husband who found himself incapable of loving a woman whose once-perfect body was now marred by ugly red scars.

  No, Annie told herself, she was not going to dwell on Billy, although that had become nearly impossible since she’d learned his new wife was pregnant. What hurt most was that Billy knew how much she’d longed for a child. Before the wedding, they’d frequently discussed the family they’d have—at least three kids, close together. As an engineer, Billy earned enough to support a wife and children; he’d claimed he was willing to forgo extra cars and trips and other luxuries. Annie had thought of little else but quitting her job at the library and becoming a full-time wife and mother.

  During the five years of their marriage, Billy had put her off with a detailed list of reasons they should wait before starting a family. In retrospect, it was a blessing children hadn’t been involved in the divorce.

  Annie had wanted to put all the pain and betrayal of the marriage behind her; she’d done that symbolically by reverting to her maiden name.

  The car accident had cost her six months of employment, three operations, physical therapy and almost constant pain. But those were minor inconveniences compared to the death of her marriage.

  “Make a new life for yourself in Promise,” Jane had suggested. “Our library has a limited budget and is only open part-time. This town needs a good bookstore.”

  In the weeks since, they’d exchanged countless letters and talked endlessly, running up huge long-distance bills. Annie had learned about cowboys, cattle and ranchers. She’d learned that Texas cuisine included barbecue, chili without beans and lots of hot peppers. At least, she was already familiar with Mexican food—which she loved; according to Jane, there was a good and authentic Mexican restaurant in Promise. Jane had told her to listen to some country-and-western music, especially Willie Nelson. Her friend had described the people of Promise, the community itself and her own role as physician in the town’s only clinic. Hearing Jane’s enthusiasm for Promise, Texas, Annie understood her decision not to return to California.

  In some ways, Annie already felt part of the community. She knew the town and its history; she knew something about every family in the area. And thanks to Jane she could almost talk like a Texan. Their lengthy phone sessions were usually punctuated with high-spirited giggles that were reminiscent of their high-school days.

  And now she was ready.

  She’d sold or given away what she couldn’t carry, and the U-Haul trailer was packed to the brim. When she finally reached the town limits, the church steeple was the first thing to catch her eye. The bowling alley was next, then the city park, followed by the post office.

  Annie pulled into the bowling-alley parking lot and cut the engine. It was exactly as Jane had described, complete with a Greyhound Bus sign and a neon light advertising the café and a $1.99 breakfast special.

  Jordan’s Town and Country Western Wear sat on the corner across the street—and there it was, the empty space next door. She’d put down money to lease, with an option to buy. The place had originally been a real-estate office, but some time ago the company had moved to larger quarters. Jane had assured Annie that this would be the perfect spot for a bookstore; Annie had contacted the rental agent and they’d quickly reached an agreement. A bookstore was just what the town needed, it seemed, and Annie could think of no better way to invest her insurance settlement.

  Best of all, there was a small apartment above the store. It had a large picture window that looked out over Main Street and the city park. Jane had arranged to have the place painted for her, and they’d decided on sage-green walls. This was to be Annie’s home.

  Jane had asked Annie to stop by the clinic the moment she arrived. The two of them had planned every aspect of this move, and Jane wanted to be the first to welcome her.

  Annie climbed out of the car and methodically eased the ache from her arms and legs; the hours of driving meant stiff cramped muscles and pain deep in her bones. She glanced around, absorbing the feel of the town. She studied Main Street with its row of old-fashioned streetlights, decorated with baskets of May flowers. Vehicles, most of them battered pickup trucks, angled in from the street and filled the parking spaces. People strolled leisurely about, stopping to chat with each other from time to time.

  The sun shone brightly for early May. Annie could hear birdsong everywhere. She noticed a bed of roses, already in bloom, around the base of a statue that stood in the center of the park. Jane had told her that her friend Savannah Smith had planted those roses.

  It was a nice town, Annie decided. Everything she’d anticipated and more.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” a man said, touching the rim of his cowboy hat as he walked past. “Can I help you find something?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” The town was friendly, too, but then, Jane had prepared her for that. She’d just sampled what Jane had written about so often—something she called “real Texas hospitality.”

  Yes, Jane was right: Promise would indeed make her a good home. With that in mind, Annie headed toward the clinic. Her pace was slow; although her limp often wasn’t noticed—unless she was tired or had been on her feet for hours—the long drive had had its effect. The intermittent pain and the scars were as much a part of her now as her features or her personality.

>   As luck would have it, Jane was talking to her receptionist when Annie stepped inside the clinic.

  “Annie!” Jane hurried toward her, smiling hugely and engulfing her in an enthusiastic hug. “You look wonderful!”

  “So do you,” Annie returned in all honesty. Jane was six-and-a-half months pregnant, although she barely looked it, especially wearing the loose white jacket. Annie knew how excited Jane was about this baby. Because of her contract to work at the clinic, she and her husband, Cal, had delayed starting their family. The town had recently hired another doctor, and Jane planned to work part-time after the birth.

  “Jenny,” Jane said as she turned toward the receptionist, “this is Annie Applegate, one of my best friends. We grew up together.”

  “I’m so pleased you’re here,” Jenny said, her smile encouraging. “Dr. Jane’s been talking about it for weeks.”

  “I’ve got fifteen minutes or so between appointments,” Jane said, tugging at Annie’s hand. “Come and meet Dovie, and if there’s time I’ll take you over to meet Ellie and—”

  “Already?” Annie protested, but not too strenuously. She’d been hearing about the women of Promise for months…no, years. She couldn’t wait to meet them—even if she didn’t know how she’d keep them all straight.

  “Dovie baked scones this morning, and I promised Ellie I’d give her a call the minute you got here. Savannah’s dying to meet you, too. She’s the one who grows roses.”

  Annie nodded. She remembered who Savannah was. Dovie, an older woman, owned an antique shop, and Ellie, she recalled, was married to Cal Patterson’s brother, Glen. Moments earlier, Annie had been exhausted, but five minutes with Jane and she was raring to go. “I want to see my store as soon as I can. The apartment, too, of course.”

  “Max Jordan has the key for you—that’s his western-wear store. By the way, his son was recently elected sheriff.” She paused as though she’d just thought of something. “He’s single, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m not,” Annie assured her, but had to laugh. It was almost as if they were back in high school. Jane, with her boundless energy for life, was always trying to organize everyone else.

  “Oh, Annie, you’re gonna love it here!”

  Annie was counting on that.

  “And I’m going to love having you here.”

  “Another Californian,” Annie teased, although she was well aware that Jane considered herself a Texan now.

  “Cal says I might not have been born in Texas, but I got here as soon as I could. He’ll be saying the same thing about you before long.”

  Arm in arm, they crossed the street to Dovie’s shop. “Dovie,” Jane called as she opened the door. “Annie’s here!”

  A lovely white-haired woman stood in a corner of the store, working on a display. She stopped instantly and made her way across the room, her eyes brimming with warmth. “Annie, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. In fact, Jane’s told me so much about you, I feel as if we’re already friends.” She smiled. “This town certainly needs a bookstore…and now you’re here to start one. That’s terrific.”

  “I’m excited about it,” Annie admitted, letting her gaze wander about the room. She’d never seen antiques displayed in such an artistic and creative way. Accessories and smaller items had been arranged on and around the furniture. Fringed silk scarves and long jet necklaces spilled out of open drawers. There didn’t seem to be anything Dovie didn’t sell, from exquisite stationery and reproductions of classic jewelry to dining-room sets and gorgeous mismatched pieces of china.

  “Come sit for a spell and have a cup of tea,” Dovie invited. “The scones are still warm. I want you to taste my homemade strawberry jam.”

  No sooner had Annie sat down at a table in the small tearoom than Dovie delivered a plate with scones, plus a small pot of butter and another of jam.

  “It looks like you intend to fatten me up,” Annie said with a laugh.

  “You could use a few pounds,” Jane whispered. “I’d love to give you some of mine.”

  “Nonsense,” Annie whispered back.

  Dovie poured tea all around. “Now, Annie, tell me about yourself. There may be details Jane left out.”

  Annie laughed again. “Well, as you probably already know, Jane and I are the same age.”

  “In the prime of our youth,” Jane inserted, putting an extra spoonful of jam on the warm scone.

  “I’m…divorced.” Annie faltered over the word. Even after a year the reality of her dead marriage produced a sense of failure and pain. When she’d spoken her vows, she’d meant every one of them. It seemed that Billy, however, hadn’t. The “for worse” and “in sickness” parts, in particular, hadn’t meant much to him. Annie had done everything possible to save her marriage, but as determined as she was, Billy was more so. He wanted out. In the end, she’d had no choice but to give in. That he’d remarried within a month following their divorce had come as a bitter blow and the ultimate humiliation. It’d been obvious that he’d already been involved with someone else well before their split, maybe even before her accident.

  “I’m so sorry about your divorce. I know you also suffered the loss of your mother at an early age,” Dovie murmured.

  Annie nodded. “My mother died when I was seven,” she said. “My dad and his wife are in San Diego, but I don’t see them much.” Annie had often wondered how different her life might have been had her mother lived. People cared about her—aunts, uncles, grandparents—but they had their own lives and had lacked the time or patience to deal with a confused little girl who didn’t understand why her mother was gone. Even her own father had deserted her, burying his grief in his job. He hadn’t remarried until Annie was in her final year of high school. She’d been raised by a succession of housekeepers who’d moved in and out of her life; it was difficult to remember all their names.

  “How sad,” Dovie said with genuine sympathy. “About your mother…and your father.”

  “It made me strong,” Annie returned, “and independent.” That was one of the reasons Billy had divorced her, Annie believed. Perhaps if she’d needed him more, had been weak and clingy, he would have stayed. No, it wouldn’t have mattered. Billy would have left her, anyway.

  “But you’re here now,” Jane said, “ready to start a new life.”

  “That’s true,” Annie agreed. She reached for a scone, scooping on a thick layer of jam. “In fact, I’m more than ready.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Both her children were down for their afternoon naps, and that meant Savannah Smith had an hour to herself. She poured a cup of tea and reached for the mail, which one of the hands had delivered before lunch. Early afternoon was her favorite part of the day. With two children constantly underfoot, it seemed the house was rarely quiet—not that Savannah had cause for complaint. She adored her children and loved her husband deeply. There’d been a time when she’d despaired of ever being a wife and mother, and then one day when she least expected it, she’d met Laredo. From the moment she’d picked up the handsome hitchhiker along a deserted stretch of road, her life had changed.

  Her life had become what she’d always wanted it to be.

  She sifted through the envelopes, automatically setting aside the bills and tossing the advertisements in the trash.

  Then she saw it, her address scrawled in a familiar hand—and froze.

  The letter was from Richard, her brother. The name of the correctional institution was stamped on the back of the envelope, along with a warning that the letter had not been inspected.

  Savannah needed several minutes to calm her pounding heart before she found the courage to tear open the envelope. Even then, she couldn’t bring herself to unfold the one thin sheet of paper. In the three years since Richard had been incarcerated, this was the first letter she’d received from him. Typically, he blamed Savannah and their brother Grady for his troubles. He wouldn’t have written if he didn’t want something. She knew that without a shred of doubt.
>
  Richard, the youngest of the Westons, was a constant source of pain to the family. After his last visit to Promise, during which he’d wrought havoc and brought disgrace into their lives, Savannah had searched carefully for an explanation, some event in their childhood that had shaped Richard into the man he was now. The thief, the scoundrel, the felon, preying on the weak and helpless. The man who gave no thought to the well-being or rights of others. In the end, she’d discovered nothing that could explain it. He’d been born into the same family, attended the same schools, lived in the same community. Richard, Savannah and Grady had all been equally nurtured and loved by their parents. Granted, her mom and dad had spoiled Richard a little, making fewer demands of their charming younger son than they did of their older children. But what youngest child wasn’t just a bit indulged?

  Savannah had come to accept that there wasn’t any single thing that could account for the way Richard was. He’d made a series of small selfish decisions through the years; each one, she suspected, had led to the next. Each irresponsible act made the next one possible. And over time, those selfish actions had grown bigger and bigger. But for years, Savannah—if not Grady—had excused or overlooked his behavior.

  The first major and truly unforgivable demonstration of Richard’s character had occurred shortly after their parents’ deaths in a flash flood. The day of the funeral, Richard absconded with the cash their father had left his heirs to cover the hefty inheritance taxes on the ranch. Richard had taken the money and simply disappeared. As a result, Grady and Savannah spent years scrimping and sacrificing to hold on to the land that had been in their family for more than 130 years. Savannah never learned what had happened to the forty thousand dollars, but guessed that Richard had squandered it, as he had his life.

  Then one day, six years after he’d disappeared, Richard had mysteriously returned, full of regret—or so he claimed—for the pain he’d caused them. At first he seemed to be his old self again—fun-loving, charming, sociable. Before long, the ranch house was full of music and laughter, the way it had been when their parents were alive. Within a few months, though, Richard had revealed what he really was. Savannah had learned the ugly truth—her brother hadn’t changed at all. He disappeared again, owing thousands of dollars to local businesses. This time he’d holed up in Bitter End, a ghost town buried deep in the hill country, miles outside of Promise. Not until later did they learn that Richard was on the run from the law.