Promise, Texas

by Debbie Macomber

  “I had a great time,” Annie told him at the entrance. “I only hope we lived up to the rumors Louise Powell’s been spreading about us.”

  Lucas grinned. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  Annie smiled, too. Poor Louise was destined to be disappointed.

  “I’m kind of surprised myself,” Lucas admitted, looking mildly guilty. “I had a good time, too….”

  “Ah, so the truth is out. Enjoying yourself came as a shock, did it?”

  They stood smiling at each other until Annie finally broke eye contact. “Thanks again, Lucas.”

  “Thank you,” he said. Then, as though it was an afterthought, he leaned forward, and in full view of anyone who might be watching, kissed her cheek.

  A kiss on the cheek. Fair enough, since they’d decided they were friends and nothing more. “Bye,” she told him quickly, starting inside.

  “Annie.” Lucas stopped her, his voice urgent. “Would you…are you willing to do this again?”

  She nodded without hesitation.

  “When?”

  She gave a little shrug. “What works for you?”

  “How about now?” he asked. “I’m working tomorrow evening, so I can take the afternoon off. Just let me call my assistant first.” He paused. “You said you’d never been to Bitter End. Would you like to go?”

  “I’d love to! Give me ten minutes to change clothes and talk to Gina.” Because she was a high-school senior, Gina’s class schedule allowed her to work at the bookstore two afternoons a week. The teenager was perfectly capable of tending the store for the rest of the afternoon. Besides, Annie was intensely curious about Bitter End.

  She still remembered reading Jane’s long account of her own initial visit to Bitter End, and the eerie feeling she’d experienced when she first stepped onto the main street. As Annie recalled, Jane and Cal had had quite an adventure, complete with dramatic rescue. It was Jane who’d discovered a badly injured Richard Weston hiding out there.

  “I’m assuming Jane told you about her experience in Bitter End?” Lucas asked as they headed out of town in his truck.

  “She wrote about finding Richard Weston there, nearly dead after the staircase in the old hotel collapsed on him.” That particular letter had been riveting. If Jane and Cal hadn’t arrived when they did, Richard would surely have died. “You’ve been there?”

  “A couple of times,” Lucas told her. “Wade McMillen’s held church services out there the last Sunday in August for the past two years. Speaking of Wade, did you know Joey McMillen was born in Bitter End?”

  “Really? A preacher’s son…Didn’t a preacher’s son die there a hundred-plus years ago? Wasn’t that the story?”

  Lucas told her what he knew of how a preacher’s son had been hanged by a group of drunken men. When the preacher discovered what had happened, he’d placed a curse on the town. In time, everyone who’d settled in Bitter End was driven away by plagues and disasters, and Bitter End had been virtually forgotten.

  Lucas parked the pickup, then led Annie through a field of bluebonnets toward a worn pathway. Holding her hand, he guided her down an embankment. Because of her injuries from the car accident, Annie proceeded cautiously, watching her step. When she looked up again, she went abruptly still at the sight of Bitter End nestled below. Two rows of buildings, mostly stone and some of wood, cut a swath through the heart of the town. A church and cemetery stood at one end, a large corral at the other, with hitching posts and water troughs. For its age, the church, which was the most prominent building in town, seemed to be in good condition. The hotel, with its second-floor balcony, appeared in the worst shape, leaning precariously as if ready to topple at any moment.

  Annie stared at the colorful array of rosebushes in bloom. She took in the other plants, some in window boxes and others in flower beds that bordered the buildings and splashed bright colors against their drab exteriors.

  “I remember Jane told me about this—but I still can’t believe it,” she said, astonished at the vivid flowers everywhere she looked.

  “Frank mentioned once that the town used to be completely dead,” Lucas said as he slowly navigated their way down the embankment. “A genuine ghost town. He said it was really something, what happened after Joey McMillen’s birth. Some folks think that having a preacher’s son born in the town is what broke the curse. Others—of a less romantic bent—talk about an underground spring breaking free.” He shrugged. “For whatever reason, everything started to grow again.”

  “What an incredible story,” Annie said, awed. “Did anyone think of restoring the old place and making a tourist attraction out of it?”

  “Apparently there was quite a debate about doing that,” Lucas told her, “but the council voted it down. On the other hand, no one wanted to let the place deteriorate, either. The history of Promise is rooted in Bitter End.”

  “So what happened?” She gestured around her.

  “Frank told me that slowly, one by one, families started visiting the old town. Soon they were making improvements. The steeple on the old church got rebuilt. That’s where Pastor McMillen holds the annual service. The church has been cleaned and the pews straightened. A couple of the buildings, like the hotel, are boarded up because they’re unsafe, but the old stone structures are still solid.”

  “Everyone’s done a wonderful job.”

  He nodded. “The last time I was here, I noticed that a number of families have put furniture in the buildings—stuff that was handed down to them from their grandparents and great-grandparents.”

  “I imagine Savannah planted all these roses,” Annie said.

  “She was the one who started it all, you know. It was her search for old roses that brought her to Bitter End. Soon after, others came, and later when word got out about Richard hiding here, people got really curious. Bitter End was what originally brought Travis Grant to Promise.”

  Annie proudly featured his books at her store, and he’d already come to speak once. Travis wrote bestselling children’s books as T. R. Grant and had written two blockbuster adult novels as Travis Grant. It’d been a thrill to meet him, along with his wife, Nell, and their children, including a pair of adorable two-year-old twins.

  “Nell and Travis were the ones who solved the mystery,” Lucas went on to explain.

  Annie had known that, but she hadn’t heard details.

  As he led her into the buildings he knew were safe, Lucas described the search Travis and Nell had undertaken, which involved interviewing descendants of Bitter End’s residents, going into newspaper archives on the Internet and piecing together an antique story quilt.

  When Lucas and Annie finished exploring, they sat in two rocking chairs placed on the boardwalk outside the mercantile. The scene was a pleasing one. Annie could imagine what it must have been like 130 years ago, and her thoughts slid pleasantly back in time.

  They sat in companionable silence for a while, the subject of Bitter End apparently exhausted. Lucas glanced at her and said, “I hope my girls haven’t made pests of themselves. They’d be at the bookstore every day if I let them.”

  “Pests? Heather and Hollie? Never!”

  “They like you.”

  “Well, I like them. I hope you’ll let them come as often as they want.” She wanted to add that he was welcome, too, but didn’t.

  Lucas chuckled. “I don’t think I could keep them away.”

  Annie recognized the girls’ need to be noticed and nurtured and loved. As a motherless child, that was what she’d sought herself. Whatever she could do to comfort them, to assuage their sense of loss, she would.

  Lucas looked at his watch. “We should probably think about heading back.”

  Annie knew he was right, but she hated to leave the tranquillity of Bitter End. Nor was she ready to give up this time with Lucas.

  By tacit agreement, they returned to the truck. Lucas walked ahead of her, assisting her as she made her way carefully up the embankment. When the terrain bec
ame steep, he reached for her hand. She smiled her appreciation and was rewarded with a lazy grin, which unaccountably sent her pulse skittering. Friends, he’d said, and she’d agreed—yet it seemed somehow that they’d already gone beyond friendship.

  She was well aware that Lucas was a handsome man, especially when he smiled. But it wasn’t his good looks that impressed her. Billy, her ex-husband, had been known as a heartthrob in their college days. But unlike Billy, Lucas Porter was a man of character, a man of inner strength. When his wife became ill, he hadn’t turned his back; instead, he’d remained steadfastly at her side. When she’d died, he hadn’t handed his children over for others to raise, but had uprooted himself and moved to Promise to be closer to his parents. This was the kind of man who would accept her scars. A man who wouldn’t turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. Friends, she reminded herself. That was all they’d be and that was fine by her. Wasn’t it?

  As they traveled back to town, they talked about the old families—the Westons and Pattersons and Frasiers—who’d left Bitter End and come to Promise. Truly a place for new beginnings, they decided. Lucas parked behind Tumbleweed Books and walked her up the stairway that led to her small apartment above the store.

  She unlocked the door and was about to invite him in when he said, “Thanks, Annie, for a very enjoyable afternoon.”

  “Thank you.” She held her breath, hoping he’d ask her out a second time right then and there.

  He didn’t. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pants pockets, nodded and walked away.

  Apparently the interest she felt wasn’t mutual.

  CHAPTER 6

  Glen Patterson knew his brother well enough to recognize when there was something on his mind. And this past week, Cal hadn’t been himself.

  For several years following the breakup of his engagement to Jennifer Healy, who’d walked out on him less than forty-eight hours before the wedding, Cal had been withdrawn, uncommunicative. Then Jane Dickinson came to Promise, and his brother’s personality was gradually transformed. That was four years ago. After meeting Jane, Cal had become more optimistic and relaxed about life. It was increasingly obvious to Glen—if not to Cal—that his brother had fallen in love. Glen was, to say the least, relieved. In his view, marriage to Jane was the best thing that could have happened to Cal. Jane had restored the person he used to be, before Jennifer. But Glen sensed that something was wrong now, and he prayed it wasn’t with his brother’s marriage.

  They were in the process of branding cattle and had finished for the day. They climbed into the pickup, then headed toward the barn in silence. Glen made a few brief attempts at conversation, but Cal’s lack of responsiveness unnerved him. No teasing, no laughing, no jokes. Every once in a while, he studied Cal surreptitiously, unsure what to say.

  “Everything all right with Jane and the baby?” he asked as casually as he could when Cal parked the pickup behind the barn.

  “Fine,” Cal snapped.

  “Don’t bite my head off,” Glen snapped back. “If you wanna be mad, then be mad, but I’d like to know what you’re mad about. I’m funny that way.”

  That comment elicited a weak grin. Then, for no reason Glen could discern, Cal turned abruptly and walked into the barn.

  “You been to see Mom and Dad lately?” Cal asked when Glen followed him. He sat down on a bale of hay, removed his hat and leaned forward, resting both arms on his knees.

  “Of course I have.” He was the brother who lived in town, after all. Glen saw their parents every week, sometimes two or three times. He and Ellie bowled in a couples’ league on Thursday nights and his parents baby-sat Johnny. He often stopped by for a quick visit. And they saw each other at church on Sundays. Come to think of it, though, his parents’ attendance had slipped in the past few months.

  “Notice anything different?” Cal asked next.

  Glen considered their last few visits and shook his head. “Not really.”

  Cal gritted his teeth. “Is the entire world blind?” he muttered. “Am I the only one who can see there’s something going on?”

  “What’s wrong with Mom and Dad?” This was beginning to irritate Glen.

  “I told you they aren’t accepting reservations, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. But that’s their decision, don’t you think?”

  Cal ignored his question and asked another. “How long has it been since they had guests?”

  “They want a break,” Glen said with a shrug. “Frankly, it’s none of our business what they do.”

  Cal was silent a moment. Then he asked, “When was the last time you sat down and actually talked to them?”

  “I do every week.” But did he? Glen paused to give the matter more thought and realized that when he and Ellie dropped Johnny off on Thursday nights, they rarely spent more than a few minutes chatting with his parents. After bowling, it was too late for anything other than a quick exchange.

  “I can’t remember the last time Mom had us over for Sunday dinner. Can you?”

  Now that he thought of it, Ellie had said something along those lines earlier this week. He hadn’t really responded. He figured he saw his parents often enough without their inviting him over for dinner. It wasn’t a big deal. Was it?

  “Then you really haven’t noticed…” Cal sounded less sure of himself now.

  “Noticed what?”

  Cal didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not sure I want to say.”

  “If you’re so all-fired worried, then why don’t you ask Mom and Dad yourself?” Glen suggested.

  Again Cal hesitated.

  “Obviously something’s really bothering you here—even if I can’t figure out what. You need to talk to them. Hell, I’ll go with you, if for no other reason than to get this burr out from under your saddle.”

  “Fine.” Cal nodded. “Come on,” he said as he walked briskly toward the barn door.

  Glen stared at his brother in disbelief.

  “There’s no time like the present,” Cal went on. “I’ll tell Jane where I’m going and meet you at Mom and Dad’s.”

  “All right.” Glen sighed. “If that’s the only way to clear this up.” Privately, though, he saw it as wasted effort.

  By the time Glen arrived in Promise, he’d convinced himself his brother was imagining things. Their parents had never been better. Five years ago their father’s heart condition had given them all a scare. But Phil wasn’t even out of the hospital before his ever-resourceful wife had taken matters under control.

  Rather than sit in his truck waiting for Cal to arrive, Glen knocked on the back door and let himself in. Whistling, he moved into the kitchen—then suddenly stopped. His father was standing at the stove, an apron tied around his waist. Glen couldn’t prevent his mouth from dropping open in shock. Never in his entire life had he seen his father cooking.

  “Glen!” His father was definitely surprised to see him.

  “Where’s Mom?” Glen asked.

  “Upstairs,” Phil answered, as if that explained everything.

  “You’re…cooking.” So much for stating the obvious.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” his father returned, sounding defensive.

  The back door opened and Cal walked in. His reaction to seeing his father in an apron was the same as Glen’s. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Upstairs,” Glen and his father answered.

  “What are you boys doing here?” Phil slid the pork chops onto a cookie sheet and placed them in the oven. With one quick motion, he jerked the apron free of his waist.

  “Cal has something to ask you,” Glen said, glancing at his older brother. He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. Cal was the one with the questions; let him do the talking.

  Cal opened the cupboard door and reached inside for a coffee mug. With his back to his father, he asked, “So, how are you and Mom getting along these days?”

  “What kind of damn fool question is that?” Phil exploded. “Your mother and I’ve
been married nearly forty years. If we were going to have problems, they would’ve shown up before this, don’t you think?” The sharpness of his words conveyed distress as much as anger. “What’s with you two, anyway? I don’t go asking you questions about your relationships with your wives. Don’t pry into my private affairs and I won’t pry into yours.”

  His loud rebuke had taken Glen aback. Cal seemed equally shocked. Before either could respond, their mother came into the room.

  “Phil?” she said with a puzzled look. “Why are you yelling?”

  “No reason.” Phil shrugged apologetically.

  “Can you help me?” she asked next, ignoring both Cal and Glen.

  “The boys are here, sweetheart.” He gestured toward them.

  She smiled in their direction. “We don’t see you nearly as much as we’d like,” she told them. She frowned. “Do we, dear? Now, Phil, have you seen my needlepoint? For the life of me, I can’t find where I put it.” She sounded distracted, Glen noticed. That was unlike her.

  “In a minute, Mary,” Phil replied. His father’s voice changed, becoming patient and gentle. Quite a contrast to the tone he’d used with them, Glen thought.

  His mother started to leave the room, but then turned back and said, “Come again, boys, you understand?” With a little wave, she wandered off toward the stairs.

  As soon as she’d left, Cal looked directly at his father. “What’s wrong with Mom?”

  Glen had felt it, too. There was something wrong. His father’s attitude, his mother’s odd vagueness—they added up to something. But what?

  “First it’s our marriage, now it’s your mother?” Phil said in a cold restrained voice.

  “Dad—”

  “Perhaps it’d be best if we continued our discussion another time,” he said and all but ushered them out the back door. Glen couldn’t help noticing the weariness in his father’s eyes.

  Cal and Glen stood staring at each other as the door closed.

  “Well?” Cal asked. “Am I right? Is something wrong with Mom and Dad?”