Promise, Texas

by Debbie Macomber

  “Yeah, well, it’s just one of those things.”

  “Still, it must be very difficult for everyone.” Especially his children. Jeannie didn’t know why some people thought children under a certain age wouldn’t be affected by divorce. Her limited time teaching had shown her that all children, regardless of age, were subject to the tensions created by family problems.

  Bernie shrugged. “So what do you say? Want to ride along with me or not? I mean, I’m going and you’re going. There isn’t any reason to take two separate cars.”

  Now it was Jeannie’s turn to be evasive. She’d rejected one man and wasn’t about to enter a dead-end relationship with another, a fellow teacher at that. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Bernie seemed surprised, as if she of all people would appreciate the logic of his argument.

  Was this guy as dense as Adam—or was it just the men in Promise? “Well,” she began, “you might be separated, but you’re still married. You have a wife and three beautiful children who need their father.”

  “Yes, but…Cheryl doesn’t understand…”

  “Bernie, listen, I don’t think it’d be fair for me to hear the particulars of your marital problems. I hope, and I’m sure you do, that the two of you can work things out, and in that case going to the dance with me won’t help the situation. Also—” she took a deep breath “—I don’t mean to be unkind, but you and I work in the same school. It seems to me that someone who didn’t know the two of us might believe I was somehow involved in the breakup of your marriage.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “People might not think so if I turn up with you at the biggest dance of the year. How is anyone to know I’m not your date?”

  “Oh.” He buried his hands deeper in his pockets. “Cheryl’s going.”

  “With a date?” If so, that would explain everything.

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  That was it, Jeannie thought. If his wife did attend the dance with another man, he wanted to prove that he was capable of finding himself a partner, too.

  “Bernie, listen,” Jeannie said as gently as she could. “I’m sorry about you and Cheryl, really sorry, but I don’t think showing up with me at the dance would be very smart. You have children. Don’t throw away your marriage by doing something that stupid.”

  “Who are you—Dr. Phil?” Although the question was sarcastic, his look was sheepish.

  “No, just someone who cares about families.”

  Bernie lowered his eyes. “You’re right.”

  “Ms. French?” Emma Bishop poked her head into the classroom. “Oh, hi, Mr. Benton,” she said. “There’s a message for you in the office, Ms. French,” she announced. “Mrs. Caldwell asked me to let you know.”

  “Thanks, Emma.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Bernie said and left her classroom, his expression so woebegone it was painful to see.

  On her way out of the school, she stopped at the office.

  “The message was from Mr. Jordan,” Martie Caldwell, the secretary, told her.

  Oh, no. What now? “Sheriff Jordan called for me here at the school?”

  “No, it was Max Jordan, from the western-wear shop next to Tumbleweed Books. He told me to tell you your order’s in.”

  “But I didn’t order anything.”

  Martie shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him about that. All I did was take the call.”

  Jeannie felt a headache coming on. Her temples throbbed, and she was in no mood to deal with what was sure to be a waste of time. Whatever had been ordered had nothing to do with her, but it meant a trip to the store to sort out the misunderstanding. A trip she wasn’t pleased to make.

  First Bernie, now this.

  She was lucky enough to find a parking space in front of Jordan’s Town and Country Western Wear. She’d met Max Jordan briefly at a church dinner in August, shortly after she moved to Promise. She remembered him as a pleasant kindly man.

  “Hello, Mr. Jordan,” she said calmly, careful not to let her irritation show.

  “You got my message, then?”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I didn’t order anything.”

  Max reached behind the counter and produced a box. “It arrived this afternoon.”

  “But I didn’t place the order.”

  “I know. Adam did. Funny thing is, I couldn’t get my son to deliver this.” He shook his head. “Came in here one day a couple weeks back, real upset with himself. I tried to get him to talk about it and he damn near bit my head off.”

  “What’s in the box?” Jeannie asked when Adam’s father paused long enough to take a breath.

  “A blouse.”

  “Blouse?”

  “That’s right, a fancy silk one. Real pretty, I might add. Adam described it for me and asked me to find a blouse exactly like it.” He gestured toward the box. “He knows I don’t carry women’s wear other than the western variety, but he insisted I try. It took me some time, but I did manage to locate one that resembled the picture Adam drew.” He opened the box and lifted out a blouse exactly like the one that had been ruined by the barbecue sauce.

  “That’s it!” Jeannie cried.

  “Adam seemed to think so.”

  “But he didn’t need to do that.”

  Max frowned. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’ve never seen my son this twisted up over a woman.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Jeannie said firmly.

  “So Adam claims.” Max shook his head again. He returned the blouse to its box, tucking it inside the protective tissue covering.

  “Thank Adam for me,” she told him when he handed her the package.

  “You can’t tell him yourself?” he asked. “Do I look like Western Union to you two? Adam asks me to tell you this, and you ask me to tell him that. Seems a bit ridiculous.”

  Jeannie had to smile. “You’re right, Mr. Jordan. I’ll let Adam know at the first opportunity.”

  Max’s face broke into a wide grin and he nodded approvingly. “You know, you two would make a fine couple if you gave each other a chance.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “The castles in the Loire Valley,” Dovie said, closing her eyes as if she were visiting them all over again. “Nessa, I swear I’ve never seen anything more spectacular in my life.”

  Nessa agreed. She’d felt the same way on her first trip to France. The summer homes of royalty…well, they were like something out of a fairy tale.

  Dovie hadn’t stopped talking about the trip all morning. “We’re going back,” she insisted. “Soon. Next year.”

  “Once just isn’t enough, is it?” Nessa asked, wishing she and Leon could have had the opportunity to visit France again before his death.

  “I don’t know why Frank and I waited as long as we did, and the antiques…oh, Nessa, it was like walking through the doors of paradise.” She closed her eyes again and smiled ruefully. “I’m making a nuisance of myself, aren’t I?”

  “Nonsense.” Nessa enjoyed Dovie’s bubbling enthusiasm and if she wasn’t responding as excitedly as her sister-in-law thought she should…well, there was a good reason. While Dovie was talking, Nessa was trying to find a way to tell her about Gordon’s visit.

  “I know how it is when people return from vacation,” Dovie said as she flitted from one end of the store to the other, unable to stay still. “They expect everyone else to feel the same as they did.”

  “But I do,” Nessa assured her, and it was true. “I loved going to France. I loved visiting Provence, I loved sitting in a café in Marseilles—they say if you’re there long enough, you’ll see the whole world go by. Most of all, Dovie, I loved walking in Paris.”

  Dovie nodded. “Walking along the Seine at dusk, with Frank’s arm around me, hearing music in the background…” Dovie sighed, then shook her head. “Time to get back to the real world. I can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of the shop while I was away.”r />
  “It was my pleasure, Dovie. I mean that.”

  “I wish you’d let me pay you.”

  Nessa wouldn’t hear of it. She inhaled deeply, her hands tense at her sides. It was now or never. “Actually, while you were away, I met a friend of yours—well, more of a former friend, someone you might even have forgotten—”

  The phone rang just then, and Dovie whirled around to reach for it.

  Nessa didn’t know who was on the other end, but Dovie spoke excitedly for several minutes. Then she was silent, murmuring occasionally as the other person spoke. “That was Savannah,” she said, hanging up the phone. Her look was pensive, sober.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Dovie walked into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” she offered, but Nessa shook her head. Dovie added sugar to her cup, stirring slowly. “I haven’t heard from Mary, not once. I phoned and left a message, but she didn’t return my call, and now Savannah tells me she hasn’t talked to Mary in weeks.”

  “Did Mary know when you and Frank were due back?” Nessa asked.

  “She knew,” Dovie murmured, clearly hurt that her friend hadn’t called.

  “Call her again,” Nessa suggested. It seemed the obvious solution.

  “I know I should, but I’m the one who’s always phoning. I’ve asked Mary a hundred times what’s wrong and she insists nothing is. Even Phil seems defensive when I talk to him. Ellie tells me that Cal and Glen have noticed things aren’t right with their parents, too. Frank and I are just baffled. Cal thinks his parents might be getting a divorce, but I doubt that.”

  “Still, something isn’t right.” Nessa felt Dovie’s concerns were legitimate.

  “Did she drop in while I was away?” Dovie asked next, still stirring her tea, although the sugar had long since dissolved.

  “No, come to think of it, she didn’t.” When Nessa had first moved to Promise, Mary had helped find her house, which hadn’t been listed. The couple who’d purchased Ellie’s family home had recently been transferred and were looking for a quick easy sale. Nessa would never have heard about it if not for Mary. They’d known each other casually for a number of years, and Nessa had been delighted to resume their acquaintance. However, in the past few months, the relationship had fallen off. Mary just never seemed to call anyone these days or go anywhere by herself, or even with Phil.

  “I’m beginning to think it might be a medical problem,” Dovie said, staring sightlessly into the distance.

  “Could be,” Nessa concurred. “Why don’t you ask Phil?”

  “I couldn’t do that! If Mary or Phil wants to tell me, well, that’s one thing. But since they prefer to pretend nothing’s wrong, what can I do?”

  “I don’t know how to advise you,” Nessa told her sister-in-law. “I just don’t know.”

  Nessa left the shop midmorning and spent the rest of the day berating herself for being a sneak. She wished desperately that she’d mentioned Gordon’s visit when Dovie had phoned from New York. Because she hadn’t, the entire episode had taken on gigantic proportions in her mind. Before Savannah’s call, she’d mentioned meeting Gordon and managed to get out everything but his name—the most important part. And after the call, they’d been caught up in the situation with Mary and there really hadn’t been the opportunity to talk about anything else.

  By the afternoon, Nessa had reasoned it out and was content once again. Dovie was happily married; she wouldn’t care if Nessa and Gordon were friends. And since it made no difference one way or the other, Nessa saw no urgent reason to tell Dovie immediately. Or so she convinced herself.

  That evening, when Gordon’s call came precisely at seven, Nessa settled in her favorite chair. They talked for a few minutes the way they always did at the beginning of a conversation. Gordon would tell her a little something about his day, then ask about hers.

  “Dovie’s back.” She mentioned this in an offhand tone, awaiting his response. Even after talking to him every night, getting to know him, sharing her life and thoughts with him in lengthy conversations, Nessa wondered what he’d say, how he’d react.

  “I suspected as much when you said you wouldn’t be working at the store any longer.”

  “She had a wonderful time.”

  “I imagine so. My first trip to Europe was special, too.” He went on to tell her about the months he’d spent in Germany and Italy, and soon the conversation flowed as it always did with them. Soon they were laughing, sharing impressions, exchanging experiences.

  “I didn’t tell Dovie about you.” Her admission came reluctantly. Nessa felt she should tell Gordon what she’d done—or rather, what she hadn’t done. “I know it’s silly, and I can’t even explain why I didn’t.”

  Gordon went silent and Nessa’s heart raced fearfully for a moment. Then he laughed. Amusement was the last response she’d anticipated.

  “You find this funny?”

  “No, not funny. It’s just that you and I are more alike than I realized. I didn’t mention meeting you to Miles, either. The fact is, he knows nothing about my visit to Promise.”

  “Oh, and I didn’t say a word to Sylvia, either.” Nessa laughed, too. “What’s wrong with us?” she asked, feeling considerably better in light of Gordon’s confession.

  “Nothing’s wrong with us,” he replied. “We have a right to our privacy.”

  Nessa wasn’t entirely sure she agreed. Certainly Sylvia wouldn’t. And Dovie?

  “Once when I was a kid I found a beautiful rock,” Gordon said slowly. “At least I thought it was beautiful. It glittered blue and green and gold. I put my rock in a cigar box my grandfather had given me and I didn’t tell anyone about it. I knew everyone would ooh and aah when they saw this treasure, and I’d be the envy of all my friends, but still I didn’t tell.”

  Nessa closed her eyes and listened, feeling like a child who’d happened on a treasure herself.

  “Even now, I can’t explain why I didn’t brag about that rock to my friends. If I had to make a guess, I’d say that in my five-year-old mind, I’d decided I wanted to keep something so wonderful to myself.”

  “You were afraid that anyone else who saw it might try to diminish its beauty,” Nessa said quietly.

  “Yes, that, too,” Gordon concurred.

  “I think that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to tell Dovie.” It made perfect sense now. It was the same reason she hadn’t told Sylvia or her sons that she’d met someone. She didn’t want to hear their comments or speculation, didn’t want to answer their questions. She didn’t want them to make this ordinary.

  “By nature I’m not an impulsive man. I don’t know what came over me the day I reached Dovie’s answering machine and drove to Promise, anyway. But whatever it was, I’m grateful.”

  “I am, too,” Nessa murmured. She hesitated. “Are we being a pair of old fools, Gordon?”

  “Perhaps, but if the way I feel about you is considered foolish, then fine—I’ll be foolish. I haven’t felt this alive in years.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “You mentioned that big dance next week.”

  “Yes.” She’d told him a great deal about the community and the people of Promise.

  “I never was much of a dancer. Oh, I can manage my way across a dance floor, but I’m no Fred Astaire. And yet…”

  “Yes?”

  “Last night as I drifted off to sleep, all I could think about was dancing with you. Holding you in my arms.”

  “Oh, Gordon.”

  “Maybe I should come back to Promise.”

  “For the dance?” Nessa’s heart surged with excitement. “Could you? Would you?”

  “When exactly is it?”

  She told him and heard his sigh of regret.

  “I’d be there if I could,” he told her. “Unfortunately we’ll have to do it another time.”

  Jane Patterson sat in her rocking chair counting stitches on her knitting needle when Cal walked into the room. Her ankles had swollen with
the pregnancy and she’d propped them up on the ottoman.

  Cal waited patiently until she’d finished. “That was Glen on the phone. He and Ellie are coming over.”

  “Tonight?” It was unusual for Cal’s brother to make a social visit, especially on a midweek evening, since he was at the ranch every day. Because Ellie owned the local feed store, they lived in town and Glen commuted to the ranch, which was the arrangement that made the most sense for them. The two couples saw each other fairly often, but for the most part, Jane and Cal drove into town, instead of the other way around.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked. Cal had been restless and short-tempered for weeks now, worrying about his parents. She understood his concern, yet wasn’t sure how she could help. She’d been giving it some thought, though. Maybe she could get in touch with a geriatric specialist she knew in California….

  “Glen and I’ve been talking,” Cal said.

  “You talk every day.”

  “About Mom and Dad, I mean.”

  Jane set her knitting aside. Savannah had recently taught her to knit, and she’d finished her first project a week earlier—a lovely yellow baby blanket. Now she was moving on to booties and a sweater.

  “Did you notice anything different about Mom last Sunday?” Cal asked. It was a question he asked with increasing frequency. “You’re a doctor, you should be able to tell when someone’s ill.”

  Jane had noticed a number of things about her mother-in-law and she had her suspicions. But she couldn’t give a medical diagnosis unless Mary took the proper tests. Nor did she feel comfortable sharing her suspicions.

  “Your mom looked healthy,” she said, hoping that would reassure him.

  “But not happy,” Cal added, frowning.

  “She did make an effort,” Jane reminded him.

  “My dad made an effort, too, and everyone could see it was an effort.”

  “Cal,” she said, trying to calm him, “let’s not jump to conclusions here. We need more evidence before we—”

  “These are my parents, Jane, and I’ll tell you right now, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

  “My attitude? What—”