They moved to the bench in front of Al Lemon’s shoe repair shop so that Sandy could get off her feet and sit in the shade of the awning. There, Gwen pressed for details about her pregnancy: if she’d had any unusual food cravings, how she had decorated the baby’s nursery, whether they’d chosen a name, and if she was nervous about giving birth. Sandy answered honestly, her responses peppered with laughter. It was obvious she was excited about becoming a mother.
“Enough about me,” Sandy finally said. “I want to know what it’s like living in Chicago! Is it like the movies and magazines make it out to be?”
Gwen shrugged. “Maybe not that exciting.”
She talked about her time at Worthington, what it was like to live among so many people, how she’d eventually gotten used to the noise. She spoke of meals eaten at fancy restaurants, the bright lights up and down Michigan Avenue, and even what it was like to push her way onto a crowded train car. She talked about her apartment in the city, rented after she had graduated, small but cozy, a home of its own. Finally she talked about Kent, about how they had met, his important job, and that her parents adored him.
Sandy leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Is he handsome?”
Gwen nodded, a little embarrassed; she didn’t want her friend to think she was bragging. “So is John,” she added.
The truth was, John Fiderlein and Kent Brookings couldn’t have looked more different. Unlike Kent, who was prim, proper, and always impeccably dressed, Sandy’s husband was big and boisterous, with broad, muscular shoulders, a man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.
Sandy laughed. “I don’t think you’ll see John’s face on any movie posters,” she said, “but he managed to steal my heart all the same.”
“He’ll make a wonderful father.”
“He most definitely will,” her friend said, beaming as she rubbed her swollen belly. “Do you think you and Kent will get married?”
This was the very question Gwen had been struggling to answer. She considered opening up to Sandy, telling her about Kent’s proposal, about how she wanted to become a writer, even about how she was willing to give up a man as wonderful as Kent if that’s what it took to achieve her dream. But she couldn’t do it. Instead, she smiled and nodded. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll be praying for you,” Sandy said.
Just then, as Gwen forced herself to match her friend’s smile, a thought struck her, one she was unable to keep from voicing.
“What do you know about Hank Ellis?” she asked.
Sandy’s expression soured, much like Gwen’s mother’s had. “Why are you asking about him?”
Gwen took a deep breath. “Because the other night, I had an accident…”
Starting from when her notebook had been blown out of her hand, she spoke of her harrowing time in the river. As Sandy listened, Gwen recounted how she’d been terrified, certain she was about to die, only to be miraculously pulled from the raging water.
“It wasn’t until the next morning that I learned who had rescued me,” she finished. “It was Hank.”
“Are…are you all right?” Sandy managed.
“I am now,” Gwen answered. “But if it hadn’t been for Hank, I have no doubt that I would’ve drowned. He saved my life.”
“I believe you, of course I do,” her friend said, “but it sure flies in the face of what everyone in town says about Hank.”
“Because of what happened to his brother?”
Sandy nodded somberly. “Before the accident, most folks in town likely didn’t pay Hank much mind. He was always nice enough, but more quiet, something of a loner. But Pete was special,” she explained. “Everyone adored him. For him to die like that, especially after what happened to his mother, it caused people to turn on Hank. Now, most can’t stand the sight of him. After all, it was his fault Pete died.”
“That would explain my father’s reaction.”
Her pregnant friend’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”
Gwen related what her mother had told her—that Warren had insinuated Hank might have been responsible for her misfortune, and that her father had eventually thrown him out of the house.
“That’s terrible!” Sandy exclaimed. “Even with what happened to his brother, that doesn’t mean Hank isn’t capable of doing good. Saving your life is nothing short of heroic!”
Gwen was relieved to discover that she wasn’t the only person who thought so. “I just wish I’d had the chance to thank him.”
“What’s stopping you?” Sandy asked.
“My parents would be furious,” Gwen replied. “They made it perfectly clear that they don’t want me to have anything to do with Hank.”
“It’s not like you’re going to marry the guy! He saved your life! The least you can do is tell him that you’re grateful.”
“Do you really think I should?” Gwen asked, thinking about how angry her father got at the mere mention of Hank’s name.
But Sandy didn’t seem concerned. She nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” she said. “It would only be polite.”
Her friend’s certainty began to grow on Gwen. “I suppose I could look up his address in the telephone directory.”
“He and his father live off Miller’s Road,” Sandy added helpfully.
Gwen could see how it would happen. It was simple, really. She would go out to Hank’s home, thank him for what he’d done, offer her condolences for Pete’s death, and tell him that she was sorry for her father’s rude behavior.
That would be that. There was only one problem.
Somehow, she had to convince her father to let her borrow the car.
When Gwen pushed open the door to the Buckton Bakery, she felt like a little girl again. Everything was just as she remembered, as if she’d been there only yesterday. Three glass display cases were lined up side by side, showing off the day’s delicacies. On the wall behind, loaves of bread were arranged to catch a customer’s eye. A brass cash register sat at one end, its keys worn smooth from decades of being pressed.
But the most familiar thing of all was the smell.
She recognized the richness of butter, the sweetness of sugar, the unmistakable hint of chocolate, a whiff of spices, all wrapped in the warmth of the ovens. Everything mixed together, creating an aroma that made her mouth water.
“Gwennie!” her father shouted as he stepped out of the back room. Flour dusted his hair and clothes. A smudge of chocolate darkened the corner of his mouth, evidence that he’d been sampling his work, trying to get the recipe just right. Even though Warren was messy, Gwen happily embraced him when he came to her with his arms wide. “Now ain’t this a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you up and about so soon,” he said. “You sure you’re feelin’ up to it?”
“I couldn’t take being cooped up in the house anymore,” she answered. “I needed to get some fresh air and stretch my legs.”
“So you came to see me,” her father declared proudly.
“Of course,” Gwen said with a laugh. She looked around the bakery. “Everything’s just the way I remember it.”
“I’m thinkin’ of makin’ some changes. Maybe add a few—” he began, but abruptly stopped as he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Shoot! I’ve got somethin’ in the oven and don’t want it to burn. I’ll be right back.”
Once her father had left, Gwen bent down in front of the nearest display case for a closer look. Cookies were lined up in rows: chocolate chip, oatmeal, and peanut butter. Sugar doughnuts, cream-filled éclairs, and long johns topped with a maple glaze were arranged on another shelf. She knew from experience that everything tasted as good as it looked. But then, when Gwen glanced at the adjacent case, she frowned; it held a two-tiered wedding cake complete with a miniature bride and groom perched on top, decorated with flowers made of frosting.
Gwen couldn’t help but think of Kent.
If she accepted his proposal, in a matter of months she would be wearing a white wedding dress, while he’d don a tuxe
do. They would look just like the plastic couple before her. There’d be a big party in celebration, and there would undoubtedly be cake, although Gwen suspected that Kent would probably want something fancier than one of her father’s creations.
Once again, she was filled with doubt. Should she marry him?
“Fresh out of the oven,” Warren announced, interrupting her troubling thoughts. In his hand was something golden, flaky, and steaming.
Gwen took it and popped it in her mouth. Instantly, she was flooded with amazing flavors. It was so delicious that she closed her eyes, enjoying it.
“I love it!” she gushed with a smile. “This is going to sell like crazy.”
“I hope so,” her father answered.
“While I’m more than happy to eat such a delicious treat, I have to admit that I stopped by for a reason,” Gwen explained. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.”
“Name it, sweetie.”
“I was wondering if I could borrow the car tomorrow.”
“Got something planned?”
“I thought I’d go for a drive, maybe head out of town a ways,” she answered, the half-truth uncomfortable. “Go visit some people…”
Convinced that her father would see through her weak attempt at concealing her true intentions, that he’d know she wanted to talk to Hank, Gwen steeled herself for another outburst.
Instead, he said, “Sounds good to me. If you’re out and about, you really oughta go see Sandy. You can tell her all ’bout the weddin’.”
Even as Gwen struggled to smile, she was filled with guilt for misleading her father. She considered coming clean and telling him the truth, explaining that despite his contempt for Hank, she needed to thank him for saving her.
Before she could, Warren added, “Just be careful. You never know if that damned Hank Ellis is out on the roads. He’s already bothered you once, which is too often in my book.”
“Dad, that isn’t—”
But as she started to defend Hank, Gwen was interrupted by a woman entering the bakery.
“Mrs. Spencer!” Warren welcomed his customer. “I made more of those dinner rolls you liked so much. Let me get you some.”
Listening to her father, Gwen knew that her intuition had been right; it would’ve been a huge mistake to tell him the truth. He couldn’t understand why she needed to do this, so it would have to stay a secret. Tomorrow, she would drive to Hank’s house and thank him, and no one in her family would be any the wiser.
And maybe then I can start figuring out what I’m going to do about Kent…
Chapter Ten
HANK CARRIED THE CHAIR out of the workshop and placed it in the back of his truck, then he leaped up into the bed, securing it in place with rope. Though he doubted it would shift during the drive, he still draped wool blankets over the chair for added protection. After all the work he’d put into it, it’d be a hell of a shame if it got nicked now. He straightened up and looked to the sky. The early-afternoon sun was hot, so Hank pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Damn it!” he swore with a wince. Lost in thought, he’d absent-mindedly touched his painful bruise.
He hopped down out of the truck and looked at his reflection in its side mirror. The skin around his cheekbone was mottled an ugly mix of purple and brown where Jed Ringer had landed a clean blow. While Hank had managed a few punches of his own, bruising his knuckles and hopefully making the loudmouth’s mug even uglier, it was little consolation.
You’re a damn fool for letting him get to you…
The whole drive home, Skip had talked a mile a minute, laughing about what had happened. He reveled in their winning the game and even seemed to have enjoyed the brawl, bloody nose and all. Hank had let him talk, nodding occasionally, but on the inside he had been embarrassed. By reacting the way he had, letting his fists do the talking, he’d reinforced the stereotype people had about him. If anything, he’d made things worse.
Hank Ellis is a hothead.
Acting like that, it’s no wonder he got his brother killed.
It’s best to stay far away from him.
Once Skip left, Hank had gone to his workshop and tried to use his tools to take his mind off his troubles. Early this morning, before the sun had begun coloring the horizon, he’d finished the chair. A couple of hours later, he had telephoned the customer and made plans to drop it off in the afternoon.
Hank stretched in the sun. Usually work gave him peace of mind, but last night, even as he chiseled in the final details on the chair’s headpiece, a persistent thought kept intruding. No matter how hard he tried pushing it away, he hadn’t succeeded for long.
He could not stop thinking about Gwen Foster.
Maybe it was because he’d talked about her with Skip. Maybe it was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying on the bank of the Sawyer, lit by the moon, her hair wet against her face. Or maybe it was because rescuing her had been the first good thing he’d done in a long time. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help but wonder what Gwen would’ve thought of his fight with Jed. Sadly, he suspected he knew the answer.
She’d think her father was right about me. She’d think I was dangerous, someone to stay far away from.
Hank shook his head. He was a fool for thinking about her. It was pointless anyway. He was never going to see Gwen Foster again.
Back in his workshop, Hank looked at the clock. He still had an hour before he needed to be in Mansfield to deliver the chair. If he left now, he’d arrive too early, so instead he flipped on the radio, grabbed his broom, and started sweeping up wood shavings, bent nails, and other debris from his work. He was humming along to “You Belong to Me” by Jo Stafford when he heard tires crunch the gravel of his drive.
Hank turned, a curious look on his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Skip hadn’t said anything about coming over and his father was still inside, sleeping off the previous night’s drinking.
So who was it?
Outside, he didn’t recognize the car, a black sedan, and couldn’t see in the windshield because of the sun’s glare. So when the door opened and the driver stepped out, Hank was stunned to see that it was the very person he couldn’t stop thinking about.
It was Gwen.
This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…
Half a mile from Hank Ellis’s home, Gwen considered turning around. It was the same thought she’d had five minutes earlier, and five minutes before that, all the way back to when she’d turned the key in the ignition of her parents’ car. She felt nervous, as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, and was afraid of getting caught. She supposed that it had a lot to do with the fact that she’d outright lied to her father about why she wanted to borrow the car. It made her feel guilty.
To make matters worse, Kent still hadn’t called. Last night, sitting in the living room while her mother read and her father listened to a radio program, Gwen had had to fight the urge to pace the floor. She looked at the telephone intently, as if she was willing it to ring. So much between them remained unresolved that it was becoming a burdensome weight to bear. She’d tried to smile, to act as if it hadn’t bothered her, but from the looks Meredith kept giving her, she supposed she hadn’t done a very good job of it. The more time that had passed, the angrier Gwen had grown, mostly with herself, but also at Kent. He had put her into a position where she’d lied to her parents. Because of him, she had to pretend everything was fine, that she was excited to get married. It frustrated her that while Kent seemed to have no trouble forgetting about her, she couldn’t return his disinterest.
Gwen rounded a curve and saw Hank’s place ahead, right where Sandy had said it would be. She lifted her foot off the gas pedal and the car began to slow, though she wondered if she shouldn’t put it back and zoom on down the road.
The only thing crazier than coming all the way out here would be to drive past without stopping.
She had to speak with Hank, to thank him for what he’d done
. It wouldn’t take long, a few minutes at most. Then she could get back to trying to make sense of her frustrating, confusing life.
Gwen turned down the gravel drive, passed the main house, and stopped in front of an old truck. There was another building at the rear of the property. She squinted through the windshield and saw a man standing between a pair of open doors, watching her, but the afternoon sun was too bright for her to see his face clearly. With her heart speeding, Gwen took a deep breath and got out of the car.
She walked toward the man as he remained in the doorway, the sun hot on her skin, her blouse sticking to her back with sweat, and offered him a smile. It wasn’t returned. She felt reasonably sure that she knew who he was, but when she said his name, it came out sounding like a question. “Hank?”
“Afternoon, Gwen,” he answered, friendly enough.
Hank Ellis wasn’t what Gwen had expected. Not at all. Where Pete had been tall and thin, handsome enough in a lanky sort of way, Hank was broad across the shoulders and chest, his muscular arms obvious in his short-sleeved shirt. While she’d always thought of Pete as a boy, his older brother’s features were undoubtedly those of a man: piercing blue eyes regarded her closely, so intent that she couldn’t look away; his sandy-blond hair was a bit long and stubble peppered his cheeks; his voice, deep yet unthreatening, had caught her off guard. Even the bruising on his cheek, likely the result of his daring plunge into the Sawyer, made him look rugged, as if he was a hero in some Hollywood picture. Hank was rough around the edges, even a bit unkempt, and nothing like Kent, but there was no denying that she found him handsome. For as quick as her heart had pounded before, it now beat even faster.
“I…I hope you don’t mind my dropping by like this,” Gwen began, trying to keep her voice steady and her intrigue in him hidden.
He answered with a short shake of his head.
Sunday Kind of Love Page 10
