by Amy Vastine
“Mitéra, thirty-four does not make me unmarriageable.”
“Elena, it’s not just your age. Your father’s health is not improving—he doesn’t have many good days left. He wants to walk his only daughter down the aisle. It’s an important tradition, to have his blessing. If you love Dylan, why wait? Get married soon, while your father is still alive.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. This was supposed to be a happy weekend. Daddy had been in good spirits when she talked to him yesterday, and that’s what was important. Her mother had a way of getting under Elena’s skin. Tradition! It was highly overrated. Elena had spent her entire childhood trying to feed the ache in her mother’s heart for a traditional Greek upbringing—in America. She had the worst of all worlds: the American children turned their noses at the fragrant ethnic foods her mother sent for lunch; the Greek children in town snubbed her for not knowing the latest American celebrity drama. It wasn’t until she found her first job in Chicago that she settled into a place she finally fit.
She loved her job and her life. She loved Dylan. And she knew he felt the same way about her. She opened the bathroom door and squared her shoulders. All she had to do was get through the next two days, and they could start the next phase in their lives.
CHAPTER TWO
Dylan accelerated as they got closer to the farmhouse; he couldn’t wait to see his mother.
“So how many girls have you introduced to your mom?”
“Momma met all my school girlfriends,” he answered easily.
“And how many was that exactly?”
“Oh, come on now, I was a bit of a catch. I had my share of girls.”
He heard her take a sharp breath and reached out to squeeze her hand. “It’s not like any of them were serious, and I haven’t brought anyone home in five years.” He sensed it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, so he changed the subject.
“You know, my dad was the love of Momma’s life. After he died, she held it together for me and Jolene.” He had been a taciturn fourteen-year-old and Jolene a rebellious sixteen when their dad died. Anyplace else, his family would have fallen apart. “This town took care of us. They helped Momma, and made sure we were okay. They didn’t show their best side back at the diner, but this town, it takes care of its own.” His voice caught and Elena squeezed his knee. He knew Mr. Leeland and Rose didn’t mean anything by their comments, but Elena was sensitive about standing out. She’d told him her insecurity stemmed from the awful way she’d been treated as a kid. He hoped this trip to Bellhaven showed her just how special the town was. A nerve twitched in his heart; what if Elena didn’t want to go along with his plans?
He slowed as they turned into the gravel driveway that would take them the last mile up to the house. The sight of his home warmed his soul. The scent of drying leaves filled the fresh air; it was such a refreshing change from the exhaust fumes of Chicago.
The yellow siding and green shutters of the two-story house rose up to greet them. The front door opened as soon as he stopped, and his mother waved at them from the front porch. He parked and ran up the front porch steps, giving his mother a hug and picking her up off the ground. She was no slouch at five foot eleven, but she felt slight in his arms. At her protest, he set her down and looked into her bright blue eyes. Her face looked wearier than he remembered. Jolene said she’d been taking pain medication for her arthritis every day now.
“It’s so good to see you.” She slapped him hard on his arm. “You haven’t been home since last Christmas.”
He hung his head. “I know, but I’ll explain later, okay?” He turned. “Momma, this is Elena.”
Elena had been waiting on the bottom step. She gave his mother a bright smile, one of the genuine ones, not the business smile she’d been sporting at the diner. She climbed the stairs.
As she reached the top step, her foot caught on the loose brick he had instinctively stepped over. He reached out as she stumbled, but he caught her a second too late. She grabbed the container housing his mother’s roses and sent it crashing down the stairs.
His mother placed both hands on her mouth. “My roses!”
He helped Elena regain her footing. “You okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded and turned to his mother. “I’m so sorry.”
His mother was staring at the shattered clay pot and the roses lying on the walkway in a clump of soil.
“Those were the roses I was going to enter in the Winter Fair. I’ve been cultivating these hybrids for four years now.”
“I’ll repot the flowers, Momma. They’ll be fine.”
She was staring at the flowers as if someone had just died.
Elena looked stricken. “I can help—what do you need? A new pot? I’ll go out and get it.” Her voice was high and panicky. He rubbed her arm to let her know it was okay. His mother could be a little nutty about her contest entries.
She stepped down and began examining the remains of her flowers. She clicked her tongue. “The roots have broken. I’m not sure these can recover.”
“I can get you new ones,” Elena tried. “My mom knows this great store in New York, I can ask her to ship—” Dylan put his hand on the small of her back and pressed a finger to her lips. He felt a tremor go through her and he pulled her close. Her tension eased just a notch.
“Momma!” he said more sharply than he intended. “We’ll deal with the flowers later. Come, get to know Elena.”
His mother stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “You may not want to wear those heels `round here,” she said with the maternal admonishment Dylan knew so well.
Elena’s body went rigid in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hayes. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
His mother walked up the stairs and patted Elena’s shoulder. “Not much to be done now. You must be hungry. Why don’t you come inside.”
“Where’s Jolene?” His sister should’ve been out here, with all the commotion they’d caused.
“You were so late coming, she decided to go home.”
Their quick pit stop at the diner had turned into an hour with all the townspeople wanting to meet Elena, but it was good not having Jolene around. He could talk to his mother about his plans before he broke the news to Elena.
“She’ll be back in the morning. She and Jake are havin’ some troubles, so she wanted to get home tonight.”
Dylan turned to Elena. “Jolene moved into a cottage on Jake’s ranch. Momma doesn’t approve.”
His mother gave him a hard look. “Those two are fools. They aren’t right for each other—too different—and the sooner they realize it, the less heartbreak for both of ‘em.”
Elena was now stiffer than a board, and the plastic smile was back on her face. This was not going the way he’d planned.
“Why don’t you take Elena to your room? You can sleep in the hayloft.”
Dylan nodded and began hauling their luggage out of the trunk. “Hope she has some real clothes in that big bag,” his mother muttered as he passed her on the way inside.
“Momma!” A quick glance at Elena told him she’d heard his mother’s not-so-quiet whisper.
Dylan led Elena up the creaky wooden steps and noticed her holding tightly to the banister, and taking every step with exceeding care. He led her to his room and opened the door.
Her gasp told him he might have miscalculated the success of this holiday trip.
CHAPTER THREE
Dylan’s childhood room was like a set from an old Western film. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, posters of rodeo stars hung on the walls, trophies of all sorts teetered on shelves. She walked over and read the engraved lettering on a few of them: Best Junior Calf Roper, Best Exhibitor—4H natural lamb, First Place—barrel races.
Her heart was pounding so hard, she expected it to pop out of her chest. Dylan opened the closet door. “I’ll take out some clothes so you have room to hang your stuff.”
She stared. Plaid shirts hung in a neat row. The only clothes in his Chicago closet were suits. She’d bought him a pair of weekend jeans, and casual shirts.
He’d grabbed a cowboy hat off a rack, placed it on his head, and gave her a broad smile, looking a lot like the star of a country western film.
“Dylan?” He didn’t have a twin brother. Not that she knew of. Maybe aliens had abducted him, and sent him back as a long lost character from the Wild West.
He grinned. “You like the old me?”
“The old you?”
“Yeah, this is me, you know, when I’m not a lawyer.”
“So what are you when you’re not a cowboy?”
He laughed and stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. She molded against him and he dropped his head, touching his forehead to hers. She savored the warmth of his breath and drew strength from it. She placed her hand on his chest and felt the strong thump of his heart beneath his shirt, the beat that matched her own. She could get through anything with him by her side.
“When I’m not a cowboy, I’m your dutiful slave.”
She lifted her head and he dropped a light kiss on her mouth. It was the briefest touch, but it sent a delicious tingle down to her toes. Two years of being with this man, and he could still make her feel like it was the first time they’d kissed. “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I know Momma will love you.”
That was the plan.
“I don’t think she will.” Her stomach churned. His mother hated her, she could tell. She had a lifetime of experience with people who instantly disliked her. They didn’t usually get over it.
“Don’t mind her—she’s gotten a little cranky lately, but she’ll warm up once she gets to know you.”
Elena tried to smile, but her lips quivered. Dylan pulled her closer. He was the one person she couldn’t fake it with. He placed a hand on the back of her head. “It’ll be okay, darlin’.”
Since when does he call me darlin’?
“Just be yourself. Don’t put on an act—she’ll love you for who you are.”
She stiffened. “I’m not putting on an act—this is me.” She didn’t mean for her voice to be testy.
His mother called them for dinner and Dylan took her hand as they went downstairs. Dylan filled the table with bright conversation. She watched him savor the homemade pot roast and apple pie his mother served. They had a happy life in Chicago, but she’d never seen him this animated over inane chatter, or seen his expression dissolve into pure pleasure as he ate. Their usual dinner conversation was about world events, or the latest happenings in the Chicago business world. She didn’t know any of the people he was talking about now.
“So I’ll need to teach you how to shoot tomorrow before we go to the turkey hunt.”
“The turkey hunt,” she repeated, knowing she sounded stupid.
“It’s a blast, you’ll see,” he said reassuringly.
Visions of wearing camo and handling a gun, shuddered through her brain. This was going to end badly.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Well, come on over here, darlin’.” Before Elena knew what was happening, Jolene Hayes had encased her in a hug. Not knowing what to do, Elena let Jolene envelope her, trying not to sneeze when the other woman’s hair tickled her nose.
Dylan’s sister was a classic, blue-eyed American beauty with flowing locks worthy of a shampoo commercial. Elena tried not to think about her own black hair, unruly and totally unstyleable. She had put it up in a ponytail. It was much warmer in Bellhaven than in Chicago, and her hair was rebelling against the mild humidity.
“Okay, let her breathe.” Dylan untangled her from Jolene and put his arm around her possessively.
“Look at my baby brother being all protective of his girl.”
“That’s my job—to shield her from vultures.”
Elena gently brushed away his arm. “I can take care of myself, thank you.” He was taking the cowboy routine a bit far. He had shown up today in one of those plaid shirts from his closet, jeans and cowboy boots. He’d actually tipped his cowboy hat when she came down the stairs.
Jolene leaned forward and whispered loudly, “There’s still hope for you. Escape from this madness while you still have the chance.”
Dylan swatted his sister playfully.
“I’m not kiddin’.” Jolene’s smile disappeared, and suddenly the air grew thick. Elena felt Dylan’s grip on her tighten. “Momma will eat us alive if we don’t get a turkey on the hunt.”
“Jolene!” Dylan said warningly.
Elena smiled nervously. Maybe she could get Jolene on her side. “Well, I’m used to intense community events. I grew up in Syracuse, where there’s a huge Greek community. Every year there’s this grape stomping festival to make authentic Greek wine and whoever produces the most juice is crowned queen for the year. My feet are still purple from all the years my mom stood there screaming, ‘stomp Elena! Stomp, stomp, stomp!’” She said the last part in her mother’s throaty Greek accent, trying to be funny, but the words came out all shrieky.
Jolene stared at her and Dylan cleared his throat. “Well, hopefully it won’t be that bad,” he said softly.
Elena swallowed.
“All righty now,” Mrs. Hayes’s stern voice rang out. “Let’s get goin’.”
They went outside and Mrs. Hayes stopped on the top step. Elena followed her gaze to the roses. Dylan had re-potted them last night. Elena didn’t know a lot about flowers, but even she could tell they were wilted. Her heart sank to her toes.
Mrs. Hayes shook her head, “I was finally gonna beat Rose with those roses.” She picked up a watering can and sprinkled water over the soil, then reverently picked up the container and set it on the bottom step.
They’re just flowers! Elena wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue. This was why she loved Chicago; people didn’t sweat the small stuff.
Jolene handed her a bow and a couple of arrows. Seriously? The bow was more than half her height. “This is my starter bow from high school—it’ll be easier for you to handle.”
Everyone else’s bows looked like they’d come from a medieval battlefield.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dylan took Elena to a clear patch of land in front of the porch while Jolene and his mother loaded the truck. He stepped up behind her. “First, feet shoulder width apart.” He put his hands on her hips and positioned her sideways. Her back was to his chest. He took her left hand and put it on the bow. Her skin felt soft against his, her hand delicate.
He kissed the top of her head. “You know, I’m thinkin’ maybe I should take the whole day and teach you how to shoot.”
She smiled up at him. “I like that idea. I don’t actually want to shoot a turkey.”
“It’s not that hard—you’ll get the hang of it.” He took her right hand and showed her how to position the arrow and then use three fingers to pull the string back and let the arrow go. She fit perfectly against his body, like she’d been made just for him. A knife twisted in his gut. What if I’m making a mistake?
He went to retrieve the arrow. “Now, try by yourself.” He looked around to make sure there were no animals nearby, then moved behind her.
Her hands were trembling.
“Just get used to releasing the arrow. Don’t worry about where it goes,” he said soothingly. She took a breath.
“Time to go,” his mother yelled just as Elena released the arrow, inadvertently turning towards her voice. They both watched in horror as the arrow sailed through the air before dropping precipitously.
Elena screamed as the arrow fell right on top of the not-so-prizeworthy roses. The pot rocked on the step as they ran toward it. It tipped over, crashing against the brick walkway.
He ran to inspect the damage.
Elena came up beside him. “Oh no, your mom will hate me forever.”
He turned to make sure his mother hadn’t witnessed the latest attack on her flowers. “Listen, I’ll tell her it was me. N
ow let’s get going before we miss the hunt.”
“Here, take this bow—I’m dangerous with it.”
“Oh no, darlin’, that’s your ticket into the hunt. If you aren’t shooting, you don’t get to come with me.”
She gave him the Elena look that said, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s an important town tradition, and it’ll be fun, try it out, just for me?” He gave her his best smile, the one he knew she couldn’t resist.
She smiled. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Mister.”
He dragged her to the car, ignoring her ramblings about ordering roses online and surreptitiously replacing the ruined ones. I need to tell Momma to lay off Elena. He didn’t need his mother making an already difficult conversation worse.
CHAPTER SIX
“Looks like we’re the last ones here.” Mrs. Hayes made her way to a far field where a crowd was gathered. Elena hurried behind, struggling to wade through the mud. She didn’t dare glance at her formerly fabulous boots. They had to be sacrificed: the mud precluded her wearing sneakers, and she hadn’t brought that much stuff in her “big” bag.
Mr. Leeland was speaking into a bull horn. “Okay folks, I got thirteen toms and a half-dozen hens. There’s thirty-two families here, so some of you are gonna have to go get one of them frozen things from old Cregg’s store.”
“Hey, I heard that,” someone shouted good-naturedly.
“Alright, everyone—ATVs are ready.”
The what? Dylan grabbed her hand and led her to a two-seater vehicle with four oversized tires. She eyed it dubiously.
“Is that thing safe?” She took the helmet he handed her.
