by Deb Kastner
She made her way to the living room where she knew she’d find Genevieve, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a video-game controller on her lap. The television was playing and replaying a loop of music on the introductory screen of a preschool learning game. The TV was blaring a bit too loud for a song that was, in Samantha’s opinion, obnoxious to begin with. Genevieve sat rocking herself in a soothing motion, staring blankly at the screen.
“Genevieve, honey, do you need help playing this game?” Samantha asked gently, sliding down on the floor next to the little girl and folding her legs in front of her.
Genevieve shook her head and continued to stare at the screen, her pink lips curling down at the corners.
“Do you want me to find a different game for you? I’m sure we have more choices around here somewhere.”
Again, the little girl shook her head.
Samantha’s heart sank as a realization hit her like a bullet to her chest, and made her stomach turn over in nauseating waves.
Genevieve had heard the grown-ups arguing in the other room.
The sweet girl was extra sensitive. Even if she hadn’t understood the content, it wouldn’t have been difficult for her to pick up on the tone.
Poor little thing. She’d been sitting here listening to the adults raising their voices at each other when they’d all assumed she was thoroughly engrossed in the playroom.
“Shall we turn off the TV and do something else?” Samantha suggested.
Genevieve nodded and turned her expressive brown eyes to Samantha. Samantha’s breath caught. The little girl looked so very much like her father.
“Have you ever played a piano?”
Genevieve’s gaze brightened but she shook her head. Sensing interest, Samantha had a gut feeling she was onto something. She’d noticed how intrinsically rhythmic the child was when playing with pans and spoons in the kitchen. And Genevieve often sang to herself when she thought no one was watching. Samantha suspected the little girl had a creative and artistic temperament—something with which Samantha was intimately familiar.
Music always brought Samantha peace. Maybe it would likewise benefit Genevieve.
“Well, we have a nice piano here at this house that you can play any time you want to, but at the church I’ve got an even better one. It’s called an organ, and it makes all kinds of cool sounds. You can try it if you want.”
“Yes, please.” Genevieve’s polite words were laced with excitement. It was touching how Will was teaching her manners.
Just one more way Will Davenport had reached Samantha’s heart. How could she stay angry at a man who cared so much?
* * *
Will took a deep breath of country air. It was nice to be able to walk from the Howell’s back to the cabin where he was staying, rather than having to drive everywhere as he’d had to do in Amarillo. Walking gave him time to consider all that had happened.
It was hard for Will to consider Samantha taking Genevieve somewhere without him, but he no longer felt the panic he’d experienced every time his little girl left his sight, as he had when he’d first come to Serendipity. Each day he found himself able to release her more, bit by bit, giving her the room she needed to grow into a healthy, confident child. He would have been apt to smother her to death had he not had Samantha there to temper his efforts. With her assistance, he was finding it easier to let his daughter go.
Samantha, on the other hand, was a different story. With every day that passed, he found his thoughts lingering on her more and more—and he wasn’t just trying to find a solution to her problems with Stay-n-Shop.
It was Samantha herself who had his head and his heart in a regular muddle—all beautiful, generous, five feet four inches of her. He admired how, for the legacy of Sam’s Grocery, she bravely stood as a buffer between her family and the big-box store, and how she’d wanted to protect everyone from pain and heartache.
He’d put her into a tight spot when he’d accidentally blurted out information he’d mistakenly believed the Howells had already known, and yet he had no doubt that the family would quickly mend their differences and pull together as a team. Samantha might have gone about it in the wrong way, but her heart had definitely been in the right place, and her family knew it.
Even with all the drama and tension, the Howells supported each other. As far as Will was concerned, this would be the day that he remembered as the first time he’d ever really understood what family was all about.
The only time Will had ever experienced anything close to that kind of solidarity had been in the military, on the ground in Afghanistan. Out there, soldiers had to have each other’s backs.
What was it like to experience that kind of love and unity in a family? He was hoping to create that for his daughter. Would that he could give Genevieve the kind of strength and reassurance the Howells shared, so that she never had to fear she was alone.
Samantha was a great help in that area, offering Genevieve a good deal of stability and a friendly hand to hold. She had quickly stepped up for the girl as someone Genevieve could admire and emulate. Will found he didn’t mind if Samantha wanted to add the faith element to her time with Genevieve. He knew that Samantha’s relationship with God was a vital part of what made her the strong, compassionate woman she was. How could he possibly want any less for Genevieve?
Churches weren’t his thing, and playing an organ didn’t sound all that great to him, but he suspected Genevieve was going to love it—and Samantha had somehow instinctively known that.
As he neared his cabin located on the river’s edge, he realized that being alone didn’t sound all that appealing to him. The cabin would seem awfully empty without Genevieve. She filled up the room with—
Life.
Love.
He’d seen a lot of sadness and death—more than he cared to remember. Genevieve put him in a better place. She belonged with him now, by his side, with her little hand in his large one. He wondered how he’d possibly gone four years without really knowing her and being the father she deserved.
First tooth. First word. First step.
He’d missed all of that. One more regret that he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
He paused and swallowed the emotion burning in his throat. He silently vowed not to miss any more of those moments. Maybe he would take a peek in at the church and see how Genevieve was doing.
He adjusted his stride and turned left on Main Street, heading toward the steepled white chapel near the edge of town. As he approached, he noticed a sign staked to the undeveloped property across the street, and realized with a start that that was where Stay-n-Shop was threatening to construct their store. How ironic that the giant corporation wanted to build on that particular piece of property.
Selflessness versus greed in two blinks of an eye.
Except Will wasn’t going to let that happen. He would do whatever he had to do, but he wouldn’t stand there and watch the Howells’ legacy go down like a sinking ship.
As he turned his attention to the church, he noticed one of the welcoming red doors of the chapel was propped open, and even at a distance he could hear deep, soulful music that threaded its way inside him, drawing him nearer.
Will had never in his whole life had an emotional reaction to music. No matter what kind of tunes were playing, they had never touched him or moved him. For him, music had been nothing more than white noise in the background.
But now it was as if the music wound around and through him, increasing in strength with every step he took, tugging him nearer.
Samantha was at the keyboard. It was fairly obvious that his daughter was there, as well, if the occasional discordant notes were any indication. He was impressed by the way Samantha played on regardless of Genevieve’s help, maybe even encouraging the little girl to continue. He lis
tened as notes poured from the instrument, seamless and beautiful as she allowed his daughter to join in the experience.
Will stopped just short of the door, feeling more awkward and reticent than ever before in his life. Marching into battle wasn’t as challenging for him as walking into this church right now. Why was this so difficult for him? What was he afraid of?
Was he afraid he might discover he was wrong about God?
Church is for good people. The distant echo of his father’s voice filled his mind as if he’d heard it yesterday. Will, as a youngster, watching his friends with their Bibles tucked under their arms as they made their way to Sunday school at the local chapel.
You can’t go to church. You’re not a good person.
This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Jesus was going to walk up to him and charge him with all of his many failings. God’s censure wouldn’t be found within these four walls. God’s sanctuary was far more than plaster and plywood. If Will had learned anything from his time with the Howells, it was that God was found within his people. That’s who made the true difference. In his life. And in Genevieve’s.
He stepped through the door and followed the sound of the organ to the sanctuary where the people of Serendipity worshipped. Deep oak-colored pews lined both sides of the room, with a wide, red-carpeted runner down the center. A large cross hung quite visibly up in the front, but his eye caught instead on a multicolored stained-glass window. The sun’s bright rays were pouring through it, giving the picture of Jesus with his arms opened wide in welcome an ethereal quality that sent a frisson of awareness up Will’s spine.
Unnerved, Will dropped his gaze to the white-linen-covered altar in the front. On the right wall were more pews—Will guessed for the choir—and on the left was the organ, from which came both melody and laughter.
Samantha slowed the pace of the music toward the end of the piece, finishing with a full, dramatic set of chords.
“Your daughter is quite the organ player,” Samantha commented, peering around the side of the organ and waving him forward.
“I can hear that,” he responded, starting in surprise. He didn’t know how she could have possibly seen him enter when she was in the midst of playing what to Will sounded like a complicated piece of music. Her fingers had been flying over the keys in swift and complicated runs, up, down and then back up again. At the same time, without missing a beat, she was caring for his child—teaching her, even. The woman could definitely multitask.
“Come look,” Samantha encouraged. “Genevieve knows how to find middle C.”
He cracked a grin. “I assume that’s an important skill in organ-hood,” he quipped.
“You’d better believe it,” she shot right back at him. “In piano-hood, too. The first step to a career as a concert pianist.”
“That sounds good to me,” he quipped.
“Daddy!” Genevieve exclaimed as he approached the organ, launching herself into Will’s arms from where she’d been crouched next to Samantha on the bench. It was a good thing serving in the military had given him quick reflexes or he wouldn’t have caught her. The little thing was as nimble as a chimpanzee, and every bit as quick.
Genevieve kissed his cheek and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Yucky,” she stated definitively.
Samantha chuckled, and Will joined in. “Are you trying to tell me that I taste bad?”
The little girl scowled adorably and shook her head. “No, Daddy. You have a scratchy face.”
He ran a hand along his lightly stubbled jawline. He supposed he hadn’t used a razor in a couple of days, maybe because he was no longer required to do so. “I guess I need to shave, then. What do you think, Miss Samantha?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I kind of like the unshaven look on you. It makes me think manly and rugged.”
Will decided right then and there that he was going to keep those whiskers. He felt as if he were glowing like a fluorescent bulb. He beamed at Samantha.
“All right, Monkey,” he said to Genevieve, who was, in fact, swinging on his arm as if he were a jungle gym. “Why don’t you crawl on over there by Miss Samantha and show me who or what a middle C is?”
Genevieve scrambled back onto the organ bench, scooting in close to Samantha. It was an intimate and trusting move that made Will’s heart warm. He stepped behind the ladies so he could better observe the process.
“Do you remember what to do?” Samantha prompted, holding up her right hand with her fingers spread wide and gesturing toward the top set of keys, only faintly indicating where the little girl’s fingers should go.
“Use my thumb and not my pointer,” Genevieve recited from memory.
Impressive. Samantha had had his little girl here at the church for all of, what, half an hour? And already she’d taught Genevieve to differentiate between her thumb and her index finger.
Will was definitely impressed.
“Ready? Set? Play!” Samantha exclaimed.
Genevieve’s thumb came down on the key at an angle, so there was a bit of discord at the beginning, but whatever key she’d landed on, she held onto it like a pro, the note echoing deeply through the pipes.
“Way cool, honey,” Will praised enthusiastically, meeting Samantha’s gaze over the top of the little girl’s head. He raised his brow in an unspoken question. Right note?
Not that it would change how he was feeling right now. His heart was filled with so much love and delight that he thought he might burst from the mere pressure of the emotions. He was so incredibly proud of his little music aficionado that it didn’t matter what note she played.
“Middle C,” Samantha crowed in delight, beaming as bright as the sunshine streaming in the windows. “Way to go, Genevieve!”
If Will’s little girl was going to become a concert pianist, he owed it all to Samantha.
“Way to go, Genevieve!” she repeated.
He nodded in agreement, and then amended the statement slightly in his mind.
Way to go, Samantha.
Chapter Seven
Will knew something was wrong the moment he heard Samantha gasp.
It was Thursday and the shop had been slow, so they’d decided to close up a little early. He’d been caught up listening to the twangy country song Samantha had been blasting from her radio as he swept the back room while Samantha counted down the till in the front, but her exclamation was audible enough for him to hear it even over the noise.
Or maybe he was just so in tune to her that he could feel her distress. Either way, his response was immediate.
Dropping his broom, he quickly emerged from the back room. Samantha’s face was as white as a sheet. Her lips were tight and her pulse was pounding at the base of her neck.
He moved to her side, ready to suggest she pull up a chair and sit down to get her bearings when he saw the visitor standing just inside the front door. He was a tall, rangy man in a designer, pin-striped blue suit, complete with an elegantly folded white handkerchief protruding from the coat pocket and a camel-colored leather briefcase. He had a long nose and slicked-back black hair that put Will in mind of a vulture. He was one of those guys women might consider exceptionally good-looking—and he knew it. And knew how to use it, if the syrupy smile he flashed Samantha was any indication. The man reeked of overinflated ego and money.
To Will’s relief, Samantha appeared to be having none of it. Her expression hardened and she tipped her chin resolutely. She looked ready to do battle. Will shifted behind her right shoulder, subtly reminding her that he had her back.
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Will would almost have felt sorry for the stranger. Almost. He’d been on the receiving end of Samantha’s glare more than once, and he knew how uncomfortable it was, but it didn’t appear to bother the spiffed-u
p, slicked-back fellow who still wore a confident, borderline-arrogant grin.
The guy set the hair on Will’s neck on end. He was polite, charming even, but something about the situation struck Will as off.
Perhaps there was no reason to worry. It was possible that Will was misreading Samantha’s signals. The blush now prettily staining her cheeks could just as well be from delight and not from distress.
But Will was a man who had long ago learned to go with his gut. His instincts had saved his hide countless times in the military. And right now every nerve in his body was screaming that they were in the midst of a minefield and he needed to protect Samantha.
Not that he had any doubt Samantha could hold her own. But it was with good reason that he’d been contending all along that a team was stronger than an individual. What was it her Grandpa Sampson had said? Something about safety in multitudes? Well, he might not be a multitude, but two was better than one. He’d learned that through his military experience and his family—and now, through the Howells. He owed them this, to be there for Samantha.
Besides, Will wouldn’t be taken in by the man’s easy charm or flattering looks.
The stranger laid a blue-backed document on the counter in front of Samantha and slid it her direction with the tips of his well-manicured fingers.
“My name is Cal Turner,” he said with an unnaturally white-toothed grin and a hint of an English accent. “I’m here today representing the interests of Stay-n-Shop.”
“I know who you are,” Samantha replied, smiling politely, although Will thought—hoped—it didn’t reach her eyes. “And I know who you work for. What I don’t know is why you are here. I’ve already said my piece and it appears you don’t care to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m sorry?” the lawyer queried. Clearly he wasn’t used to being countered. Will suspected that Cal had thought that a small-town country store owner would be easy pickings, especially a woman.
