by Judith Yates
“The foot powder? Oh, yes. The shipment came yesterday morning. Hold on a second.”
Holly hurried into the crowded stockroom to fetch the product. Then retirement home group would be descending upon the shop soon, and she had to talk to Jordan before it did. Quickly ringing up the sale, she sent Annette on her way.
“Sorry about that, Jordan,” she said, joining him over by the display of natural bristle brushes. “Now, about this morning,” she began slowly, in an attempt to control the anxious tremble in her voice.
“Please, let me explain,” Jordan insisted before she could continue. “I had every intention of getting back to your place before you left for work. But I stopped at the apple packing plant and lost track of the time.”
Holly was astonished. “You went over there? Why?”
“To get a look at it, of course,” he replied. “You sounded serious about the place last night. And after what I heard at the general store, I decided to check it out for you.”
“For me? I never asked you to do that.”
“I took it upon myself, I know. But you’ll be glad I did, Holly. Because you’re in for a big disappointment if you pin your hopes on that building. It’s in terrible condition.”
Holly stiffened. “I’m well aware of its condition.”
“Are you?” he asked with his typical skepticism. “Then you’re also aware of the kind of money you’re talking about—not only to reconfigure the building for retail use, but for all the repairs, as well?”
“Oh, please.” She glared at him, annoyed. “I’ve been considering every possibility, every angle, for months. Give me a little credit, will you?”
“I’m just trying to help.” Jordan began pacing in front of the brush racks. “You seem so intent on moving your business to that dilapidated old building, I can’t help wondering—what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I want to keep my business here in Golden because I want to have as much time with my daughter as possible. I’m thinking the apple plant is my last best hope for that.” Exasperated, Holly started rearranging the hairbrushes on the display.
“I’m glad to hear that, Holly.” Jordan stopped pacing and his tone was calm. “Because it’s clear to me your little girl is hungry for attention.”
Holly stepped back, stunned. “She has all my attention, Jordan. How dare you question that?”
“I’m not. I think you’re a great mother. All I know is that your kid followed me around like a shadow this morning. To me, that says she’s lonely.”
“Oh, she’s just curious about you, Jordan. Someone like you doesn’t show up at our door every day, you know.”
Jordan shook his head. “It was more than that. You didn’t see her face as I was driving away.”
His concern bewildered Holly. He hadn’t seemed all that interested in Stephanie last night. Indifferent was more like it. “Stephanie has several little friends. And she has a wonderful baby-sitter. Gracie just dotes on her.”
“I don’t doubt it. But seems to me that your daughter spends an awful lot of time on her own, with just an old woman for company. That’s hardly a perfect situation,” Jordan proclaimed. “Don’t forget, I almost hit the kid with my car yesterday when she wandered too far from the house. And what if something happens to Gracie while the two of them are alone? Don’t you worry about that?”
Of course she worried about that, and a zillion other things, as well. She was a single working mother, doing her best to give her child a secure, balanced life. Holly could barely contain her resentment. Perfect situations were few and far between. Besides, she’d stopped believing in perfect the day Scott had abandoned her at the altar.
The memory of Jordan’s part in that dark act of her life fueled Holly’s resentment. She marched back to the front counter, trying to compose herself. It didn’t help.
“It’s one thing to criticize my business decisions, Jordan. But questioning how I raise my daughter is off-limits. Because, believe it or not, this is something you know nothing about.”
He followed her across the room. “Holly, I was just trying to point out my concern—”
“No, Jordan! You’re telling me I’m making mistakes and what I should do to fix them—just as you did when you told Scott we were too young to get married and that he should postpone the wedding.”
She expected more protest. But none came. Only when she looked directly at Jordan did Holly realize the blow her words had dealt. His face was ashen, his gaze stricken with an anguish that surpassed remorse.
Holly gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? That’s how you feel.”
“I shouldn’t have said it.”
“You have every right to say it, Holly,” he replied, his voice low. “Besides, it doesn’t come as shocking news. I’ve always known you blamed me for what happened.”
Chapter Four
“You weren’t the one who walked out on me, Jordan.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed with skepticism as Holly struggled to keep memories of that long-ago anguish at bay. Those memories represented the folly of a vulnerability she vowed never to experience again.
“I did resent the way you interfered before the wedding,” she admitted. “I resented it for a long time. But blame you? Why? You were right.”
“I wish I hadn’t been so goddamned right. Then maybe Scott would be alive and you two would be married and have a fam—”
“Jordan, please don’t.” Talk like that would make it harder to tell him about Stephanie. “There’s something we have to discuss before you leave.”
But the doorbell chimed again, this time announcing the arrival of the retirement home van. A dozen or more senior citizens streamed in, chatting happily and full of questions that needed her immediate attention. Holly’s heart sank. How could she tell Jordan, now that her shop was bustling with activity?
As she attended to her customers, Holly caught a glimpse of Jordan leaning against the front counter. He appeared to be fascinated by the small group of women avidly comparing notes on the various skin moisturizers on the shelves.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said when Holly snatched a spare moment. “You’ve got yourself a nice business here, Holly. I hope the apple packing plant works out—if that’s what you really want.”
“I think it can be a winner.”
“Then more power to you.” He curved an arm around her shoulders, his blue eyes glinting with sincerity.
Holly was sure this was nothing more than a brotherly gesture on his part. For several intense moments, however, it didn’t feel that way. Jordan’s eyes drew her in and warmed her with an errant cloak of intimacy. She was aware of little else except the heat of his body when he brushed against her and the weight of his muscular arm on her shoulder. The buzz of a dozen shoppers in her little store had faded. Holly heard only the low, steady cadence of Jordan’s breathing and the insistent beat of her heart.
“I have to leave soon, Holly,” Jordan murmured, pulling her back to reality. His arm slipped from her shoulder. “What was it you wanted to discuss?”
The shop had come alive again. Sadie Campbell and Phyllis Peters stood less than a foot from Holly, arguing over who was entitled to the last bar of strawberry soap. And Frank Elliot, with two expensive shaving brushes in hand, seemed to be heading straight for her. Holly realized it was too late. The time to tell Jordan the most intimate secret of her life had come and gone.
Except Jordan was waiting to hear what she had to say.
Holly improvised quickly. “It’s about your father. How long will it be before he’s fully recovered?”
“Another month or two—if he follows doctor’s orders and avoids any real stress. Why?”
“I’d like to give him a call when he’s back on his feet. It’s been so long.”
. “He’d like that a lot, Holly. You were very special to him.”
Holly winced. Lawrence had always called her the daughter he never had. But what would
he call her once he learned the truth? Would he ever forgive her for keeping his granddaughter from him?
With Scott’s death, Lawrence had been the one most wronged by her sin of omission. Holly realized she had to be the one to tell Lawrence about Stephanie, not Jordan. As soon as Lawrence was deemed well enough to hear it, that’s exactly what she would do. Although she felt horrible about it, this missed opportunity with Jordan was—probably—for the best.
“Will you jot down your dad’s address and phone number for me?” she asked as Frank. Elliot approached her.
After Holly explained the difference between two shaving brushes to the older man, Jordan handed her a white business card. “Dad’s address is on the back.”
Holly glanced at the address. Turning the card over, she noticed Jordan had scratched out the office telephone number printed beneath the old Mason CompWare logo and had written in a different one.
“That’s my home number,” he said. “If you ever need anything, call me.”
He really meant it. Holly could tell. And it made her feel worse. Guilt roiled inside her. Would Jordan forgive her once he learned the truth about Stephanie? Would he understand why she had deliberately lied to him yesterday?
“Since you spoke to Ted last night, I gather there’s no need for me to call, him,” he continued.
Her throat felt tight. Not trusting her voice, she simply shook her head.
“Holly, I’m ready to check out,” Sadie Campbell called from the front of the shop.
“I better go.” Jordan lowered his lips to her cheek.
It was the briefest of kisses, yet it made her skin tingle. As he turned for the door, he murmured something about being in touch.
Holly sensed that was just a way to say goodbye. Jordan had no reason to get in touch with her—at least not until after she made Stephanie’s existence known to his father. What would happen then? she wondered.
Cupping her hand to her cheek, she could still feel the warmth of his kiss. A flicker of regret taunted her. As she watched Jordan wend his way past her customers, Holly felt a bewildering stab of loneliness. She found herself wishing things could be different between them.
But that could never happen. Her terrible lie and the cold truth about the past five years made such a wish impossible.
Holly shook her head as she studied the latest spreadsheet. Her idea to pool resources with two other business owners to purchase the apple packing plant had held such promise. Both Susan Leary, owner of the cramped fabric store next to Holly’s shop, and Nancy Barron, who’d been searching for space to open a new-and-used bookstore, had jumped at the chance. But now, with the final figures in front of her, Holly felt her hopes sinking fast.
“It doesn’t look good, Susan.” Holly slid the spreadsheet across her kitchen table. “See for yourself.”
Her friend skimmed the numbers and groaned. “It’s worse than I thought. Wait until Nancy sees this.”
Holly glanced at the clock on the stove. “She should be bringing the kids back from the library any minute now. Do you want to break the news to her?”
“Are you kidding? I’d rather not even be here when she finds out. You know how excited she is about the bookstore,” Susan said, reaching for her glass of iced tea. “Besides, you’re much better at things like that than I am.”
“Gee, thanks a lot.” But Holly figured it was her responsibility anyway. She was the one who had thought up the idea in the first place.
Susan peered down at the spreadsheet again. “The rehab costs are killing us.”
“I know. They’re exorbitant.” Just as Jordan had warned five weeks ago.
Holly pressed her own icy glass of tea against her forehead. The afternoon had turned surprisingly hot, and hours of combing over the discouraging numbers had made her head ache. Thinking of Jordan didn’t help. His appearance in Golden had stirred up her past and put one big question mark on her daughter’s future. Thinking of Jordan reminded Holly that so much in her life was up in the air.
Yet she thought about him every day. And she thought about his father, too.
She had decided to call Lawrence Mason around the middle of July. Then, if his health permitted, she would fly down to Florida with Stephanie and tell him everything. Her projected scenario for this trip was as detailed as her business plan for the shop’s new location. She prayed that the trip would meet with more success than her wilting project.
The jangle of children’s voices roused Holly from her thoughts. She heard the squeak as the front screen door opened and five rambunctious preschoolers rushed into her kitchen. A weary and crumpled Nancy Barron dragged in after them.
“They were all perfect angels during story hour,” she said as she plopped herself down at the table. “But all hell broke loose as soon as they got in the car. My two are in time-out as soon as we get home.”
“Mommy, I’m thirsty. Can we have pink lemonade?” Stephanie crooned. The other kids echoed the request.
Susan poured Nancy a tall glass of iced tea as Holly got the lemonade out of the fridge. Leaning back lazily, Nancy used her hand to fan her face. “Whose turn is it to have the kids next?”
“Mine, I think,” Holly volunteered, mentally reviewing their play-exchange schedule. “This Friday afternoon, right?”
Nancy smiled. “Perfect. I’m going to make an appointment at the mall for a facial and a manicure. Then I’ll get one of the Sanderson girls to baby-sit and make my husband take me to Green Hill Inn for an expensive dinner.”
“You’re in the mood to pamper yourself, eh, Nance?” Susan commented as Holly gave each child a lidded cup of lemonade and sent the group out to the enclosed side porch to play.
“After a day like today, I need it.” Nancy sat up straight, looking from one friend to the other. “You know what? We should all go to the Green Hill on Friday to kick off Memorial Day weekend. Phil and me, you and Jamie, and Holly, you could ask Gabe.”
Susan immediately voiced her enthusiasm for the suggestion, but Holly held back. Although Gabe had become a close friend, she disliked the idea of calling him whenever she needed a male escort.
Nancy turned to her. “Holly?”
“I’ll take a pass on that one.”
“But why?” Susan asked. “Because you and Gabe quit dating ages ago?”
Holly nodded. “He’s not an escort service, you know. Besides, he does so many things for me. I don’t want to bother him with something like this.”
“Will you listen to yourself, girl?” Nancy chuckled, pulling Holly down to sit in the chair next to her. “You make it sound like it would be a hardship for him or something. And you forget—Gabe’s our friend, too. I bet he’d enjoy a night out with us.”
“I’ll invite him if you want,” Susan offered.
“Or maybe Phil and I can fix you up with the new associate at his firm,” Nancy added.
Holly laughed. “You guys are relentless. You know that?”
Her two friends exchanged glances. Nancy leaned closer to Holly and patted her hand “We just want you to get out and have some fun. Between running the boutique and taking care of Stephanie, you have so little time for yourself.”
“So humor us and come out and play,” Susan said with a wink.
“Okay, okay. You win,” Holly declared, raising her hands in resignation. “But there’ll be no fixing me up with Jamie’s associate. And I’ll call Gabe myself.”
Nancy and Susan agreed.
Listening to them chat about dinner reservations and baby-sitters, Holly felt lucky to have these two women for friends. They had welcomed her when she had first moved here—no questions asked. They, along with Gabe Sawyer, had helped her ride out that first rough year in Golden.
The rest of the town hadn’t been as accepting. Part of this reception, Holly later learned, had to do with the oldtimers’ innate Yankee wariness of strangers. She had no family or connections to Golden. Who was she to come into their town and start up a business selling bubble bath an
d body creams of all things? The fact that she was six months pregnant—with no father in sight—aroused curiosity, as well. Small, conservative Golden was leery of such matters.
Despite the initial coolness, Holly never regretted moving here. The townspeople might have been wary of her, but they were never unkind. They might have kept their distance at first, but they also allowed her the chance to prove herself as a businesswoman and a citizen. In time, the town accepted her as one of its own. With that acceptance, Holly won what she’d been after all along—a secure, supportive community for her child, a place where Stephanie would never feel alone, a place they could both call home.
A high-pitched wail pierced the kitchen table conversation. Then another child’s voice began hollering from the porch.
Susan grimaced. “Good Lord, that sounds like mine.”
“I should’ve known this peace was too good to last,” Nancy said as Susan scurried out to save the children from each other. She glanced at the spreadsheets on the table. “Maybe you should tell me what you and Susan found out from these before all the kids fall apart.”
With the sound of Susan’s scolding reaching them from the porch, Holly pulled her chair closer to the table. “You’re not going to like this,” she warned before delivering the disappointing news.
She had almost finished explaining the figures to Nancy, when Gracie arrived at the front door, carrying a watermelon and an insulated bag of ice cream in her arms. “I brought some treats for Stephanie.”
Holly went to the door and took the heavy watermelon from Gracie. “But this is your afternoon off. Why aren’t you out doing something fun?”
“I was—with Sadie and Phyllis. While we were out driving, we stopped at Houghton Farms for a dish of ice cream. And I couldn’t leave there without picking up some peanut butter ripple for my little girl.”
Holly smiled. “You really do spoil her.”
“I know, I know,” Gracie said as she followed Holly into the kitchen. “But since I have no kids or grandkids of my own and she has no grandma, we both get something out of it.”
