Smitten Book Club

by Colleen Coble

  “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

  If there were any progress required, she had yet to spot it.

  “What can I do for you?” His chair creaked as he settled back into it. Waiting.

  Suck it up, Molly. She bit the inside of her lip. “So, when you came by last week . . . I wasn’t very friendly. I’m sorry about that.”

  He lifted one shoulder and the same corner of his lip. “You were fine.”

  He had a really nice voice. Deep and gravelly. It kind of made her chest flutter.

  Ulterior motive, Molly. He probably has one, remember?

  “Um, that’s very gracious.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. They were warm, the color of faded denim.

  She had to focus. She needed his help, but she needed to know something else first. He probably wouldn’t tell her the truth, but she had to ask. “I was, um, wondering why you, you know, offered to help me.”

  His brows rose a millimeter. He opened his arms on the desk, his hands palms up. “We’re neighbors.”

  Neighbors. Of course. They were competitors too, but he failed to mention that. Of course, with the state of things, she was hardly even that.

  Which brought her back to this little visit. “I’m afraid I may have rejected your offer prematurely.” Heat climbed into her cheeks. Was no doubt blooming into a blotchy shade of red. Nice.

  “What can I do for you, Molly?”

  Her name on his tongue made something warm unfurl in her stomach, a sensation she hadn’t felt in years and didn’t welcome now. Not good. Not good at all.

  “Um, I’m sure you’ve heard I lost my guide.”

  He tipped his head forward.

  “I haven’t been able to find a replacement, and I’m thinking about taking over that portion of the business myself.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Only because he didn’t know her. She had trouble imagining herself doing all those outdoor things. But she thought of Noah’s bright brown trusting eyes and their cozy farmhouse, the only bit of normalcy they’d had since his father passed, and knew she’d scale Everest if she had to.

  “Do you have any training?” he asked.

  “I was actually wondering if you might know someone who could teach me. I know it’s asking a lot. If you can’t help, I understand. It’s the busy season. Your guides are probably booked.”

  He tipped his head back, studying her. Probably noting her slight frame and glossy pink fingernails. Visualizing the lame little fly-fishing demo she’d given in her office the week before.

  “I’m a quick learner.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “I could tag along on tours or something? I could . . . I could even pay.” Really, Molly? With what?

  He shook his head. “Leading a group isn’t the same as being a participant. You have to learn the skills, yes, but you also need to learn to teach them. Having rock climbing experience would be helpful, for instance, but you need to learn how to belay.”

  “Oh.” What was he saying? Was this a no? Please, God. A little help here.

  “I’d be happy to give you some lessons, though.”

  “You?”

  He tweaked a brow, making him look ornery. “I do possess the necessary skills.”

  What was his game? Was this part of his heinous plot to take her down?

  “I’m AMGA certified,” he added.

  Her heart dropped. “I thought we didn’t need certification in Vermont.” At least, that’s what Curtis always said.

  “Not necessary, but very helpful—something to work toward. So what do you say?”

  “I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “I have some downtime in my schedule. I can have you trained for the basics in a couple weeks, tops.”

  “Oh.” What now? Like she had a choice. It was this or foreclosure. Mother and child out on the streets, business bankrupt, no job. She straightened in her chair. “Great. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  They set a time for the next afternoon, and Molly shuffled from his office a few minutes later. Ready or not, she was going to learn to run this business of hers from the bottom up.

  Be as cheerful and carefree as you can be. Do not trouble your suitor with your worries, and he will be pleased with your company.

  PEARL CHAMBERS, The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Love and Courtship

  CHAPTER THREE

  Time for bed, sport.” Molly gave the Nerf football one last toss and stood, shutting off the TV.

  “Five more minutes?” Noah threw a spiral that sailed over her head, ricocheted off the hall wall, and bounced into the spare room. “My bad,” he said.

  “You already got fifteen extra minutes, and tomorrow’s a school day. Get into your pajamas.”

  Molly followed the ball’s trail, frowning as she scoped out the spare room. Okay, junk room. The space had become a catchall for every object without a place. Her mom’s piano, her old computer, Curtis’s sporting equipment, baby toys and special clothes that held memories too dear to part with.

  Leaning over, she spied the ball under the piano bench. She stooped down and scooped it out, then stood, pausing to run her fingers over the dusty piano. How long had it been since she’d played? She couldn’t remember. She’d practically forgotten it was even here.

  Drawn to the keys, to this joyful part of her past, she propped open the lid. It creaked in protest. She ran a hand along the lid. “Sorry, friend. Guess I’ve neglected you, huh?”

  She used to play all the time. It was her favorite de-stressor. But after she’d married, Curtis had complained about the noise. He liked quiet when he came home.

  The bench creaked as she sank onto it. She opened the lid. The instrument was probably out of tune. She was definitely out of practice. But she lowered her fingers over the keys anyway and tried a chord progression in C-sharp minor, followed by a rippling four-octave scale.

  Out of tune, yes. But the keys felt good under her fingertips. Familiar and comforting. She began to play the “Moonlight Sonata,” pleased when her fingers remembered the deep arpeggiated chords. She closed her eyes and let her hands move over the keyboard as warmth flowed through her.

  Ah, she’d missed this. Why had it taken so long for her to play again? After the last melancholy chord died away, she launched into Mozart’s happy little Sonata in C. Her fingers, catching on, zipped over the keys. She smiled, delighted she could still handle the difficult trills and mordents.

  “You haven’t played in a long time.” Noah appeared at her side, snapping up his football. “I like when you play.”

  Molly finished the B section, letting the last chords ring through the room. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Can you play anything you want?”

  “Well . . . not anything. Not unless I have music.”

  “Can you play ‘Best Day Ever’?”

  “From SpongeBob? If I had the music.”

  “What about ‘Another One Bites the Dust’?”

  Molly narrowed her eyes. “Someone’s stalling.” She smacked his pajama-clad backside and lowered the lid. “Come on, let’s tuck you into bed.”

  He groaned but followed her up the creaky wooden stairs. In his room he hopped into his bed and fell back onto his pillow. His room smelled like dirty socks even though they’d just cleaned it last weekend.

  She pulled his Catamounts comforter to his chin. He had his dad’s square chin and dark hair, but his brown eyes were just like hers, right down to the golden flecks. Sometimes when she looked into them, she worried. He’d lost his dad so young. What effect would that have on him? Was she doing enough to help him cope? Was she giving him everything he needed?

  When Noah finished his prayers, she kissed his forehead and stood.

  “You should play more often, Mom.”

  “The piano?”

  “Yeah.” He burrowed into his pillow. “It makes you smile.”

  She scanned his sweet little face. How did she get such a special boy? “I might jus
t do that, buddy.”

  Molly looked up at the cliff face, and her knees went weak. She’d hoped to start with something easy like fly-fishing, but she had a couple scheduled for rock climbing tomorrow.

  The morning was perfect, she had to admit. The air still held a chill, and the sun was just rising over Sugarcreek Mountain against a clear blue canvas. The smell of pine trees and the loamy scent of earth fragranced the air.

  Behind her, Gage pulled the equipment from the bag. He’d said she needed to experience climbing before she learned to belay. She was going to be hanging by her fingertips from a sheer cliff face. Never mind that the man holding the rope was a competitor who no doubt hoped to see her fail. A long, hard fall would probably suffice.

  If he wondered why the owner of Smitten Expeditions had never rock climbed, he didn’t ask. He was about to find out anyway.

  “How do the shoes feel?”

  She tried to wiggle her toes. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Fit is critical,” he said as he organized the equipment. “They should be comfortably tight. No room for your feet to move around. Your toes should hit the front of the shoe. It’s okay if they curl slightly. Take a few steps and make sure your heel doesn’t lift.”

  She took a few steps. “Nope.”

  “Are you Red Cross certified?”

  “Yes, for first aid and CPR.” She’d gone through the courses with Curtis.

  “Good. Okay, let’s get you outfitted.”

  He had her step into the harness and showed her how to adjust it, his hands brushing her waist and thighs. “You’ll want to get familiar with the gear and check it regularly.”

  She hadn’t realized how tall he was. She was no shorty at five foot six.

  “A good fit will make the climber feel more secure.” A frown marred his forehead as he worked and talked, his eyes flickering up to hers periodically. They sparkled in the sunlight. He had dark lashes that swept down across his tanned skin. His nose had a faint bump just below the bridge. His jaw was clean-shaven today, calling attention to his nicely shaped lips.

  “Double back the buckle like this. Make sure it’s above the hipbones and good and snug.” His light, musky cologne teased her nose as he tugged on the harness.

  She watched his hands move over the harness, double-checking. Her heart scuttled across her chest at his touch. What in the world, Molly?

  “Okay, next we rig the harness. This is the belay ring and tie-in loops. We’re going to use a follow-through figure eight.” He bent his knees, working the rope, his hands near places that made her cheeks flush.

  He worked slowly, making sure she watched each loop. He repeated it, then had her try until she’d successfully completed it twice.

  Next he showed her how to rig as the belayer, using his own harness. The rope led from his harness up to an invisible anchor at the top of the cliff and back down to her harness. She would be dangling from some dubious anchor.

  After fitting her with a helmet, he led her over to the cliff wall. “You’ll want to start beginners on this side, especially if they’re nervous. As you can see, the face gets higher as you move that way. It’s seventy feet at its peak.”

  She looked up at the wall of rock in front of her. Only twenty-five feet or so. Doable. Even if she fell, she’d survive. Right?

  “The handholds and footholds are more prominent on this side too. As you move toward the middle, it gets more challenging. Ready to give it a go?”

  She wiped her damp palms down her pants. “Uh, sure.”

  “Go for it.” He backed up, and she took a step toward the wall. The first holds were easy. The shoes clung to the rock, and the rope holding her stayed taut, making her feel semi-secure. After a while, the holds became less obvious. She scouted for her next reach, tried a couple of options, but they seemed too shallow.

  She felt like she’d come a long way. She looked down to check. Mistake. She fixed her eyes on the jagged rock inches from her face, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

  “Try your left hand about a foot up,” Gage said. “See the ledge?”

  She spotted it and grasped it, the rope staying taut as she moved. Her fingers were starting to ache, and her legs trembled as her toes clung to the shelf. She needed a place for her foot, but her brain was begging for terra firma. She took a calming breath, trying to quell the rising panic.

  Why had she thought she could do this? Why was he even making her? She was supposed to be on the other end of the rope. The safe end. Why did he have the easy job?

  “Doing great, Molly.”

  But her feet seemed glued to the ledge. And the trembling in her legs could be spotted from a commercial jetliner.

  “There’s a nice toe hold for your right foot. See if you can stretch up to it.”

  She forced her foot off the ledge and felt for the hold. Where was it? She gave up, her quivering calf making the call for her.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re only a few feet from the top. You got this.”

  She glared over her shoulder. She wanted to be on the ground. Only sheer pride kept her from quitting. She wondered what that said about her. Nothing good, she was sure.

  “Okay, just let go,” he called.

  “Of what?”

  “Everything. Just let go. Fall.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve got you. I promise.”

  Sure he did. He’d let go, and she’d fall to her death. Whoops.

  She looked down, regretting it quickly when her heart kicked her hard in the ribs. Okay, maybe not death. A broken leg would fit the bill, though, wouldn’t it? Hard to be a tour guide when you were hobbling around on crutches.

  “Feel how taut the rope is? Just let go.”

  No. No way. She took a deep breath. She could find that next toehold. She could do this. But her legs were shaking so hard, and her foot wouldn’t move.

  “I’ll be good,” she squeaked, sounding a lot like Noah.

  She heard his warm chuckle and wanted to smack him upside the head. Unfortunately her hands were occupied, and he was too far away. Below her. Safe on the ground.

  “You can do this. This equipment holds six thousand pounds, Molly. Come on. You can’t be a bit over one.” There was humor in his tone.

  Was he trying to make her relax or make her angry? She was leaning toward the latter. Besides, it wasn’t the equipment she didn’t trust.

  Note to self: earn customers’ trust before taking their lives in your hands.

  “I want you to see that you’re perfectly safe. That even if you slip, you’ll be okay. Let go. I’ve got you. I promise.”

  He promised. What did that really mean? On the other hand, she was kind of at his mercy. Maybe if she went along, he’d let her come back down. Please, God.

  She loosened her grip on the ledge one aching finger at a time. Her calves quivered at the extra pressure.

  “That’s it. You can do it.”

  She grabbed onto the rope with her free hand. Like that would do any good. Come on, Molly. Just do it. You’re wearing a helmet. A broken leg wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  When her second hand peeled away from the rock, her feet lost their hold, and she swung out. A sound squeaked from her throat. Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes tight.

  But the rope held. She gripped it tight, not even letting go when she swung back into the wall. Her knee scraped the rough surface.

  “You did it. Great, Molly. Catch your breath. Give your legs a chance to rest. When you’re ready to continue, find some holds and get started again. You’re almost to the top, see? Just a couple more holds and you’re there.”

  She looked up. Almost to the top? It seemed like a mile. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. She stared at the jagged rock in front of her nose and focused on breathing. In. Out. You’re going to be fine.

  The harness cut into her thighs. Her butt probably looked the size of a Volkswagen from below.

&n
bsp; Really, Molly? You’re dangling midair like a trout on a fishing line, and that’s what you’re worried about?

  She took a moment to catch her breath, forced her grip to loosen from the rope, resting her fingers. She could do this. She was almost to the top, right? The sooner she finished, the sooner she could get down.

  She sighted some good holds, making a mental path to the top, then went to work. Gage encouraged her, keeping the rope taut. Her legs still quivered, and her heart still thrashed around her chest, but she made herself finish.

  When she reached the top, she’d never been so relieved in her life.

  “Great job, Molly.” He explained how to rappel down the face. The first push off was scary, and she came awkwardly back to the wall, banging her knee. But there was only one way down. Her limbs were tired, making her movements clumsy. She pushed off again, this time catching her weight with her feet.

  “There you go. You got this.”

  By the time her feet hit the ground, she felt as if she’d scaled Mount Everest. She took a couple of wobbly steps. Gage was beaming at her.

  “I think I’d rather have your job.”

  “Well, that’s fortunate for you, because you do.”

  A young lady should take care with her appearance, always showing herself to be neat and attractive.

  PEARL CHAMBERS, The Gentlewoman’s Guide to Love and Courtship

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Molly stood behind her desk, looking over Heather’s shoulder as she punched numbers into the calculator. The stack of bills was high, and business had been down last month. This wasn’t going to be good.

  “Could you maybe stand somewhere else?” Heather said.

  “Sorry.” Molly backed off. “I just know it’s not good.”

  “Let’s just hang on and see where we are.”

  Heather was right. Besides, what good would worry do? It wouldn’t put more money in her account. It wouldn’t attract more customers. And it sure wouldn’t save her home.

  “I just don’t know how I got here, to this point where everything’s in jeopardy.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. Curtis, God love him, made some bad decisions, and you’re doing your best to rectify them.”