Smitten Book Club

by Colleen Coble

  Oh, God, what have I done? He’d done the sweetest, most generous thing, and she’d turned it into something awful.

  And why? Because Curtis had said bad things about him? Because Curtis had betrayed her trust, and now she thought everyone else would too? What kind of excuse was that?

  She flopped her head down on her desk, not caring when her forehead smacked it. She deserved to be thumped on the head. Her ugly words played back in her head. She’d been so nasty. And after he’d been nothing but kind. All the help he’d given her . . .

  His parting words came back to her. I guess we were both wrong. Now she understood the cryptic words. Now, when it was much too late. She groaned.

  “If you’re trying to see into the drawer, it’ll probably be easier if you open it.”

  Molly lifted her head. She hadn’t heard Heather enter the store.

  Heather’s grin fell. “What’s wrong?”

  Molly covered her face.

  Heather plunked down in the seat across from her. “It can’t be that bad.”

  Molly dropped her hands and proceeded to tell her friend just how bad it was. Her face heated as she described Steve’s revelation.

  “I’m such an idiot,” Molly said when she finished the whole sordid tale.

  Wincing, Heather grabbed Molly’s hand, which was strangling a stack of Post-it notes. “Well . . . it could be worse . . .” She sighed and a moment later, she sat up straight and nodded once. “We can fix this.”

  “He kissed me.”

  Heather’s eyebrows popped up. “What? When?”

  Molly sank into the memory. “Friday night, after book club. He came over. We talked awhile.” Molly gave a little sigh. “It was nice. Then at the door he . . . he kissed me. And he asked me out.”

  “You went out?”

  “No, the next day I went postal on him.”

  Heather’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.” She stared into Molly’s eyes, a sympathetic look on her face. “Was it a nice kiss?”

  Molly groaned, dropping her head to the desk. “The best,” she mumbled against the blotter. It had been. She’d relived it a hundred times. Even after her tirade. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

  “You really like him, huh?”

  Like him? She’d been getting dangerously close to—Don’t go there, Molly. “What does it matter? He’s never going to speak to me again.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You didn’t hear me, didn’t hear the awful things I said or the—”

  Heather cupped Molly’s head and pulled her up. “You’re mumbling.”

  Molly felt the sting of tears. A knot formed in her throat. “I was awful.” She couldn’t remember feeling so ashamed of herself. It was so unlike her to go off on someone.

  “Maybe he’ll forgive you.”

  Molly shook her head. “You didn’t see the look on his face. Those hard eyes.” She didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember him that way.

  It was bad enough she’d never see his warm blue gaze on her again. Never feel the touch of his fingertips on her face. Never hear him chuckle at her like he thought she was adorable. There was nothing adorable about what she’d done. About what she’d allowed herself to believe. And no one knew that better than Gage Turner.

  A sensible girl treads the stairs of love carefully and deliberately.

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

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Mom, I’m ready for bed!” Noah called down to her.

  She set aside the copy of Love and Courtship and traipsed upstairs, looking down at the wooden treads for anything she might have overlooked the last hundred times she’d climbed the stairwell. Three mentions of stairs in the last three chapters. What was she missing?

  Noah was in bed, tossing the football to the ceiling, when she entered the room.

  “Think fast.” He pitched the ball at her, but it went wide right, hitting the wall beside his chest of drawers.

  The ball thudded off the plaster and onto the wood floor.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Something about the thud made Molly frown. Had it sounded hollow? Maybe there was a safe behind the wall.

  Really, Molly?

  She was losing it. Thinking too much about this stupid treasure when she should just resign herself to losing their home. Losing the business.

  The interview yesterday for the teaching position had gone well. Everything would be fine. Eventually.

  Unable to stop herself, Molly knocked on the dingy plaster, then knocked again a few feet away. It did sound different. Could be an air duct or something. Probably was.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Just—” She knocked again all over the wall. There was a space that sounded hollow. It was a few feet wide and stretched from the floor to as high as she could reach.

  “Mom, you’re acting weird.”

  Adrenaline flowed through her veins. Was it possible? That plaster had been up there forever. The wall faced the west side of the house. She supposed something could be tucked behind it.

  She looked at the plaster and counted the cost: a hole in the wall that she’d never have the time or know-how to fix before she put the place on the market. On the other hand, if there was gold back there, the house would never have to go on the market.

  “Be right back.”

  Molly returned a few minutes later with a hammer and two masks. She fixed one on her face and tossed the other to Noah. “Put that on.”

  “Uh, Mom, what are you doing?”

  “Seeing what’s back here.”

  Noah was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had.

  “Stay back, okay?”

  She shoved Noah’s laundry basket aside and drew back the hammer. Here goes nothing. The plaster cracked on contact. A few more swings, and chunks were falling on the floor. Mercy, she hoped there wasn’t lead paint in there. Or asbestos.

  “Stand over there.” She gestured toward the doorway, hoping the mask protected against such things.

  She kept going until she’d cleared a space the size of a basketball, then turned the hammer and began prying on the wood slats behind the plaster. They slowly splintered away. A cool draft flowed through the growing hole. Her blood pumped with excitement. She peered through the hole, but it was pitch-black.

  “Hey, Noah, grab a flashlight for me.”

  His footfalls flew down the hall and padded down the stairs.

  She kept at the plaster and wood slats. By the time he returned, she had an opening the size of her fist.

  She shone the light into the hole and sucked in a breath. An open space. A closet? She aimed the light down.

  No—a stairway!

  Her hands trembled as she set the flashlight on the chest. A stairway, just like in the book. Maybe she wasn’t crazy after all.

  “What is it? What is it, Mom?”

  She pried a large chunk of plaster away. “An old staircase.”

  “Sweet! Can I see?”

  Another piece of plaster clunked to the floor. “Wait till I’m done. Stay back, sport.”

  It seemed to take forever to clear a hole big enough to allow her through. By the time she did, sweat was trickling down her back. She shone the flashlight through the pillow-sized hole. The stairs took a turn halfway down, but all she could see were old wooden steps and lots of cobwebs.

  “Where does it go?”

  “It must lead to the kitchen. The pantry, I think. Maybe the pantry was added on when the stairwell was covered up.” Maybe Pearl had made sure the stairwell was covered up.

  Molly stuck a leg through the hole. “Stay here.”

  “Aw, Mom . . . ,” Noah whined, but he stayed where he was.

  She crouched through the opening. On the other side, her stockinged foot ground century-old dirt into the wooden floor. She emerged on the other side, shivering against the coolness. The beam of light illuminated cobweb-coated plaster walls and
plank flooring strewn with dead bugs and dirt.

  The steps creaked as she descended them. A web tickled her face, and she cleared it with her hand, hoping there was nothing live attached. At the bend, she made the turn and followed the stairs.

  Come on, Pearl. Where’d you put it? It had to be here. It just had to be.

  She aimed the light down the staircase, and the beam caught on something at the bottom. A heap of burlap.

  “Mom, you okay?”

  “Noah, get away from the hole. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  She continued down the remaining stairs. When she came to the bottom, she reached for the burlap and pulled, her heart beating a frantic tattoo in her chest.

  She sucked in her breath at the sight. A heap of rocks sat at her feet. The beam of light reflected the shiny chunks of gold woven through them. Molly’s mouth fell open. Her heart raced. She couldn’t believe it. Right here all this time. All these years.

  “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  She stared at the knee-high heap. Gold. Treasure. How much was here? How much was it worth? She had no idea, but one thing was certain. It was worth a bundle. And it was hers and Noah’s.

  She laughed, the sound echoing off the old walls. “Not a thing, Noah. Not a single thing.”

  Once smitten, a suitor will understand what the ardent girl has always known: love is the most precious of all treasures.

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

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The girls gathered around the bookstore fireplace, watching the flames lick at the logs. They crackled and popped in the silence.

  “I can’t believe you found the gold,” Heather said.

  It had been the hot topic around town that week. “We found the gold. I couldn’t have done it without you girls.”

  “What did the appraiser say?” Lia had put her in touch with a mineral appraiser from Burlington. He’d come out yesterday to examine the ore and take pictures.

  “Nothing final yet, but he confirmed it’s definitely gold ore, and plentiful.”

  “What are you going to do with all that money?” Abby said.

  Molly curled her feet under her in the armchair. She’d been giving that a lot of thought. “I don’t know. Right now, it’s just nice to have options.”

  “At the very least, the store is saved,” Lia said.

  That had been at the top of Molly’s mind all week. “You know, I don’t think that’s what I want.”

  “Really?” Abby asked.

  She wanted to get back to her passion, her purpose. The gold, if nothing else, gave her the ability to pursue music. The store had been nothing but a burden.

  “Gold or no, I want that teaching job.”

  Abby arched a brow. “Um, you know you’re kind of rich now, right?”

  “What good is money if she can’t do what she wants?” Heather said.

  “Good point,” Lia said.

  Whatever money came from the gold, Molly wanted to do something meaningful with it. Put some away for Noah’s education. Give some to the church. Some of it belonged to her friends too. She couldn’t have done this without them.

  And she wanted to give back to Smitten. The community had done so much for her, had been there for her and Noah when she’d needed them. Her mind had been awhirl with ways she could invest in the community. The firehouse needed updated equipment. The library patrons had been asking for a new genealogy department for a long time. She liked the thought of investing in the library. Pearl would heartily approve.

  “When will you hear on the job?”

  “They’re making a decision next week.”

  “You’re a shoo-in,” Lia said. “I talked to the school secretary yesterday. She said as much.”

  “Oh, I hope so. After scaling mountains and fishing in waders for hours, sitting behind a piano with a classroom full of beautiful faces seems like a dream.”

  “Speaking of beautiful faces,” Abby said. “Have you talked to Gage?”

  She’d told the girls about her misunderstanding. “Not yet.”

  “You haven’t apologized?” There was censure in Heather’s tone.

  “I’m going to . . . I’ve been a little busy this week, you know. Thought maybe I’d call tomorrow when his store’s swamped. Or after hours . . . leave a message. Maybe a text. Or a note slipped under the door.” She was kidding. Okay, half kidding.

  “Um, I seem to recall your tirade coming in person,” Abby said, then shrugged. “Just saying.”

  Molly sighed. She’d already put it off four days too long. She’d been so busy, though, with the store, the gold. Really, Molly? You weren’t too busy to tell him off. She just didn’t think she could stand having him look at her that way again. Those cold eyes had haunted her all week.

  Heather jumped off the couch and pulled Molly from the armchair. “Come on. It’s time.”

  “I haven’t finished my tea.”

  She reached for her mug, but Abby beat her to it, draining the cup dry.

  Molly made a face at her.

  “What? Mine was gone.”

  “Any other excuses?” Heather asked.

  I don’t wanna was right there on her tongue, but even in her head she knew it sounded childish. Heather was right. It was time to eat crow.

  She made one more lame attempt. “I don’t know where he is?”

  “If he’s not at his store, you know where he lives.” Heather grabbed Molly’s bag and hitched it onto Molly’s shoulder, then gave her a small shove toward the door. “Off you go.”

  Gage straightened the hiking boot display and set the measuring device under the bench. His eyes swept the quiet store. He’d already cleaned out last month’s magazines and replaced them with current issues. He’d gone through the clothing, sizing things from smallest to largest. He was running out of things to do.

  But he didn’t want to go home. Home entailed great spans of quiet and boredom. Too much time to think. Too much time to dwell on subjects that either made his blood pressure soar or rent his heart in two, depending on how he felt at the moment.

  News of Molly’s gold find had trickled through the Smitten grapevine that week. There’d been a write-up in the Gazette about it. He’d read it four times, lingering over Molly’s words. He was glad for her. But he was also angry at her. She hadn’t contacted him since Saturday. But why would she? She didn’t need him anymore, she didn’t trust him, and she sure didn’t love him.

  Thinking of those things left him feeling like he was drowning in a pit of despair. Definitely best to stay busy. He could always find something to do at the store. There were never enough pens around here. He needed to order more. And staples. They were almost out.

  A knock sounded on the glass door. Stupid tourists. Couldn’t they see the Closed sign? Ridding his face of the scowl, he rounded the display and shook his head at the figure outside the door, getting ready to mouth Closed, sorry.

  But the sight stopped him in his tracks. Molly stood in a white gauzy top and fitted pair of khakis, the last rays of the day turning the sky behind her a rosy pink.

  Upon sighting him, she tilted her head, her brown eyes pleading. He’d always been helpless against big brown eyes.

  Sucker.

  He clamped his lips shut and approached, unlocking the door and opening it a few inches. “We’re closed.”

  “I’m . . . not here to buy a tent.”

  He steeled himself against her. Against the innocence of her eyes, the cuteness of her freckled nose, the silky smoothness of her hair. His fingers tingled with the desire to run through the soft strands. Then he remembered the things she’d said nearly a week ago.

  “What do you want, Molly?”

  “Can I come in?”

  He sighed, opening the door. He gave her a wide berth, but the citrusy scent of her shampoo that wafted in with her was nearly his undoing. Maybe his brain knew it was over, but his bod
y tended to forget.

  He closed the door and planted his feet. No need to take her into his office. Whatever this was couldn’t take long, and the sooner she left, the better.

  She seemed to take the hint, shuffling in place, her eyes bouncing off his.

  He crossed his arms. “I heard about the gold. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It . . . it’s been quite the week.”

  “I’m sure.”

  She tried to stuff her hands in her pockets, then seemed to realize she didn’t have any. Her hands floundered for a minute before settling at her side. A delicate blush bloomed on her cheeks. Why’d she have to be so stinking cute?

  “This won’t take long. I just want to—I, um, I owe you an apology.”

  He raised a brow, waiting. The air-conditioning kicked on, ruffling the hair alongside her face. His fingers yearned to tuck it behind her ears. He knotted his hands into fists.

  “I know I was wrong about the invoice.” Her eyes darted to his before finding the floor. “I know you were going to pay it for me.”

  Her eyes found his, big, brown and a little damp. “I said some awful things—jumped to the wrong conclusion, a terrible one. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry.” She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing twice before she found words. “I don’t know what to say. You were so kind to help me. You spent hours helping me, and I—” She shook her head again. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” The question popped out before he could stop it. What does it matter, Turner?

  “Why?” She looked down at her feet. At her sandals, size 6-½, if he wasn’t mistaken. Her cute toes peeked out, her pink toenails glittering under the showroom lights. “Listen, Gage, there’s no excuse for my behavior. The truth is, I thought the worst of you from the beginning. I . . . have some trust issues. After Curtis died, I found out he’d hidden things from me—like that loan. I didn’t know he’d put our house up for collateral. He . . . he forged my signature. There were other things too.”

  Gage’s stomach twisted. He bit his tongue before he said something he regretted. Curtis was still her late husband, still the father of her child.