by Emily March
Her students loved it. Ninety percent of the children who entered her classroom had never seen a record player or vinyl records. To them it was just as magical—maybe even more—than the electronic tablets they began learning on long before they were ready to read. From Big Chief tablets to iPads—education had certainly changed.
And yet, some things never changed. Kids liked to sing along with “Old MacDonald,” whether the song came from a piano or a record player or an MP3 player.
And their parents, especially their dads, continued to cringe from repetitive renditions of “With an oink, oink here and an oink, oink there …”
She couldn’t explain why, but the idea of having the big, tough men of Eternity Springs playing musical chairs to “Old MacDonald” made her want to giggle.
“Now that’s a positively evil smile, Hope,” Maggie Romano said as she sailed up beside her. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about this contest. I take it you’ve heard what’s happening?”
“Yes.” Amusement gleamed in her eyes and a satisfied smile stretched across her face. “Those children of mine. They’re simply ridiculous sometimes. I admit the cake is good, but in my family it took on ridiculous significance—mainly because my mother-in-law made it that way. Care to guess how I finally got the recipe? She passed it along in her will.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. My children loved their Nana, but I have to tell you, she was a pain in the patootie as far as mothers-in-law go. Rumor has it there might be as many as ten entrants. Can you believe that? A thousand dollars for one cake!”
“Not to mention a hundred volunteer hours for the school.”
“The need to compete is hardwired into some people, isn’t it? So, what can I do to help get things ready?”
“You’ve already done the important part,” Hope said, nodding toward the prize tables, now empty but for the Tupperware carrier holding Maggie’s cake. “There’s not much else to do. Jack and Gabe are bringing adult-sized chairs from the cafeteria.”
“Don’t you think it would be much more fun to use kindergarten chairs?”
“I think this might be physical enough as it is,” Hope replied ruefully. She walked to her desk and pulled a blue bank bag from a drawer. “Would you like to collect our entry fee from our participants?”
“I’d be delighted to do that. I get particular joy accepting money from my children, considering it’s so often been the other way around.” Maggie accepted the bank bag, then asked, “So, what music have you chosen for this battle to come? The theme from Rocky?”
“Closer to Rocky and Bullwinkle.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rocky the Squirrel. Or maybe Alvin and the Chipmunks?”
Maggie clasped a hand to her chest. “Not the Chipmunks. Please, not that.”
“What about ‘It’s a Small World’? ‘The Barney Song’?”
The horror on Maggie’s face coaxed another laugh out of Hope. “Don’t worry. I haven’t decided just how annoying I want to be. Considering it’s a thousand bucks, perhaps I should be nice.”
At that point, Gabe, Jack, and Colt arrived with chairs. The rest of the players soon followed, one of them a newcomer to town, Richard Steele. As Maggie introduced her contractor to Hope and the others whom he’d yet to meet, Hope heard Gabi tease, “Mom, you must be overpaying him if he’s going to pop a hundred bucks to lose a cake.”
He flashed Gabi a challenging grin and said, “I smelled this cake baking all day. I’m motivated. Prepare to lose, Gabriella.”
Gabi sniffed with disdain, then handed over her ticket fee—an IOU since she never carried much cash—to her mother and took a place in front of a chair. Once the field was positioned, she remained the only woman.
Celeste Blessing, who had slipped into the room with some of the players’ wives, observed, “Be still my heart. What a breathtaking collection of men.”
“A lot of good it does me,” Gabi said. “They’re all either married or related to me.”
“Richard isn’t married,” Maggie said.
Something in her tone caught Hope’s ear, but she didn’t have time to figure out what it was because after taking a look at the men who were busy ribbing and challenging one another, she decided to change her music selection. She handed a piece of paper to Celeste and asked, “Celeste, would you read the rules for us while I cue the music?”
“Rules?” Colt Rafferty asked. “There are rules? What fun is that?”
“This is a kindergarten class,” Celeste responded. “Of course there are rules. I’ll have you know that I competed in the Musical Chairs World Championship two years ago.”
“The what?” Lucca asked.
“Shut up and listen,” Zach shot back. “I want to win my cake and take it home. I’m hungry.”
Celeste read the rules, which included such items as “There shall be no use of hands, arms or shoulders to forcefully obtain a chair, save a chair, or force another player out of a chair,” and “Only one person per chair,” and since this was, after all, a kindergarten class, “No biting.”
Once Celeste finished, Hope said, “Is everybody ready?”
The contestants nodded.
Hope smiled, “Begin walking once the music starts to play. May the best man—or woman—win.”
She clicked the Play button on her classroom sound system and the first measures of the Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men” blasted from the speakers.
As one, the men in the room groaned. The women laughed and cheered.
What followed was the closest thing to a brawl that Hope’s classroom had ever seen, but even as the men pushed, jostled, elbowed, and shoved, they laughed—and told their women to stop the blasted singing. The Romano siblings fought a good fight. Gabi lasted several rounds, primarily because nonfamily members hesitated when it came to shoving her around, and she took advantage of it. Her brothers weren’t that nice, and a hip shove from Zach put her out of the game.
Eventually, motivation, a little luck, and quick-as-a-minute reflexes produced a winner. To the victor, Richard Steele, went the Italian crème cake.
Afterward, Hope found Maggie Romano crying in the ladies’ room. “Maggie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just … oh my.” Maggie tugged a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped her eyes. “Lucca laughed. Really laughed. Did you see that?”
“I did.” Hope had been hard-pressed to drag her gaze away from him.
“It’s been so long. I’m glad … so glad … that my family discovered Eternity Springs.”
Hope considered Maggie’s words as she exited the school a little while later to make the short but chilly walk home. Discovering Eternity Springs had been a blessing for her, too. This town had provided her refuge and given her friends. It brought laughter back into her life when she’d thought she’d lost that joy forever.
A form stepped from the shadows. Lucca asked, “Mind a little company on the walk home?”
Her heartbeat kicked up its pace. “That would be nice.”
“Good. Because I have a bone to pick with you.” He fell in beside her. “Disco? Really?”
A smile teased her lips, but she didn’t respond.
“If someone had bet me six months ago that I’d be playing musical chairs with a bunch of grown men while my mother and sister sang along to a bad dance tune at the top of their lungs I’d have called him crazy. That had to be the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I spied the big orange lizard puffing up for the lady lizards on a tree branch in Honduras.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t win.”
He snorted. “Which brings me to my bone. You got it wrong, Madam Judge. My cheek hit that seat ahead of the handyman’s.”
“I call ’em as I see ’em.”
“You have a lot of experience watching men’s butts?”
“It’s a pastime I can appreciate.”
“Pretty risqué statement for a kindergarten teacher.”
“Hey, I’m not all apples and ABCs.”
“Don’t I know it,” he drawled, and the sound of it sent little shivers racing up her spine.
Hope didn’t know why after weeks of ignoring her he’d suddenly shown up and started flirting. She knew she probably shouldn’t let him get by with it, but both his laughter and his mother’s tears had gotten to her. That, and she empathized with him. Wounded souls needed time to heal.
Besides, he was hot, and she was lonely. Basking in his attention for the length of a five-minute walk home didn’t mean she had “doormat” tattooed across her forehead.
“So did you break your fund-raising record?” he asked.
“By a mile.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
The night’s weather called for a brisk walk, but instead, the two of them strolled toward their homes. In the eastern sky, a near-full moon rose above the mountaintops and lit the street in a silvery glow. They walked half a block and were almost to her front walk when she asked, “Have you been doing any stargazing lately?”
“Not much. I’ve put in long workdays at Aspenglow prepping for winter. Now that the cake-stealing contractor is in town, I’ll have more time. So, you want to go to dinner Friday night?”
Stepping up onto the curb, Hope tripped. Lucca’s arm shot out to steady her. “Did you just ask me on a date?” she asked.
Hope felt herself blush. Had she just blurted out that question? How embarrassing.
“I did.”
Apparently, her out-of-control mouth wasn’t done because she stupidly continued, “But … why? You haven’t spoken to me since … since …”
“Since we kissed. I know. I was being cautious.”
“What changed?”
“I shot a basketball today. I haven’t wanted to do that in a very long time.”
And, you laughed, too. And I haven’t had a date in sixteen months. “Yes, I would like to have dinner with you.”
“Great. Shall I pick you up at seven?”
“Sure.”
“Great,” he repeated, smiled down at her, then bent and brushed a quick, casual kiss against her lips. “See you then, teacher. Good night.”
He walked on, his hands shoved into his pockets. Only then did she realize that they’d been standing at the foot of her front walk.
Hope all but floated into her house. Roxy came running to greet her, and Hope bent to pick the dog up just as her cellphone rang. Distracted by the dog and the man, she didn’t check the caller’s number before she thumbed the green button. “Hello?”
“Hope,” a man’s voice said, his words slurring as he continued. “You know, you really should change your name. Hopeless. No, careless. That’s more appropriate, isn’t it?”
She closed her eyes. “Hello, Mark. Is there news?”
“Yes, there’s news.”
Her heart lurched and climbed to her throat, and she held her breath. She knew better, knew him. Nevertheless, the ember of hope within her never died.
And Mark Montgomery reveled in periodically crushing it.
“My mother says the scrapbook she gave us for Holly’s fourth Christmas is missing.”
Breath escaped from her. Her mother-in-law had given Mark a car that Christmas. The scrapbook had been her gift. It was on the shelf of her bedroom closet.
“Good-bye, Mark.” Hope ended the call.
Hope put Roxy back down onto the floor. She wasn’t aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t hear Roxy whining. She didn’t recognize that her feet had begun to move, to carry her toward her closet. Toward her memories. Toward heartache.
Toward Holly.
EIGHT
Lucca entered his house, his spirits lighter than they’d been in a long time. Who would have guessed that he would have had such a good time at a school carnival in a small mountain town? It was almost embarrassing. Musical chairs? What was next? Pin the Tail on the Donkey?
Spin the Bottle wouldn’t be so bad.
He smirked and headed to his kitchen. He was hungry. He’d been thinking about that cake, dammit. Opening the door to the fridge, he peered inside. Nothing worth consuming had magically appeared while he’d been gone. He really needed to go to the grocery store tomorrow. His gaze lingered on the gallon of milk. What he really wanted was Italian crème cake. That handyman played dirty.
He grabbed a beer and microwaved a bag of popcorn.
He carried his snack into the living room and sat down in front of the television. He kicked off his shoes, propped his feet up on his ottoman, and picked up the remote. The screen flickered on to the most recent channel. News. He wasn’t in the mood for news. Maybe he’d find a movie to watch. He pushed the channel button and began to surf.
Then, still buoyed by the evening’s good feelings, he made a stupid mistake. When he surfed to a classics sports channel and the 1985 Villanova versus Georgetown NCAA title game was showing, he took his finger off the channel button. Lucca began to watch. Soon, thoughts of musical chairs and his good mood were gone. Ten minutes into the game and lost in his memories, he went for the scotch.
March Madness.
How long he sat staring at the screen, he couldn’t say. Long enough for the alcohol level in the bottle to sink by two fingers more than a couple of times. The basketball game ended and a replay of the last four holes of the final round of the 1986 Masters came on. Lucca didn’t see Jack Nicklaus birdie the seventeenth hole. He was lost in his nightmare.
Damned ice. Damned dog. Damned preseason, meaningless game.
It had happened two years ago the following Wednesday.
At first he thought he imagined the ring of the doorbell, then the knock. Ignoring the noise, he took another sip of his drink. Then he heard her call his name. Through the fog, he heard pain. He heard the sound of heartbreak that echoed the hollowness inside of him.
Hope. Sounding hopeless.
Lucca went to his door and opened it. Cold air whooshed inside, little knives slicing through his shirt. She stood on his front porch, still wearing her red sweater and black slacks, but no coat. Something was obviously very wrong. “Hope, what happened? Are you okay?”
She stared up at him with swollen, tortured brown eyes, her cheeks tear streaked. “Lucca. I can’t be alone.”
Wordlessly, he opened the screen door. She stepped into his house, into his arms. She buried her face against his chest. She was so cold. Like me. Just like me.
“I can’t be alone,” she repeated. “Not now. Not tonight. Please …” She lifted her face to his. “Make me forget?”
Whatever her problem, he understood the feeling. He knew it very well. Right now, after the evening he’d spent, he wanted oblivion, too. Holding a woman in his arms was so much better than booze.
What else could he do? Lucca kissed her, and he tasted pain and heartache. He would have wondered why, had he not been numbed by alcohol and caught in the grip of his own pain and heartache.
She’d asked him to make her forget. Make me forget, Hope. Make me forget what happened two years ago. Make me forget all the grief I’ve caused.
He backed her up against the living room wall and kissed her, wanting, seeking, needing the escape. Their bodies melded together. She yanked and tugged and pulled at the buttons on his shirt until it hung open, and then her desperate hands streaked over his bare skin. Lucca sucked in a breath as her nails scraped across his nipples.
On the edge of sinking entirely into the moment, he was too responsible to ignore the faint chime of alarm bells, barely audible beneath the fog of alcohol and desire. He mumbled against her lips. “Hope? Are you sure about this?”
“Make me feel better, Lucca.”
He picked her up in his arms and carried her to his bed.
What took place there during the next few hours in the muted golden light of a single lamp was raw and physical and mindless. It wasn’t making love, but it was more than just sex.
Lucca immerse
d himself in his senses. He stripped her naked and feasted on the sight of those curves that had tantalized him since their very first meeting. He bent over her and inhaled her scent—feminine and fresh and hot with arousal. He stroked his calloused hands across her smooth, soft skin and learned her body, using his fingers to coax throaty moans and whispered gasps from lips swollen from the pressure of his mouth.
He tasted the salt of her tears and knew the echo of his own. They were kindred spirits, each running from something, trapped in the throes of a private, painful, anguished memory.
October Madness.
No. He shoved the intrusion of thought from his mind and concentrated on the woman beneath him. See her flush, hear her whimper. “You are beautiful, Hope.”
He nibbled his way down her neck, across the hard ridge of her collarbone to the soft, generous swell of her breasts. Her hands never stopped stroking and exploring, even as he suckled her sweetness and lost himself in the pleasure of the here and now, not the then. Forget the then.
Make me forget.
Hope Montgomery was now. Here, now, with him. And she was wild—driving him wild. He took her and she took him and they took each other. She cried out her pleasure and her pain. He repeated her name over and over. A wish. A prayer. Hope. Hope. Hope.
How many times throughout the night, he had no clue. He’d lay spent, thinking it done, and then she would reach for him and it would begin anew. At some point, finally, emotionally spent and physically exhausted, they slept.
Lucca awoke as a golden dawn began to chase away the night’s shadows, a pleasant weight and warmth sprawled across him. Following a moment of surprise, the events of the evening flooded back. Damn. He lay still, his head aching, attempting to process what had happened. Make me forget? Oh, holy hell.
Then he sensed the growing tension in the body lying entangled with his. She’s awake. Before he could decide on the best way to handle this particular morning after, she quietly and cautiously inched away from him. For a minute, she paused, and he felt the weight of her gaze. Deciding he’d let her take the lead, he feigned sleep as she slipped from the bed. He watched through slitted eyelids as she gathered up her clothes, cast one fearful look in his direction, then exited the room.
