by Mary Manners
She settled into the chair and sighed. “Just some water.”
He brought her a glass garnished with a lemon wedge.
“Did Sweet Treats have another rush?” he asked as he filled her plate with a healthy portion of penne and then slathered the noodles with marinara sauce before adding a thick slice of garlic bread.
“Oh, did we ever!” She rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her legs beneath the table. “The line snaked out the door and wound down the street. Mattie could have never managed alone.”
“I’m glad, then, to have been able to help a little.”
“A little?” Her blue eyes grew wide with a shimmer of tears. “No one has ever done for me what you did today…no one besides my sisters, at least.”
“No?”
“Why, Brent?” Her gaze questioned. “Why did you do…all this?” Her hand swept across the table.
He filled a plate for himself and settled into the chair beside her. His fork clinked against a glass filled with soda. “Don’t you know?”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“I did it because I love you, Grace.” He twined his fingers with hers. “I’ve always loved you.”
Grace's Gold
7
“Lemon or Earl Grey?” Grace asked as she gathered two cups from the cabinet above the kitchen sink.
“Lemon—and make it decaf, please.” Mattie turned on the hot water at the sink and squirted liquid dish soap into the basin. Bubbles billowed and an evergreen scent danced with lemon from the steeping tea bags. “Or I’ll toss and turn all night.”
“You don’t have to do my dishes,” Grace chided, though she knew it was pointless. Mattie liked to keep her hands busy, and any one of them might step into the other’s home and pick up wherever they saw a need. It was part of the strong sister bond they shared. Brent had left an hour ago, but Grace’s stomach was still in knots. By his own admission he loved her…what was she going to do with that? “But I appreciate it.”
“Brent always could cook up a storm.” Mattie sighed. “Did you enjoy the meal?”
Grace understood the question’s double meaning, and she nodded slightly. Her pulse quickened as she remembered Brent’s admission. I love you, Grace. I’ve always loved you. Grace cleared the lump from her throat and swiped her eyes. Suddenly she felt as if she were standing on the precipice of a cliff, and the view both exhilarated and terrified her. Could she jump? Would she? “Yes.”
“But?”
Grace picked up a dish towel and attacked the plates Mattie set in the dish drain. “I don’t know.”
Mattie turned off the water and dried her hands before handing Grace a cup of tea. “Yes, you do.”
Grace sighed. Mattie knew her so much better than anyone that there was no use trying to hide anything from her. “I’m…confused.”
Mattie watched as she twisted the gold band on her finger. “You’ve known Brent your whole life, Grace.”
“True.”
“He’s a good friend…maybe your best friend.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “But Dan—”
“Was a good man, too…in his own way.” She sighed, sipped tea. “But you both were very young, and even more naïve. Dan was like a tempest that blew in to engulf you and blind you. He was…larger than life.”
“It was so strong…what I felt for him. For a while, it took my breath away. Sometimes, I still miss him.”
“Of course you do. He was your husband. You shared a bond—you shared Adam.” Mattie brushed hair back from Grace’s forehead and pressed a palm to her cheek. Her touch cooled the flame of blush that burned across Grace’s skin. “Oh, Grace. Where Dan was a tempest, Brent’s a slow summer storm. You see it on the horizon, sense a slight change in the breeze and know what’s coming. Sometimes there’s a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and it frightens you enough to run for cover. But the rain, when it finally arrives, is gentle and sweet, with a scent that lingers long after the wind fades and the sky clears.”
Grace’s vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. “I hurt Brent once. I don’t want to hurt him again.”
“No one ever said love was safe…or easy. You should know that better than anyone, Grace.” She reached for the teapot, added steaming water to their cups. “Life is full of change, mostly things we never dreamed of—or expected. God offers choices. Whether or not you accept them is up to you.”
“Oh, Mattie.”
“Pray about it, Grace. It’s the only way.” She set the teapot back on the stove and plunged her hands into the soapy dishwater. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”
When she left, Grace slipped into Adam’s room to brush a hand across his forehead. Satisfied the fever was truly gone, at least for the night, she tucked the blankets around his shoulders and kissed his cool cheek.
Brent had carried him to bed after dinner, tucked him in and turned to her. “He’ll sleep through the night now, Grace. Why don’t you try to sleep, too?”
But the twisting in her belly refused to ease, so a quick call to Mattie had brought much-needed company.
And now, alone again except for Adam snoring softly down the hall, she changed into pajamas and a robe and sipped what was left of her cooling tea.
The white-gold band on her finger glinted in moonlight that streamed through the bedroom window. The thought kept returning…Brent loved her. Why hadn’t he told her so before? Why had he waited…so long? And now that she knew, what came next? Did she love him—could she love him—as much as he loved her?
****
Brent’s breath came in small, white puffs as he walked through the cool starlit night to the warmth of the stable. He hoped this unseasonable cold spell would pass soon. The gala was only a week or so away. The quiet soothed like a soft blanket, and he jammed his hands into his pockets.
It was well past midnight, yet sleep refused to come. His mind was filled with thoughts of Grace, with visions of the past and a longing for the future that wouldn’t seem to come.
The ring on her finger proved that, as well as her reaction to his profession of love. She’d looked stunned, her eyes huge as a doe in oncoming headlights. And then she’d turned away from him, deathly quiet.
I’m a fool. He unlatched the stable door and kicked it open with his boot. How long am I going to hang around here again, waiting for what’s never going to come?
He reached for the livery brush and eased over to Rocky’s stall. The stallion’s eyes shone round and bright in starlight that cascaded through the stable’s windows.
“Ah, Rocky…”
The horse nickered gently and nudged Brent’s hand.
“Who do you ask, when you don’t know what to do, where to turn?”
The horse stomped a hoof, grunted. He craned his huge, sleek head to peer over the stall door and out the window into the sleeping pasture beyond.
“Yeah, I guess I should head back to the house, do a little late-night reading.” Brent laughed as a realization struck. He thought of the Bible that lay open on his night stand. “You’re pretty smart, you know.”
Rachel snorted in the stall behind him, and he turned to give her a gentle rub. “I haven’t forgotten you, girl,” he murmured. “We’ll go riding again soon.”
Grace's Gold
8
Grace brushed tangles from Adam’s hair as he pointed to the wedding photo of her and Dan on the nightstand beside her bed. “Mama, who’s that man with you?”
She covered her gasp with two fingers pressed to her lips. “It’s your daddy, honey.”
“My daddy?” Adam squirmed toward the nightstand, grasping the photo in his pudgy hand. It had been the only snapshot from that day, the only memento, taken by a stranger in the courthouse hall after she and Dan had exchanged vows. Barely eighteen and merely a week beyond graduation, they had driven across the state line on a whim and married with no family to witness the event—only a Justice of the Peace and a clerk who doubled as a witness when the nee
d arose. It had been the best day of her life…and the worst. “But I don’t ’member him.”
Grace’s heart tore at the innocent admission. She stifled a sob as she ran the brush through Adam’s damp hair. “I told you about him, Adam. He used to play football, and roof houses to make money, and he loved you very much.”
“Why did he go away, Mama?”
She struggled for an answer. But just as quickly as he’d picked up the photo, Adam lost interest and set it down again. He wiggled from her grasp, and she dropped the brush onto the bed, her belly in knots.
“Mama, Mr. Brent showed me how to tie my shoes.”
“He-he did?” The knot eased just a bit.
“Uh huh.” Adam’s head bobbed up and down. “Watch me, Mama.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek as he bent forward to grasp the laces of his tennis shoes in chubby fists and worked them into a sloppy bow. His tongue snaked through the gap between his teeth as he gnawed his lower lip. “That’s great, Adam.” She clapped and hugged him, sniffling.
“Mr. Brent knows how to do all kinds of things, Mama.”
“I know he does, honey.” She kissed his damp hair and breathed in the scent of tangerine detangling spray and felt the uneasiness flee, replaced by a sense of calm only thoughts of Brent could bring. Grace sighed and patted Adam’s cheek. “I know.”
****
Expansive white event tents reflected the brilliant light of a full moon, and the sound of laughter mingled with the melody of a piano. Grace surveyed tables decorated in rose-colored damask cloth and ornate candelabra centerpieces, scattered with delicate coffee cups and dessert plates. An illuminated fountain pumped cherry-colored punch as the elegant centerpiece for the pastry table, long since ravaged by the guests. The air was cool but pleasant, with just enough bite to add a bit of electricity to the night.
“I’d call this a rousing success.” Brent eased into the glider beside Grace and offered her a cool glass of punch. His black tux hugged strong muscles at his thighs and carried the clean scent of aftershave. Coffee-colored hair fell across his forehead and curled around his collar in wind-mussed waves. He tugged at his tie until it loosened, and then undid the top button of his shirt. “What do you think, sweet Grace?”
“Ditto,” she murmured, crossing her legs and sighing at the endearment he used. Silver stiletto pumps caught the light. She’d borrowed them from Tessa, along with a little black dress. She wondered if Brent noticed how the fabric hugged her in all the right places, then chastised herself for thinking such a thing. “The night’s gone off without a hitch.”
“Not exactly.” His gaze narrowed. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and blew out a heated breath.
“What do you mean?” She sat up, suddenly on full alert. Was there a problem with the pastries…the music? Had the funding run short? “Tell me, Brent.”
“Relax.” He grimaced and eased her back into the glider with a gentle brush of his hand. “It’s just…you’re killing me in that dress, Grace.”
“Oh.” She lowered her gaze to the little black sheath. With all the baking and planning that consumed nearly every waking moment the past week, she hadn’t given a second thought to what she’d wear to the event. And when she mentioned this to Tessa, a rant worthy of a ten on the Richter scale had ensued.
The glider paused and the rustle of leaves rushed in, drawing her back. Bats danced overhead on the breeze, searching for insects to devour, and she felt Brent’s breath warm on her neck. She smoothed her dress and drew a sip of punch in an effort to dislodge the boulder that was stuck in her throat. “I’m…sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took her glass and set it on the ground, then brushed his fingers against her cheek. “You look amazing.”
“I…um…”
“Shh…” Brent eased back in the glider and gave it a nudge, setting it into motion once more. His eyes scanned the crowd. He gestured toward Logan and Kate and smiled. “Those two look positively over the moon. Did you ever imagine…?”
“No.” Grace shook her head. “It’s wonderful. And to think it almost didn’t happen…because of me.”
“I know. It nearly killed Logan when they called off the wedding after your parents’ accident. But Kate wanted to stay behind and help you. She wouldn’t have had it any other way, Grace. And it all worked out in the end, right?”
“It did.” Grace nodded. “Even so…”
“No sad thoughts tonight, Grace. It’s a night for celebrating.” Brent lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed her fingertips, and she wondered if his sudden, sharp gasp had anything to do with what was missing from one finger, what she’d removed as she’d dressed for the evening and waited for him to come for her—the thin sliver of her wedding band.
When he lifted his head, his gaze held a million questions, but his voice held steady.
“Something feels different, Grace. Is there anything you want to…tell me?”
“What do you…mean?” She eased back as the glider rocked gently and waited for him to ask about the ring. But a moment passed, then two, without a word. Maybe he hadn’t noticed…or maybe it didn’t matter to him anymore.
He let go of her hand, drained his punch and tugged at his tie. His gaze faltered and he cleared his throat. “We’ve brought in more than enough to fund the project, thanks to you.”
“It was nothing…” Grace forced back the lump that filled her throat. She felt like crying, and she wasn’t sure why. “Just a little flour and sugar mixed with some blood, sweat and tears.”
“Good name for a band, don’t you think?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, squeezed her eyelids tight to keep the tears from flooding. “Yes, of course.”
“Speaking of bands…would you like to dance with me?”
“I’d love to.” She reached for his hand and pressed the warm palm to her cheek. Maybe this would be the last time she’d feel his touch. Maybe she’d waited too long…too late. Her voice trembled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
****
“Here you go.” Brent received the cup of tea Grace offered as a lemony scent wafted. She’d kicked off the stiletto heels and pulled her hair free of the pins that held it in a sleek updo.
With her hair mussed and her pink-polished toes bare, he thought she never looked prettier.
“Thanks. Is Adam sleeping?”
She nodded. “Tessa, too. She decided to spend the night, since it’s too late to head back to the dorm.”
“Good plan.” He tugged his tie free of his collar and tossed it aside. “What time’s Adam’s game tomorrow?” He glanced at his watch. “I mean, today?”
“Ten o’clock, but you don’t have to come, Brent. It’s so late, and you’ll be exhausted in the morning.”
Brent’s forehead creased as his eyes narrowed. “And you won’t?”
“I…he’s my son, Brent. It’s what moms do—function on no sleep, drink gallons of coffee, taxi their kids, pack snacks for the team, cheer long and loud.”
“Not just moms.” He set the teacup down, drew her to him. Her hair held the scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with lavender. “But also men who love those moms…and their sons.”
“Brent—”
“Hush.” He twined his fingers through her silky hair. “Let me, Grace.”
She cupped his shoulder with her palm and leaned into him. “OK, Brent.” Her breath was a warm whisper against his neck. “Yes.”
The single word was all he needed, and for a moment, every fiber of restraint he’d clung to faded away. He took her lips with years of longing and devoured them with a need that consumed him, leaving them both breathless.
“Brent…”
He nipped her earlobe, her neck, and then took a slight step back, putting distance between them. “I should go, Grace.” His heart threatened to gallop from his chest, and he felt her pulse quicken as his lips brushed her neck once more. “I have to…go.”
“No,” she murmured, then, “
O-OK.” But her hands brushed his back, and the scent of her drew him in. He grasped her arms and sucked a deep breath, willing his pulse to stop racing.
“Tomorrow, Grace.” With great restraint he took a second step back and felt the cold rush in. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
“Yes.” Her gaze followed him as he backed away. “Tomorrow.”
Grace's Gold
9
“Mama, can I have a piece of gold cake?” Adam tugged at Grace’s skirt. “And some milk?”
“May I,” Grace corrected. “And yes, you may. Right after you finish the other half of that turkey sandwich.”
“But I’m full, Mama.”
Grace propped one hand on her hip and waggled her other at him. “Then you don’t have room for cake, right?”
“Aw, Mama.” Adam slouched in his seat. “Mr. Brent says sometimes in life you gotta enjoy dessert first.”
“Is that so?” Grace stifled a grin. “And what else does Mr. Brent say?”
The bell over the bakery door jingled. “Yes, what else does Mr. Brent say?” a deep voice boomed. Brent loped into the bakery smiling. His voice was accompanied by the creak of the front door and a cool breeze scented with leaves that had fallen and whispered along the walk. “I’d like to hear this.”
“Hey, Mr. Brent.” Adam grinned and Grace noticed the gap between his front teeth was filling in nicely. Before she knew it, kindergarten would be a distant memory as he moved on to first grade. “I was just tellin’ Mama how you said sometimes dessert should come before vegetables and samiches.”
“I see.” Brent kissed Grace’s cheek and slid into a chair across from Adam. “Is this one of those times, champ?”
“Uh huh.” His head bobbed, and he grimaced at the sandwich Grace had sliced into a neat triangle and placed on his plate. “But Mama says no.”
