The Wishing Season (A Chapel Springs Romance Book 3)

by Denise Hunter

  Dad met his eyes in the mirror. Cole looked away.

  Mom looked between them. “What do you mean, Dad’s behavior?”

  “I mean that woman he had in his room two weeks ago.”

  His mom’s eyes shifted to her husband. “Matt?” Her voice cracked on the name.

  His dad’s fist tightened on the steering wheel.

  At his dad’s silence, Mom’s eyes swung back to Cole. The first bit of guilt pricked at the panic he saw there.

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice was low and even, but there was something scary bubbling underneath.

  Cole slammed his lips shut. He’d done it now. Him and his big mouth. He felt the heat of his dad’s look in the rearview mirror—didn’t dare look. Even Noelle was frowning up at him, a pink pony clutched in her chubby fist.

  “Matt, what woman? What’s he talking about?”

  He could feel Mom’s eyes on him, but he didn’t want to look at her again. His heart beat like he was pitching the last inning of a tied championship game. Heat flooded his neck and his face.

  Dad turned to Mom. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just mad, honey.”

  “It’s Elaine, isn’t it?” His mom’s voice rose and wobbled.

  “Come on, Dee, this is ridiculous.” He reached toward her.

  Mom flinched away. “What’s going on, Matt?”

  “Honey, come on, he’s just mad. Isn’t that right, Cole?”

  “Leave him out of this and answer me! Is it—”

  The car swerved suddenly. A shriek sounded, and it was the last thing Cole heard until he opened his eyes in the hospital.

  His head throbbed. His throat was so dry, and he could barely pry his eyelids open. His arm was in a sling, and tubes were attached to his hand. There were beeping noises and the sound of shoes squeaking on the floor outside the door.

  He fell back asleep, but when he woke up sometime later a nurse was leaning over him. She was nice even if she was using baby talk. But he was too scared to be annoyed.

  He was too sleepy to say much, but when he woke again later and asked for his mom, the nurse got all weird. That only scared him worse, and later he found out why. His mom had died at the scene of the accident and so had his dad. They had revived Noelle in the ambulance and she’d hung on for almost a day, but by the time Cole was alert, she was gone too.

  He was supposed to protect her. His dad said so all the time. And he’d failed her. Failed them all.

  Hours passed numbly. A lady came in and visited. When they let him leave the hospital three days later, she took him to a yellow house in a neighborhood he’d never seen. There was a mom and a dad and two little kids—a family. But they weren’t his family. His family was gone. He would never see them again.

  Cole couldn’t remember anything about the accident until days later. Not the accident or the argument that had come before. But when it all came bleeding back, when his thoughtless words replayed in his head, he wanted to die too. His family was dead, and it was all his fault. He kept the shameful secret to himself. That and the truth that seeped in with it: Cole didn’t deserve his family. He didn’t deserve anyone at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BALANCING ON THE LADDER, PJ STRUNG A GARLAND ACROSS the dining room doorway. She’d borrowed a few things from Mom and Layla to get the place looking festive. Some fragrant pinecones and red tapers, and one could never go wrong with twinkle lights.

  The weekend had passed without another word from Keaton. This morning she’d breathed a sigh of relief upon awakening, knowing he had to be far away at work.

  She put the finishing touches on the garland and stepped down from the ladder, surveying her handiwork. Not bad.

  “Miss McKinley?” Shaundra appeared at the bottom of the steps in snug jeans and a teal T-shirt that complemented her skin tone. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Only if you call me PJ.”

  The girl smiled. “Okay. Well, see, we’re studying the Middle East in school, and I got this project that’s due tomorrow. I have to bake something called baklava?”

  “I’m familiar.”

  “I have to go get the ingredients, but there’s something called phyllo in it?” She scrunched up her nose.

  “It’s a really thin dough that you layer with the nut mixture. You’ll find it in a box in the frozen section near the pie shells and desserts.”

  “Oh, thanks. That doesn’t sound too hard to find.” She shifted. “I was also wondering . . .”

  “What is it?”

  Shaundra tugged on her braids. “Um—do you maybe have a cake pan I can borrow? I promise I’ll bring it back.”

  “Of course. You want some help making it?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. I’m sure you got stuff to do, and it’s your day off.”

  “Actually, I love making baklava. And I have a super recipe, if you need one.”

  Her brown eyes lit up. “Really? You’d help me? ’Cause I’ve never really cooked anything except, you know, in the class we took with you, and that was real food.”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “Thanks, Miss . . . I mean PJ. And I’d love to use your recipe too. I found mine online so I don’t know if it’s any good, and I could really use an A on this project.”

  “I’ll get the recipe then. Let’s meet in the kitchen around seven.”

  When the timer went off, PJ checked the oven window. The top of the baklava was golden brown.

  Shaundra stirred the honey mixture over the burner. She was a natural in the kitchen, focused and following directions to a T.

  “It looks great,” PJ said. “How’s the honey mixture coming?”

  “It’s got one minute left.”

  PJ handed her the oven mitt, and Shaundra pulled out the baklava. The fragrance of cinnamon and cooked pastry filled the kitchen. It looked golden and crispy and smelled like heaven. PJ’s mouth watered.

  “Mmmm, I want some now,” Shaundra said.

  “We should’ve made an extra one just for us.”

  “Okay, now what?”

  “Read the recipe.” PJ handed it over.

  “It says to spoon the honey mixture over top, then let it sit.”

  PJ turned off the burner and oven. “Go for it.”

  The honey mixture oozed onto the pastry and nuts as Shaundra spooned it on. “It smells so good.”

  “It is good, trust me. It earned me an A plus in my pastry class, and my professor was no easy grader.” She’d made the dough from scratch.

  “That’s good, because my last test took my history grade down to a C. My friends say grades don’t matter after you apply to colleges, but I’m keeping them up just in case.”

  “Where’d you apply?”

  “Ball State, Vincennes University, and Ivy Tech. I’m really hoping for Ball State, but I’ll need some major scholarships, and it’s a stretch with my GPA anyway.”

  “Well, maybe it’ll happen. What are you going to study?”

  “Not sure yet. I’ll probably start with general courses until I know what I want to do.” She set the spoon back in the pan and smiled at the results. “That turned out really good.”

  “It did. Nice work.”

  “It was fun too. A lot more fun than a test.”

  PJ laughed. “In culinary school, baking is the test.”

  As they cleaned up and washed dishes, Shaundra started talking about Cole, raving about his kindness and generosity. “He’s pretty good-looking, don’t you think?”

  “If you like that type.”

  Shaundra arched a brow. “The really fine type?”

  PJ laughed. The girl was not the queen of subtlety. “I have two sisters, you know. I recognize matchmaking when I see it.”

  Shaundra shrugged. “You could do worse, all I’m saying.”

  When they were finished, PJ set the baklava off to the side. “You can swing by and pick it up on your way out the door tomorrow.”

  “I hope my class lik
es it. Shouldn’t we put it in the fridge or cover it?”

  “Baklava is best at room temperature, and covering it will make it soggy. Trust me, your class is going to flip over it.” PJ reached into a drawer and pulled out some cupcake papers. “You can serve it in these.”

  The girl threw her arms around PJ. “Thanks, PJ!”

  PJ was caught off guard for half a beat, but then she returned the embrace. “You did a great job, Shaundra.”

  “Thanks for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” PJ said to Shaundra’s back as she dashed away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  PJ WAS WAITING FOR KEATON’S CALL. SHE KNEW SHE’D HAVE to answer or risk a repeat appearance. She’d expected it would come when she was in the middle of dinner rush—not that there was much of a rush these days—or when she was in the middle of cooking class.

  But no, it was better than that. It came in the middle of a family lunch the next Sunday after church. She was reaching for the pot roast when “The Time of My Life” sounded from her pocket.

  “Shame, shame.” Jade fed Ava a bite of sweet potatoes. “No cell phones at the table.”

  PJ shut off the phone, meeting her mom’s knowing eyes.

  “So who gave you the time of your life?” Ryan asked.

  PJ made a face at her brother and served herself a slice of pot roast.

  “I’ll bet it was Tom Brady II,” Madison said.

  Jade handed Ava’s spoon to Daniel. “Nobody’s taking that bet.”

  “I thought he had a girlfriend.”

  “You need me to have a talk with him, just let me know,” Ryan said.

  “I heard he had a talk with someone else.” Madison’s eyes sparkled.

  PJ frowned at her sister.

  “Bernadette Perkins said some man stopped by the restaurant to talk to you, and Cole chased him off.”

  “Is that true?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know where she heard something like that.” PJ stuffed her mouth with mashed potatoes.

  “From Dottie Meyers, who heard it from Peggy Golan, who heard it directly from Callie Owens.”

  “Sounds like a reliable source to me,” Ryan said.

  PJ was going to be having a talk with Callie. What happened in the kitchen stayed in the kitchen, darn it.

  “Just a bunch of gossip,” Mom said.

  “Mama Jo’s right,” Daniel said. “Remember the rumor that went around about Jade and me?”

  “Well, I hope this one’s true,” Jade said. “’Cause we could use a little romance around here.”

  “Hey . . . ,” Daniel said. “I’m romantic.”

  “Not we, we. PJ we.” She grabbed Daniel’s face, running her thumb over his jaw. “Sweetie, you are the definition of romance.”

  It was true. Long before Daniel had admitted his feelings for Jade, he’d sent her the most romantic secret admirer notes and poems.

  “That’s what I thought.” Daniel pecked Jade on the lips, eyeing her like they weren’t in the middle of feeding their two tots. Never mind surrounded by the rest of the McKinley clan.

  “Come on . . .” Ryan grumbled. “No PDA at the table.”

  “I have to maintain my standing,” Daniel said.

  Mia banged the table with her chubby fists. “Da da da!”

  “That’s right, peanut. You tell ’em.”

  PJ returned Keaton’s call the minute she was in her car, her breath fogging in the cold air. She turned up the heat as her headlights swept across the snow-dusted street.

  The phone rang in her ear, and her heart skidded across her chest. Only part of her wanted him to answer—the part that needed to find closure. The part that still missed him. The other part prayed it would ring over to voicemail so she wouldn’t be faced with temptation.

  A few rings later voicemail clicked on, and his familiar voice sounded low and confident in her ear. She wouldn’t leave a message. Even so, she listened to the end and then hung up, angry with herself for wanting to hear his voice. What was wrong with her?

  She thought of last Saturday when Keaton had come. But strangely her mind fast-forwarded to the part where Cole had shown up. To the way he’d jumped onto the porch, telling Keaton to back off. To the way he’d placed himself between them as if Keaton was a physical threat.

  He’d never given her reason to fear him, but it had felt good to be protected. Cole made her feel safe. Ironic, given that he’d scared her to death the day he’d come barging into her life.

  When PJ got home, she went to her bedroom and finished a marketing book she’d borrowed from the library. Cooped up in her room, she longed for a living room of her own to spread out in. Soon, she thought, then felt a pang as she realized that to have one she’d have to displace Cole and the kids.

  She used leftovers to make a smoked salmon and Gruyère grilled cheese sandwich for supper, then she looked over some advertising offers she’d received. She could hear the kids overhead. It sounded like they were playing Ping-Pong on the table Cole had bought. Their footsteps and voices were loud, but she couldn’t bring herself to be upset when they sounded so happy.

  She’d just changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth when the familiar strains of the song played from her phone. She took a deep breath and answered, bracing herself for his voice.

  “Stop calling my husband.”

  PJ froze. “What?”

  “You heard me.” The woman’s voice shook. “We have a child—doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “I—”

  “We’re trying to work things out, and the last thing we need is you butting back into our marriage! Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve caused? The pain?”

  “I’m so—”

  “I don’t want to hear it! You’re nothing but a two-bit tramp. You think you’re something special to him? You were nothing but a distraction, and you’d better stay away from him, you hear me? I know where you live. I will come down there and ruin you, don’t think for a minute that I won’t. I’ll make you sorry you ever set eyes on him!”

  The phone clicked in her ear. PJ dropped the phone on her bed. She felt the air rush out of her. It stuttered in her lungs before she sucked in another ragged breath.

  He was a few days late on his portion of the bills, but finally one of his sponsors had come through. Cole ripped out the check and headed down the attic stairs. He passed the community living room where a rousing game of Ping-Pong was being waged between Josh and Zac.

  He couldn’t really afford the table, but when he’d seen it at the thrift shop, a little beaten up and priced to sell, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Hearing their laughter now, he knew it had been worth every penny.

  He took the second set of stairs and rounded the bend, heading back through the darkened kitchen and to PJ’s door. It was cracked open, a sliver of light edging the side.

  It fell open as he rapped on the door. “PJ?”

  From the edge of the bed, she looked toward the door, then away from him. She swiped her hand across her face. “Yeah?”

  He frowned, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “I brought the check for my half of the bills.”

  She cleared her throat. “Just set it on the bureau.”

  Either she had the world’s worst cold or she was crying. Since she wouldn’t look his way, he put his money on the latter.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t sound fine. His feet stuttered on the threshold. Should he go in? Stay away? He never knew what to do about tears.

  Was she stressed out about the house? The restaurant? He couldn’t help but notice that business had fallen off lately. And he hadn’t helped matters by delaying his payment.

  “Sorry I’m late with the payment.”

  She waved the apology away and shook her head. A sniffle sounded. Then another.

  Overhead Josh must’ve scored game point, because his whoop practically shook the rafters. And the footsteps. It sound
ed like a herd of buffalo from here.

  “Is it the kids? I’ll go tell them to keep it down.”

  She shook her head. “They’re fine.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.

  He’d thought they were complying with the rules. And PJ had made a big impression on Shaundra. It was always “PJ this” and “PJ that.”

  He took a hesitant step toward her. “If everyone’s fine . . . what’s with the tears?”

  Whatever he’d said seemed to break something loose. She covered her face and a sob escaped. Even he knew he couldn’t leave now. And strangely, he didn’t want to.

  “Hey . . .” He was at her side in seconds. He eased down onto the bed, and her pajama-clad thigh brushed against his. “What is it? Is it the restaurant? I know it’s slow right now, but spring’ll be here before we know it. The cooking classes are going well, right?”

  She shook her head, her hands falling to her lap. “It’s not the restaurant.”

  “What is it then?”

  She dropped her head. Her lips quivered, and his fingers ached to still them. Tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks, one after another, dripping from her chin.

  “Keaton,” she said, sniffling.

  He hadn’t expected that. That’s why it felt like a kick in the gut.

  “We started dating last winter. He kind of just—swept me off my feet, you know?”

  If he felt another kick in the gut, it was only because he felt her pain.

  “I thought he was it. For the first time I was falling in love . . .” She swiped a hand across her face. “But then things started happening—bad things.”

  If Keaton had laid a hand on her, Cole was going to throttle the man himself.

  He hooked PJ’s chin and turned her toward him. “What kind of things?”

  “Little stuff. Like I couldn’t reach him when he was away, and he wouldn’t friend me on Facebook, and he called at odd times.”

  Cole tilted his head back as understanding dawned.

  “I followed him one night, back to his house.” Her face scrunched up. “There was a wife . . . a little boy . . . I’d fallen in love with a married man.”