The Kings Meadow Romance Collection

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Are you late to open the library?” he asked, starting the truck’s engine.

  “No. Karli, my assistant, will be there already. She comes early on Mondays.” She turned her gaze from him to the road ahead. She could at least be glad that the flat tire had happened only minutes away from the library.

  Trevor didn’t try to force a conversation between them, and they drove the rest of the way to the library in silence. But instead of pulling up to the front of the building and dropping her off, as she’d expected, he parked the truck and turned off the engine. As he opened his door, he said, “I figure I might as well get a look inside while I wait for Yuli. And it wouldn’t hurt for me to get a library card while I’m here.”

  He was like a bur stuck in a horse’s mane. So difficult to be rid of. And so irritating while it remained, tangling the hair the way it seemed he tangled her life.

  With a sigh, Penny got out of the truck and led the way to the entrance of the Kings Meadow District Library. Trevor reached for the door before she could, opening it and allowing her to go through first. She started toward her office, but as much as she wanted to give him the cold shoulder once again, she felt compelled to stop and look back at him. “Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.”

  “Trevor.”

  She released another sigh. “Thank you, Trevor. I’m grateful for the lift.”

  “Yuli did the cold, hard work.” He punctuated the words with one of his slow grins.

  For a second, she felt unable to think, let alone move.

  “So where do I go to get a library card?” he asked.

  She managed to point toward Karli behind the counter.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” He walked away.

  She remained where she was for a few moments. Then she felt her face grow hot—and she didn’t even know the reason for it. Ducking her head, she hurried into her office and closed the door.

  Why do I let him get under my skin?

  She went to her desk chair and sank onto it.

  Penny Cartwright was not a woman who swooned over handsome men like some silly secondary character in a Regency romance. Looks had never been the first thing that drew her attention to members of the opposite sex, not even as a teenager. She responded to intelligence, to rational left-brain thinkers. And if that kind of man was someone with a ten-year plan for both his professional and personal lives, all the better.

  So why was it that just looking at Trevor made her heart run a little faster? What was it about his smile that made her stomach whirl in an oddly enjoyable fashion?

  She didn’t even like him, for pity’s sake! He was a second-rate country singer. If he was first rate, he’d have been playing bigger venues. She would have heard his voice on the radio. Right? Worse still, musicians like him were vagabonds. Definitely not people who kept a ten-year plan. And besides, he hadn’t finished college. She knew that from Brad. Maybe Trevor hadn’t been able to hack academics. How bright could he be, living the way he did?

  But he doesn’t seem unintelligent, does he?

  Rising from the chair with a groan of frustration, she shrugged out of her coat and carried it to the coat tree in the corner near the door. Her knit scarf she poked into the right sleeve of her coat. Her gloves went into a pocket.

  The phone rang as she was returning to her desk.

  “Penelope Cartwright,” she answered in an all-business voice, grateful for anything that would turn her mind from unwelcome thoughts about an even more unwelcome singer from Nashville.

  Half an hour later, Penny placed the handset in its cradle and rose from her chair. The call had been productive, but her head was swirling with new information and a slew of ideas for how to implement them in their library. A cup of hot coffee was in order, the stronger the better. She left her office and hurried toward the back of the building. A woman on a mission, as her mom used to say.

  Karli Hellman—a friend since junior high and the only other full-time employee of the library—was turning away from the coffeemaker as Penny entered the break room. “Great minds,” she said, lifting her full mug a little higher.

  “I know.” Penny retrieved her own oversized mug from the cupboard.

  “Mr. Elorrieta came in and left your car keys. I knew you were still on the phone, so I stuck them in the far right-hand drawer behind the counter.”

  “Thanks.” Penny poured coffee into her mug.

  “And I helped Mr. Reynolds get his library card. He seems nice.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  Penny turned toward Karli. “No, not well.”

  “Ah.” Disappointment laced the single word. “I thought, since you came in together . . .” Karli let the comment drift into silence.

  “He was a . . . Mr. Reynolds was a friend of Brad’s.”

  “Oh, Penny. I’m sorry.” Karli’s expression changed from curious to stricken. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known.”

  “It’s okay, Karli.”

  “No, it isn’t. I see how much it hurts whenever anybody talks about your brother.” Karli stepped away from the break room counter. “I’d better get out front.”

  Penny nodded, glad to put an end to their conversation.

  She was aware, of course, that many of her friends and neighbors had taken to walking on eggshells around her. She could tell they didn’t want to mention Brad for fear of upsetting her. They saw her as fragile, breakable. But she would disagree with them if they said it to her face. She grieved, but she wasn’t weak. And besides, it wasn’t fair to Brad’s memory never to speak of him. He was beloved by many. He should be remembered. Remembered often.

  A lump formed in her throat.

  Maybe I am a little fragile.

  Trevor’s image intruded on her thoughts.

  Perhaps I’ve been a little unfair to him as well. Maybe he wasn’t entirely at fault for what happened to Brad.

  Maybe so . . . but she wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

  Seated in his easy chair, Rodney awakened with a start, uncertain how long he’d been asleep. He believed in power naps, but he didn’t hold with drifting off to sleep while upright in his chair. It usually left him with a crick in his neck and a grumpy humor.

  But he didn’t give thought to any stiffness or mood this time. He’d been dreaming of Brad. One of those dreams that felt real. A dream that didn’t slip away too quickly to remember. He could recall it all. His son had been seated on the top rail of the pasture fence, boot heels hooked on a lower rail, a long piece of straw held between his teeth. The sun had been shining. The grass had been green.

  Rodney had walked to him, overjoyed by his presence. “When did you get home?” he’d asked.

  Brad had smiled as he removed the straw from his mouth. “Not long. I brought Trevor with me. He’s got a good start, Dad. He’s trying to change the way he thinks, the way he lives. But you need to help him the rest of the way.”

  “Be glad to, son.” Rodney had nodded. “Be glad to.”

  Rodney rose from his easy chair and walked to the window in the kitchen, looking out at the fence and the pasture that had been in his dream. He couldn’t say whether or not God had given him a vision or if the dream had only been helping him realize something his subconscious already knew. Whichever it was, Rodney was convinced that God was going to do a work in all of their lives. From out of the ashes He would bring beauty. And it would begin with Rodney loving Trevor the same way he’d loved his son.

  “Lord, that young man thinks he’s here to help me and Penny in some way,” he whispered. “Maybe so. Maybe that’s part of it. But I think it’s just as much about us helping him. Helping him know You better. Helping him know what it means to be part of a loving family. Helping him find his way in his new faith. Show me how I’m to make all that come to pass.” He took a breath and released it. “Amen.”

  Brad

  2008

  BRAD’S BORDER COLLIE, QUEENIE, HAD HER FIRST litter of puppies on Christm
as Eve. The family’s usual holiday routine, upon returning from the candlelight service at church, was completely forgotten as Brad, Penny, and their dad observed the birth from the hall outside the laundry room. Any one of them was ready to step in if the dog appeared to be in distress, but the first-time mother took labor and delivery in stride, giving birth to a half dozen healthy puppies without complaint.

  “Look at this one,” Penny said now as she cradled one of the newborns in the palms of her hands. “It has a lot of brown on its face. Kind of a ginger-brown shade.”

  Brad couldn’t remember a time when the Cartwrights hadn’t owned at least two border collies, sometimes as many as four. All of their ranch dogs had been black with varying degrees of white markings. There’d never been one with brown markings anywhere in the mix.

  “That’s what we’ll have to call it.” Penny held the puppy up a little higher. “Ginger.”

  “If you have a Ginger,” his dad said, “you’re going to need a Fred too.”

  “Who’s Fred?” Brad asked.

  His dad laughed softly. “You know, Fred and Ginger. Like the dancers in those old movies I like to watch.”

  Brad failed to understand, but it was easier to just act like he did. “You don’t even know if Ginger’s a girl.” He took up another mewling puppy. “But if it is, then we’ll call this one Fred.”

  “If it’s a boy,” his dad and sister added in unison.

  Brad knew right then that he wouldn’t be selling Fred or Ginger, no matter their genders. These two would remain on the ranch for their whole lives. With his dad’s help, he would train them, the same way he’d trained Queenie and Queenie’s parents.

  An image of his mom, kneeling beside a box full of puppies, wafted through his memory. He could barely recall her face without the help of photographs, but he remembered her hands as she’d held one of the puppies. Hands with long, narrow fingers and a gentle touch. The way she’d drawn it close and rubbed its coat against her cheek. And the dogs had always loved her in return. In fact, they’d been obedient to all the family, but they’d been most devoted to his mom.

  He glanced up at his dad. Was he remembering something similar? Could be, judging by his wistful expression.

  “Come on, you two,” his dad said. “Time we were all in bed. Santa won’t come if you’re still awake.”

  Brad and Penny exchanged a glance. Their dad had said similar words to them every Christmas Eve for as far back as they could remember. And it didn’t seem to matter that neither of them had believed in Santa for over a decade. He just went on saying it. Brad wouldn’t admit it to his sister, but he hoped their dad never stopped saying it. It was tradition now.

  He put the black-and-white puppy into the clean bed with Queenie and its siblings. Penny followed suit a moment later with the ginger-faced pup. Then they both rose from the floor and headed for their upstairs bedrooms, Penny wrapping an arm around Brad’s waist. She used to wrap it over his shoulder, but he was the taller one now.

  “That’s something I miss when I’m at college,” she said as they stopped in the hallway outside of her bedroom.

  “What?”

  “Seeing the baby animals born. Calves. Colts. Puppies. Kittens. Chicks. I didn’t realize how much I loved being surrounded by all the new life until I was away from it my first year.” She gave his waist a squeeze before taking a step closer to her doorway. “I’m glad I was here for this.”

  Brad thought he was too old to get all mushy and sentimental with his sister. So he swallowed the threatening lump in his throat and gave her a nod to say he was glad too.

  She smiled. “See you in the morning.”

  “Pen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re all right. You know that?”

  “I love you too, buddy. I love you too.”

  Chapter 7

  THE FIRST TELEPHONE CALL THAT TREVOR RECEIVED on the newly installed telephone in his apartment was from a man he’d met at Meadow Fellowship the previous Sunday. Chet Leonard, he’d already learned, was the largest landowner in the valley. Others had told Trevor that Chet and his wife ran a successful quarter horse operation year-round and some sort of luxury dude ranch in the summer and early fall.

  After identifying himself, Chet said, “I know this is late notice, but Rodney Cartwright mentioned you might like to join a group of men in a Bible study. We gather on Thursdays at seven o’clock in one of the Sunday school rooms at Meadow Fellowship. I think you may have met a few of the men, in addition to Rodney.”

  “Rodney attends? But I thought he went to the Methodist church.”

  “Oh, he does. The men in the study attend different churches and a couple don’t attend any church . . . yet. We just happen to meet at Meadow Fellowship.”

  Trevor was tempted to decline, but he hadn’t been back to the Cartwright ranch since Sunday afternoon. His second week in Kings Meadow had been busier than expected, getting the hang of his new job and, with the use of his landlord’s telephone, tying up a few unexpected loose ends back in Nashville. Attending the study would be an opportunity to remind Rodney why Trevor had come to Idaho, if nothing else.

  “Okay. Sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Terrific. Bring your Bible and a notebook if you want. See you at seven.”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  After hanging up the phone, Trevor glanced at the clock on the stove. He had better than an hour before he would need to leave. Plenty of time to fix himself a quick supper.

  By the time Trevor left his studio apartment, night had fallen over the valley. An inky-black darkness that residents of large cities never experienced. The Christmas lights on Main Street twinkled from lampposts and storefronts, giving the small town a fairy-tale appearance, and he couldn’t help but smile, knowing he’d worked on a few of those light strands this week.

  There were four trucks and one minivan parked in the lot beside Meadow Fellowship when Trevor arrived a few minutes before seven. He got out of his pickup, held his almost brand-new Bible to his chest, and hurried toward the entrance. Once inside, the sound of voices drew him in the direction of the classrooms off to the left of the sanctuary.

  “Here’s Trevor now,” Chet said upon seeing him.

  Rodney Cartwright was the first to shake his hand and begin making introductions to the men already seated in a circle of chairs. As Chet had indicated, a few of them Trevor had met already. Not surprising, he supposed, in a town of this size.

  A short while later, with everybody settled into place, the young man—Adam Carlton—who sat opposite Trevor took a guitar from behind his chair and began to strum it while singing. The other men joined in. All of them seemed to know the words to the song. Trevor didn’t, so he was content to listen. At first he found himself critiquing Adam’s performance. The young man’s voice was on key but not strong, and his guitar playing consisted of only a few repeated chords, although that served as enough to keep the rest of the men in tempo.

  But as the song continued, Trevor began to listen to the lyrics. They were words of worship and praise, a kind of love song to Jesus. Simple and full of trust. After a while something shifted in his chest. He couldn’t have described the feeling if his life depended on it, but he believed God was in the midst of this circle of men. He closed his eyes, both shaken and soothed by the unexpected encounter.

  It’s about Me tonight. No one but Me.

  It was Trevor’s own voice he heard in his head, yet the words didn’t feel like his own thought. Once again he had the feeling he was in the presence of something beyond himself. Someone beyond himself.

  The song came to an end. With the last chord still reverberating in the air, Chet began to pray. Like the song before it, the words of the prayer were simple, filled with love and trust. Different from the lofty kind of prayers Trevor had often heard in public gatherings. It made him think of Brad. The kid had had a quiet but strong faith. Brad had never hesitated to answer questions anybody asked about his beliefs, and
he’d never seemed offended when those asking the questions weren’t quick to agree with him. He hadn’t joined other members of the band in drinking or womanizing as they traveled from gig to gig, and yet nobody had felt judged by him either. How had he managed to carry that off?

  Chet’s “Amen” drew Trevor out of his musing. When others grabbed their Bibles, so did he. Chet told the group to open to a chapter in Romans. Trevor was thankful he at least knew Romans was in the New Testament, although it seemed to take him too long to find the right place. The never-opened pages seemed to stick together in groups of twos and threes.

  A glance at Rodney Cartwright’s Bible proved the same couldn’t be said of it. The open pages—obviously well read—had many highlighted and underlined passages. Handwritten notes filled the margins: top, bottom, and sides.

  Chet began reading the designated passage. Trevor’s translation was slightly different, but he was able to follow along.

  As the other men in the Bible study began to discuss the passage in Romans, Rodney remembered something his son had said in one of their last telephone conversations.

  “Dad, Trevor’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got a good heart. He’s so hungry for God.”

  Rodney glanced toward Trevor and realized that God was already answering the prayer he’d whispered a few days ago. It was as if Brad’s friendship with the singer had been transferred into Rodney’s heart, full and complete. Deep and unexpected affection for Trevor washed over him.

  One after another, he recalled things his son had told him, both in e-mails and when they talked on the phone. Mostly stories about Trevor. The kindnesses he had shown toward others. The words of encouragement he’d spoken to Brad. The loneliness that came with being on the road so much of the time. The times Brad had awakened and couldn’t remember what town or city they were in. And eventually, the questions Trevor had begun asking about what Brad believed, about his faith.

  Rodney was startled when he heard Chet begin the closing prayer. How had he allowed his thoughts to wander for the entire discussion? Had any of the other men noticed his lack of attention? He feared it would have been hard for them not to notice.