Fragile Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 4)

by Amber Kelly

  “I’d love to free Mom up from some of the workload she takes on. I know she enjoys working, but I think she’d prefer to go to part-time hours and be semi-retired. The problem is, there aren’t any locals with the education and skill set we need, and I haven’t come across anyone online, looking to relocate to Colorado, but I’ll keep trying. Until then, we just have to make it work,” he confides.

  “I’ll be happy to do some searching on your behalf as well. Maybe some of my college friends or sorority sisters know of someone who could be interested,” I offer.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You got it, Doc,” I say as I finish up and gather my things.

  “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

  “Dinner?” I ask, surprised by his request.

  “Yes, to thank you for the hard day’s work and to apologize for the hard day’s work,” he explains.

  I consider him for a moment. He looks expectant. I assume he doesn’t have a lot of friends in town, and no one likes to eat alone.

  “Sure, I’ll just call Momma and tell her not to expect me tonight,” I accept.

  “Great. Let me finish up a few things, and we’ll head to the diner. It’s meatloaf night,” he says with a wag of his eyebrows.

  I call Momma, who doesn’t seem the least bit upset that I’m skipping out on her tonight, and then I type a quick text to Derrick while I wait for Brandt.

  I didn’t get the job. :(

  Ugh, maybe I’ll end up taking him up on his offer for a job at Columbus. Ohio might not be so bad. I should give it a chance. Doreen could be right after all, and the Lord is just giving me a push in a different direction for my own good. I have to go with the flow and see where it leads me.

  I put my phone away and decide to enjoy the rest of my evening and not think about what’s next. Worrying myself sick isn’t going to change a thing anyway.

  We decide to walk to Faye’s Diner since it’s such a nice night.

  “You mentioned a delivery to a house earlier. Are you moving?” I make small talk as we stroll.

  “Not yet. I purchased the property for sale at the end of Mashstomp Road, and I’m going to renovate it. It’ll be a while before it’s move-in ready, I’m afraid.”

  I stop dead. He realizes this, and he halts and turns to look at me. His eyebrows rise in question.

  “Wait, are you telling me you bought the old Sugarman Homestead?” I ask.

  “I did,” he answers.

  “Oh my goodness, are you serious?” I squeal. “Do you know that place has been abandoned since we were little? Sonia, Elle, and I used to dream of buying it one day, and the three of us were going to live in it and raise our families in it, like an old, Southern Dynasty or something. Each of us with our own wing. We planned to throw posh parties and holiday balls like they did in Elizabethan London and live like high-society lords and ladies,” I tell him in my best British accent as I twirl.

  His eyes alight with humor.

  “I shall make sure I have a ballroom added, then, just for you ladies,” he playfully agrees.

  “You have to take me to see it! We’ve only ever gotten a glimpse from the windows, and I’ve been dying to see the inside all these years.

  “The Sugarmans were one of the original families who founded Poplar Falls. Mr. Sugarman built that house as a wedding gift to his bride. He spent two years here, overseeing its construction before he brought her, their teenage son, and twin daughters down from Colorado Springs. It was a grand monument to his love.”

  “How romantic,” he muses.

  “Isn’t it? Sad that he lost his wife and daughters to a fever five years later. Once their son grew up and moved to California, he lived in that big, old house alone. After his death, his son sold the house to a developer who planned to tear it down and use the land for planting, but the town had it declared a historical landmark, and he couldn’t demo it, so he let it sit there and rot. Eventually, the bank foreclosed on the property. It’s been vacant ever since. I sure am glad someone finally saw its potential,” I tell him.

  We make it to Faye’s, and the place is slammed. Meatloaf night is a big one around here. No one does it better than her cook, Andy.

  We chat as we enjoy our meal. Dr. Brandt is as intelligent and witty as he is handsome. He regales me with stories from his college days and a few of his more memorable experiences as a vet. I’m pleased that our adventure with the birth of little Ali makes the top ten.

  When we finish, he walks me back to the Mustang parked out front of the clinic.

  “Thank you again for today,” he says as I climb behind the wheel. “And you were right about the coffee. I had no idea what we were missing.”

  “Life’s too short to drink shoddy java, Doc.”

  “That it is,” he agrees.

  I turn the ignition.

  “See you tomorrow,” I say with a wave.

  He returns my wave and stands and watches until I drive out of sight. What a pleasant evening it turned out to be.

  Halfway home, my phone starts to ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, babe,” Derrick says.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “I’m sorry about the job,” he starts.

  I sigh. “Me too. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “So, you’re not mad?” he asks cautiously.

  “I guess not, disappointed maybe,” I admit.

  “I want you to know I wasn’t expecting it. Dr. Singh and I just started communicating, and one thing led to another. This is actually a good thing, if you think about it. I’ll go ahead and find an apartment and once I’m settled you can move in. Then, as soon as something becomes available, I can get you in at the zoo, and our logistics problem is solved. So, if you look at it that way, it’s actually the best-case scenario.”

  I’m not really following.

  “Wait, I thought you were going to stay in your parents’ basement for now?” I ask, confused.

  The line goes silent.

  “Derrick? Are you still there?”

  I look down at my phone to make sure I haven’t lost the signal.

  “Hello?” I try again.

  “They didn’t tell you?” he asks.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Dr. Singh offered me the job at the Denver Zoo, and I accepted the position this afternoon. I start the week after my master’s program is completed.”

  What?

  “What job?” I ask.

  “Animal nutritionist.”

  He gives me a moment while the news sinks in.

  “Bellamy?”

  “You stole my job?” I ask slowly, hoping I heard him wrong.

  “It wasn’t like that,” he begins to explain.

  “It is exactly like that,” I scream into the phone.

  “Sweetheart, listen to me.”

  “Go to hell, Derrick!”

  I hit the button to end the call. I get a notification of an incoming text from him moments later.

  Bellamy, we need to talk. I know it was a shock, but it will be great for our future. I’ll be able to lay the groundwork and build a foundation for you, for us. Then, you’ll be working in Denver, like you always dreamed. It’ll happen soon, and you’ll be by my side. Sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow. I miss you.

  He has got to be kidding me.

  I press the side button to turn the phone off.

  What a jackass.

  Bellamy

  I barely slept a wink. I tossed and turned and stewed in my anger all night long.

  When I make it to the kitchen in the morning, Myer is standing at the island with Momma.

  I plop into a stool and drop my head onto my folded arm as I mumble, “Coffee.”

  “What did you get into last night, sis?” Myer asks as I hear Momma open the cabinet to grab me a mug.

  “Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep.”

  Not buying it, Momma slides a mug of coffee in front of me and asks, “What’s
the matter, Bells?”

  I lift my head and look at her. There’s no use evading. She’s always been able to read me like a book.

  “I didn’t get the job at the zoo,” I say.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she starts.

  “It gets worse,” I tell her. “Derrick got the job. The one he hadn’t even applied for. The one he’d only known about and contacted the doctor about to give a reference for me!”

  “Derrick? Are you serious?” she bites.

  I nod.

  “That … that … rat!” she exclaims.

  I nod again.

  “And get this: he thinks I should be happy about it. That I should move in with him and wait patiently while he works out a place for me at the zoo,” I tell them.

  “He has gone and lost his mind,” Momma declares.

  “Yep, I can’t believe it. I thought I had this job in the bag. I know Dr. Singh thought I was good. I guess just not good enough.”

  “Not good enough? Are you serious? I wish you’d strike that phrase from your vocabulary young lady,” she scolds.

  “It’s true, Momma.”

  “No, it’s not! It’s just something you go around saying too often: How much time do you have? Not enough. How much sleep did you get last night? Not enough. You look amazing, how much weight have you lost? Not enough. How much money do you make? Not enough. You use it so much that you have started to believe it about yourself, but you hear me Bellamy Wilson, you are fearfully and wonderfully made, and you are more than enough. Do you understand me?”

  My lips begin to tremble at her declaration and I look up and nod my head in agreement.

  “Thank you, Momma,” I whisper.

  She places her hand on my cheek and squeezes. “Don’t you worry, Bells. You can stay right here until you figure out your next move. And don’t you settle either. You will find something just as good or even better. When God closes one door, he opens an even better one. You just have to be patient and willing to trust Him and walk through it when the time comes.”

  I grip her arm and lean into her hand.

  “Now, let’s make you some breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes are great at healing the soul,” she offers.

  “Thanks, Momma, but I have to get a shower and get to the clinic. We have a busy day today.”

  I take one last sip of the coffee and then push back from the island and stand.

  Myer doesn’t say anything. He simply envelops me in his massive arms for a few seconds. He doesn’t need words. I just absorb my big brother’s love and support.

  Then, he releases me, and I head upstairs to get my day started.

  Today is busier than yesterday. I’m not sure how that is even possible, but it is definitely welcome. I don’t have the time to dwell on my career status, and I keep my phone off all day, effectively avoiding Derrick and his flimsy excuses and apologies.

  Once we close up for the day, Brandt asks if I have plans for supper again.

  “Another date, Doc? The town is going to start whispering. I bet you and I were already the hot topic of the day at Janelle’s salon,” I tease.

  He looks confused for a moment, and it’s absolutely adorable.

  “No, I mean, I was going to ride out to the house and thought you might want to come along.”

  “Yes! I’d love to,” I accept immediately.

  “There isn’t any electricity on there yet, but there is running water, so we can stop for takeout and eat there, if you’re hungry,” he offers.

  “I’ll call us in a sandwich order to Dottie. What would you like?” I ask as I pick up the phone and dial.

  “Surprise me,” he says and then disappears down the hallway.

  “This place is just as magical as I imagined it would be,” I say as we walk around the first floor.

  Two large, hand-carved wooden doors open up to a grand foyer. A split ivory staircase with an intricate mahogany banister winding down both sides leads up to the second floor. To the right is a huge living room with an old piano in front of the bay windows that overlook the overgrown front lawn. The left leads to a parlor with a fireplace on one wall, and it sides up to the kitchen.

  “There are five bedrooms and three baths upstairs and a small room off the kitchen behind the stairs, which I think might have been for the cook or maybe the maid’s quarters at one time. My plan is to gut the kitchen and completely remodel it. I want to remove this wall and turn the parlor into a dining room that opens to the living room. I’ll restore the staircase and refinish all the wood. Sand and keep all the original floors. The largest room upstairs, I’m going to turn into a master suite and expand the attached bath and add two walk-in closets. That will take one of the smaller bedrooms, and it will end up as a four-bedroom home instead of five.”

  As he explains his home plans, I can envision exactly what it will look like, and it sounds amazing.

  I walk over to the stairs and run my hands along the banister. “It’s going to be spectacular. The mix of the new and the old world. The bones are lovely, and adding the modern touches is going to make it something special,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he agrees.

  “May I?” I ask as I gesture up to the second floor.

  “Please.” He extends his arm in invitation, and I make my way to the top.

  I walk the circular, open layout, peeking into each room. They are very Victorian and nothing that I imagine Brandt would like.

  “I’ll update these too. Bigger closets, fresh paint, and new furniture,” he says.

  “I’m jealous,” I declare as we make it back to the staircase. “I do believe you are going to have a dream home when you finish.”

  He looks around. “If I ever finish. It’s not like I have tons of free time lying around. But it’ll be a fun project. I’m looking forward to the work. Come on. You haven’t seen the best part.” He beckons, and I follow him out the back door and onto a concrete veranda that overlooks the yard.

  “Wow,” is all I manage to get out as I take in the back side of the property. It’s better than I remember. So tranquil.

  It’s hidden from the road, and I never realized how massive the land back here was.

  “I thought maybe I’d have a pool put in,” he starts.

  I vaguely remember this place being abloom with color.

  “Are you kidding? This is meant to be a garden. One of those that has pathways and benches for meditation and reflection. A place for picnics and barbecues. You don’t want to ruin it with a pool that you can only open a couple of months a year. Besides, I bet the river is just beyond that tree line.” I point toward the wooded area off in the distance. “You can swim out there whenever you want.”

  He considers me for a moment, and then he looks out over the space. I can see his mind working behind his eyes.

  “A garden,” he repeats.

  “A magnificent garden full of beautiful blooms and fruit trees and a gazebo,” I suggest.

  “And a she-shed for Mom, one that looks like a cottage, there in that corner by the fountain.” He gestures toward the far right.

  “I imagine she’d love it,” I utter. “Sounds perfect.”

  “It does,” he agrees.

  “What’s that?” I point toward a stack of lumber to the side of the patio.

  “Building material. I had it delivered. I bought a tractor to start clearing the land, and I need a utility shed or garage to keep it in.”

  “You planning to build a garage yourself?”

  “No, ma’am. I plan to hire a contractor to build me one.”

  “Foster is a master carpenter. He helped Myer build his cabin. I bet he’d be willing to do a side job, if you are okay with him working after hours. He does good work,” I recommend.

  “Foster. Thank you for the tip. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

  I look back at the house and then turn to him in question. “You wouldn’t happen to need any help demoing the kitchen, would you?”


  He considers me.

  “I guess another set of hands couldn’t hurt anything. Why?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I feel like tearing some shit up.”

  Brandt

  I hand her a pair of goggles, not sure how I got talked into this.

  “I wasn’t exactly planning to start on this tonight,” I tell her.

  “Why wait?” she says as she looks at the tools I have laid out before us.

  “Because I haven’t had a professional come in to tell me where the plumbing and wiring are located and which walls are load-bearing. We could potentially cave the whole house in,” I inform her.

  “Oh, we won’t do all of that. Don’t be a drama queen,” she says as she rolls her eyes. “We’ll just pull off the cabinet doors and bust out the drawers for now.”

  She chooses a crowbar and starts on the doors.

  I watch as she takes her aggression out on the first one. And then the next. She goes down the line and uses the crowbar like a bat to knock each one from its hinges. By the time she gets to the last one, her face is red, and she has tears streaming down her cheeks.

  She turns to the bottom set of cabinets, and before she can swing, I grab the crowbar from her and she looks up at me in surprise.

  “Want to talk about it?” I ask.

  She slides her eyes to the side. “Not really,” she whispers.

  “I’m a good listener,” I prompt.

  “I hate him. He really cranks my tractor,” she says as she swipes under her eyes.

  “He?” I ask.

  “Derrick. My ‘boyfriend.’ ” She throws her hands up and uses air quotes on the word boyfriend and continues without taking a breath, “It will be great for our future. I’m laying the groundwork, building a foundation here for you and me. Who the hell does he think he is?”

  “The one who cranks your tractor?” I ask.