Читать книгу Heaven Knows - Jillian Hart - Страница 7

The warmth of the early-spring sun felt like a promise. Alexandra Sims shut the door of her ancient VW, careful of the loose window, and stared at the little town. She could see all of it from where she stood, with shops on one side of the road. On the other, railroad tracks paralleled the town, and beyond, new green fields shimmered.

She’d grown up in a town like this one along the coast of Washington State. So small, her high school graduating class had been thirty-eight. Maybe because of bad memories, she didn’t like small towns much. They’d never brought her luck.

But today she felt luck was in the air, and that made her step lighter as she strolled along the cement sidewalk. She’d pulled off the interstate to fill her gas tank and, since she was here, maybe she’d stop to eat lunch and do a little shopping. This was as good of a place as any.

This little town of Manhattan was truly no different from the other small Montana towns she’d passed through since recently she’d thrown what little she needed into her car and fled in the dark of the night.

Few of the buildings were new, many dating from the fifties or earlier when agriculture belonged to the family farmer and not huge corporations. The people who lived here took pride in their town—the streets were clean, the sidewalks swept and not a speck of litter could be found anywhere.

Sparkling store windows tossed her reflection back at her as she halted beneath a blue-striped awning. Corey’s Hardware, the sign proclaimed in bright blue paint.

She pushed her sunglasses onto the crown of her head and stepped through the doorway. A bell jangled overhead.

“Hello, there,” called a polite male voice the instant her sneakers hit the tile floor. “What can I do for you?”

Whoever belonged to that molasses-rich voice wasn’t in sight. Head-high shelves of merchandise blocked the way.

“Where are your ropes?” she called out.

“To your right, all the way against the wall.” A handsome athlete of a man came into view behind the long, old-fashioned wooden counter.

She caught a glimpse of dark black hair tumbling over a high intelligent forehead. Brooding hazel eyes, a sharp straight blade of a nose and a strong jaw that looked about as soft as granite. Definitely a remote, unreachable type.

She retreated to the far wall, where everything from braided hemp to thin nylon rope could be found. Lucky thing, because she found exactly what she needed. What she didn’t find was something to cut it with.

“How much do you need?” he asked in that voice that could melt chocolate.

“Three yards.”

He was at her side, taller than she’d first thought. He was well over six feet, and while he wasn’t lean, he wasn’t heavily muscled, either. He didn’t have much to say, which was fine with her. Really nice and handsome men made her nervous and tongue-tied. Probably because she wasn’t used to them—and great guys had always seemed out of her reach.

As gallant as a knight of old, he measured the thin nylon cord for her, giving her an extra foot, before cutting the end neatly and looping it into a tidy coil for her. “Anything else?”

“That should do it.”

He was very efficient—she had to give him that.

“I’ll ring you up front.” All business, he hardly glanced at her as he tucked away the small pocketknife he’d used to cut the rope. “Let me guess. You’re going camping?”

“Something like that,” she hedged. “I had a tent disaster last night, so I need to repair the main nylon cord.”

“Been there.” He led the way down the aisle of kitchen cabinet handles in every size and color, his stride long and powerful. “Figured you for a tourist. This valley’s small enough that sooner or later, you meet everyone in it.”

She’d grown up in a town like that, but she kept the information to herself. Her past was behind her and she intended to keep it that way. “This part of the country is beautiful.”

“Have you been down to Yellowstone?” He was only making polite conversation as he punched buttons on the cash register.

“Not yet.”

“The campsites aren’t booked up this time of year, so you don’t need reservations.” He slipped the rope into a small blue plastic bag. “That will be two seventy-one. If you have your tent in your car, you can bring it in and I’ll repair it for you. Free of charge. Company policy.”

His offer surprised her. She stopped digging through her purse for exact change to stare at him. A familiar panic clamped around her chest. Patrick was hundreds of miles away and he had no idea where she was, but this is how he’d affected her. Even a store clerk’s courtesy frightened her, when there was no reason for it.

The phone rang, and the clerk answered it. “Corey’s Hardware. John, here.” He spoke in the same friendly voice to whomever was on the other end of the phone.

John, huh? He looked like a John. Dependable, practical, rock solid.

There was no danger here. She had to remember that not every man was like Patrick. She knew it—now, if only her heart would remember it, she’d be fine.

Alexandra relaxed and bent to dig a penny from the bottom of her coin purse.

“Well, now, washers are tricky things, Mrs. Fletcher,” John drawled, tucking the receiver against his shoulder. “Maybe I ought to come by this afternoon and put in the right size for you, free of charge, except for the washer, of course. That’d be the best way to get the job done right.”

See what a nice man this John was? He helped all sorts of people. There was no reason at all to feel uneasy. She watched as he swept her coins into his palm as he listened to Mrs. Fletcher.

Nodding, he dropped the money into the cash register till. “Sure thing. I’ll give you a call before long.”

He tore off the receipt and slipped it into the bag. “I appreciate your business,” he told her. “Bring in your tent if you want.”

“Thanks.” She could do it herself. She zipped her purse closed and reached for the little blue plastic sack. The last thing she wanted to do was to rely on anyone else ever again. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

A note pinned to the back wall behind the counter caught her attention. Help Wanted. Full-Time Position.

The rest of the printing was too small to read as she swept past. A full-time position, right there, posted for her to see. She’d been praying for just this sort of an opportunity.

Maybe she should ask about it. Surely it wouldn’t hurt.

She took a look around at the neat shelving, the tidy merchandise and the polished old wood floor. This wasn’t what she had in mind. She’d been a cashier long ago, and she wouldn’t mind being one again, but working alongside a man—no, no matter how nice he seemed. Not after what she’d been through.

“Do you need anything else?” John asked from behind the counter, polite, clearly a good salesman.

“No, thanks.” She grabbed the doorknob, the bell jangled overhead and she tumbled onto the sidewalk. A cool push of wind breezed along her bare arms.

The advertisement troubled her. Was it coincidence that she’d spotted it, or more?

Unsure, Alexandra unlocked her car door, stowed the rope on the back floor behind the driver’s seat and grabbed her hand-knit cardigan from the back. The soft wool comforted her as it always did. Pocketing her keys, she continued down the cracked sidewalk toward the grocery at the end of the block.

The store bustled with activity as weekend shoppers chatted in the aisles and in the checkout lines at the front. Feeling like a visitor in a foreign land, Alexandra headed to the dairy section. The refrigeration cases were the old-fashioned kind, heavy glass doors with handles, reminding her of the small-town store where she used to shop as a girl.

This was not the kind of place where she wanted to live, she told herself as she selected a small brick of sharp cheddar that was marked as the weekly special. She’d left small-town life forever three days after graduating from high school and had never looked back.

Then again, living in a bigger city hadn’t exactly worked out well, either.

She wove around two women who looked to be about her age, chatting in the aisle, with their toddlers belted into brimming grocery carts, and felt a pang deep in her chest. What would it be like to live those women’s lives? Alexandra found a bag of day-old rolls that still felt as soft as fresh.

The Help Wanted sign in the hardware store kept troubling her. It was frightening not knowing what was ahead of her. Worse, not knowing if she would be able to build a new life. She had to trust that if the job at the hardware store was what God wanted for her, then He would find a way to tell her for certain.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” A woman with a small girl in tow gave Alexandra a smile. “I have a full cart, and you have only a few things.”

“Are you sure?” When the woman merely nodded, Alexandra thanked her and stepped in line.

She’d almost forgotten what small towns were like—the friendliness that thrived in them. A coziness that felt just out of her reach—as if she could never be a part of it. But she enjoyed listening to the checker ask an elderly woman about her new grandbaby.

Everyone seemed to know everything about a person in a small town, she reflected as she placed her cheese and rolls on the conveyer belt.

Why, if she actually were to interview for the job and got it, she’d be easy to locate. If she stayed here, she would probably be known as the new woman in town, even ten years from now.

No, if she took a job anywhere, it had to be in a larger city where she could blend in unnoticed and be harder to track down.

“Did you find everything all right?” the checker asked.

“Yes.”

“That will be three eighty-three, please.”

Alexandra pulled the fold of bills from her jeans pocket and peeled off four singles.

“Are you enjoying our countryside?”

“It’s very beautiful.”

“This time of year we don’t see too many tourists and Yellowstone is about ready to open some of its entrances, but I think it’s the best time to sightsee.”

Alexandra hardly knew what to say as the checker pressed change into her palm. “Have a good day.”

Even the bagger was friendly as she handed Alexandra a small paper sack.

Taking her purchases, she headed for the electronic doors. Everywhere she looked, she saw people chatting, friends greeting one another, and heard snatches of cheerful conversations.

After the stress and noise of living in a city, she liked breathing in the fresh-scented air. It was so quiet, the anxiety that seemed to weigh her down lifted a little and she took a deep breath. Longing filled her as she headed back to her car. A yearning for the kind of life she’d never known.

Fishing the keys from her pocket, she watched the woman from the checkout line lead the way to a minivan parked in the lot. How content she looked, carrying her small daughter on her hip, opening the back for the box boy who pushed her cart full of groceries. Full of dinners to be made. No doubt she’d drive to a tidy little house not far from here, greet her husband when he came home from work and never know what loneliness was.

That life seemed impossible to Alexandra. Wishful thinking, that’s what it was. Maybe, someday—if the good Lord were willing—she’d have a life like that, too.

In the meantime, she had a lot troubling her. She grabbed her water bottle from the front seat and tucked it under her arm. Clouds were moving in overhead, but the sun still shone as brightly as ever. The weather would hold for a lunchtime picnic.

When she spied a little ice-cream stand through the alley, she headed toward it. At the far end of the gravel parking lot, there was a patch of mown grass shaded by old, reaching maples.

Perfect. There were picnic tables beneath the trees, worse for the wear, but functional and swept clean. No one was around, so she chose the most private one. The wood was rough against her arms as she spread out her rolls and cheese.

A car halted at the ice-cream stand’s window. As the driver ordered, she heard the murmur of pleasant voices like friends greeting one another.

Alone, Alexandra bowed her head in prayer and gave thanks for her many blessings.

John Corey knew the look of someone hurting. Maybe because he knew something about that. For whatever reason, he couldn’t get the woman out of his mind as the minute hand slowly crept up the face of the twenty-year-old clock his uncle had hung on that wall decades before.

She was beautiful, no doubt about that. Not in a flamboyant, look-at-me sort of way, but pretty in a quiet, down-deep sort of way. And those wounded-doe eyes of hers made him wonder what had become of her. She hadn’t been back to let him repair her tent, and that disappointed him.

Only because he wanted to do what he could, that was all. Helping was sort of his calling. Sure, he owned a hardware store in a little town that was so small, a person could blink twice and miss the entire downtown. But being part of a community meant being aware of its needs.

He’d gotten in the habit of helping out where he could, fixing eighty-year-old Mrs. Fletcher’s outside faucet, for instance, because a widow on a set budget might not be able to afford a plumber.

He’d also come to believe that the Lord gave everyone a job in this world. And that his job was doing what he could. Like the beautiful young woman—there he went again, thinking about her. She’d looked as if she had the weight of the world on her slim shoulders, and, in a way, it was like looking at a reflection of himself.

Some might say her problems weren’t any of his business, and they might have a point. But what if she did need help? What if there was something he could do? Lord knew he had a debt to pay this world, and he’d seen her look at the Help Wanted sign he’d posted behind the counter. Did she need a job? But before he could ask her, she’d bolted through the door and was gone with a jangle of the overhead bell and a click of the knob.

And now that it was long past the noon hour and not one customer had been by the entire hour, he had plenty of time to think on what might have been. Plenty of time to notice the little yellow Volkswagen was still parked outside his front window.

Not any of his business, he reminded himself as he finished his microwaved cup of beef-flavored noodles at the front counter. She didn’t want help repairing her tent. Fine. Still, something nagged at him, troubling his conscience.

You’re just thinking of another woman you couldn’t help. John couldn’t deny it, and it left him feeling as if he had to do something, no matter how small, to help even the balance of things.

He was crumpling the noodle container and tossing it into the garbage bin in the back when it came to him. Working quickly, he dug his way through the messy storage room until he found the small kits he’d received a few months ago.

With one of them tucked under his arm, he hurried to the front. Just in time, too. He spotted her through the display window, unlocking her car. Her long dark hair tumbled around her face, a face more beautiful than he’d seen in a long while. Wearing faded jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, she caught his attention and held it.

Like a good Christian man, he ought to be concentrating on his good deed. But what did he notice? Her slim waist and her lean, graceful arms. She’d settled behind the wheel by the time he made it outside and since she’d rolled down her passenger side window, he did what any good man would do.

He leaned on the door and peered through the window. “Need any help, ma’am?”

She squinted at him as she settled her pink plastic sunglasses on her nose. “Ma’am?”

“I’m trying to show off the manners my mama raised me with.”

That made her smile, and it was a sight to behold. Dimples teased into the creases bracketing her mouth as she flipped a lock of molasses curls behind her shoulder.

What was with him? He had no business trying to make a pretty woman smile. No right to notice her beauty.

He cleared his throat, hoping to sound more gruff. “I’ve got something for you. Call it a visitor’s gift for every new customer through my door.”

“I don’t need a gift.”

“It’s a tent repair kit.” He handed her the package through the window. “It’s got everything you need. Since you’ve already experienced one tent disaster, you could have another. It never hurts to be prepared.”

“It certainly doesn’t.” She stared at the kit he offered, her soft mouth turning down in a frown. “How much does this cost?”

“Not a thing.”

“I’d hate to be indebted to you.”

“What debt? I didn’t mention any debt.”

“Nobody does something for nothing. It’s a hard fact of life.”

“The kit was a free sample to me from the manufacturer, trying to get me to order a whole batch from them. My storage closet is full of them. You’d be doing me a favor by taking one off my hands.”

How wary she looked. “All right. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied, already backing away. “You take care now.”

That was that. He’d done the right thing, he figured. Funny thing was, he couldn’t seem to turn around and walk away, or even look away as she bent to set the tent repair kit on the floor, her rich brown hair rioting forward to hide her face. Thick, lustrous curls that made him notice. And keep noticing.

He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t drag his attention away from her as she straightened. The amazing fall of hair bounced over her shoulders. He stood with his shoes cemented to the sidewalk as she reached for her keys with long slim fingers.

The hurt—he could see it in her, because it was so like the pain within him.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t lift his feet and walk away. Why he watched as she blew her lustrous bangs from her eyes with a puff. She slipped her keys into the ignition, but didn’t start the engine.

She leaned across the gearshift instead. “It’s odd, because I have a hole in my tent, too. I decided not to patch because I was trying to make do.”

“On a budget vacation?”

“Let’s just say a very tight budget. So tight, I’ve been praying for no rain, and then you hand me a repair kit out of the blue. It’s as if heaven whispered to you.”

“Could be. You just never know.”

“Thank you. I really mean that.” She started the engine, and blue smoke coughed from the tailpipe.

“How much farther do you think this thing will get?” he had to ask her, gesturing toward her Volkswagen.

“I know Baby doesn’t look like much.” She snapped her seat belt into place. “But she hasn’t let me down yet.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“Absolutely.”

He watched her head east through town, taking the back way to Bozeman.

He couldn’t say why, but it was as if he’d lost something. And that didn’t make any sense at all. The jangle of his phone reminded him he had better things to do than to stand in the middle of the sidewalk. He had his own problems to solve, debts to pay.

Redemption to find.