Читать книгу Making His Way Home - Kathryn Springer - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Grace had no choice but to follow as Cole strode over to the wagon.

“Hey, Buttercup,” he crooned, knuckling the mare’s wide velvety nose.

B.C.’s ears twitched in response to the husky rumble of Cole’s voice and Grace’s heart responded with a traitorous twitch of its own.

“I can’t believe you remember her name,” she muttered.

“It’s pretty hard to forget a two-thousand-pound horse named Buttercup.”

But apparently, Grace thought, it wasn’t hard to forget other things. Like plans. And promises.

She fumbled with a strap on the mare’s harness in an attempt to avoid eye contact with the man whose presence had tipped her world off its axis.

For the first time, she noticed a black midsize SUV parked on the other side of the house. If she hadn’t been so distracted by her thoughts, she would have realized someone else was on the property.

But what was Cole doing in Mirror Lake?

Grace had never considered the possibility that Kate’s letter would not only gain permission for her to lead tours of the Merrick property, but also result in a visit from the owner of the property himself.

But here he was, standing less than three feet away from her. It felt almost surreal.

After Cole had left town without a word, Grace had played dozens of different scenarios in her mind, rehearsing what she would say if their paths ever crossed again.

She hadn’t realized that she would find it difficult to say anything at all. Or that Cole would be more attractive at twenty-nine than he’d been at seventeen.

His lanky teenaged frame had shot up another inch or two and filled out. He was still lean in the hips, but his shoulders were broader, his arms more muscular. The unruly strands of ink-black hair that had once brushed the top of his collar had been cropped short. Taken one by one, Cole’s features could almost have been described as ordinary. Deep-set green eyes. Strong cheekbones. Angular jaw. But added together, they packed quite a punch.

The fact that she could hardly breathe was proof.

“How many miles does she get to the gallon?” he asked.

Grace refused to respond to Cole’s teasing smile. “We thought the historical tour would be more fun if we used an authentic mode of transportation.”

“We?”

“I’m on the planning committee.”

“I didn’t realize you were one of the people who’d volunteered to help with the celebration this weekend,” Cole said slowly.

“I’m the only one with a horse and wagon.” Grace untied the reins, a not-so-subtle hint she was ready to leave. “B.C. only comes out of retirement for special occasions now, though, like the Fourth of July parade and Reflection Days in September. The kids love her.”

“So you’ll be leading the tours?” Cole seemed as determined to continue their conversation as she was to end it.

“A journey back in time.” Grace had come up with the name during a brainstorming session with the planning committee and the irony wasn’t lost on her now.

She didn’t want to journey back in time. Not if it meant facing Cole Merrick again.

“So you came back for the weekend?” He rested a tanned forearm on the side of the wagon. “Or do you spend your summers here?”

“I don’t know what you...” The air emptied out of Grace’s lungs, making it impossible to finish the thought.

Cole assumed she’d returned for the celebration.

But why wouldn’t he? She’d confided in him that summer. Trusted him with her dreams.

With her heart.

“I’m not visiting. I live here.”

“In Mirror Lake?” Cole struggled to hide his surprise. As far as he knew, Grace had never planned to make the town her permanent home.

“That’s right.” She wedged the toe of her cowboy boot inside the spoke of the wagon wheel and swung onto the seat before Cole could offer his assistance. “My parents moved to Boston to be closer to my sister, Ruth, and her family a few years ago. They bring my two nephews back for a visit every summer.

“Mom claims it’s to give the boys a taste of country living, but she pulls weeds in the flower beds all day and Dad cuts enough firewood to last all winter. I think they’re the ones who need to spend some time in the outdoors.”

So, not only had Grace made Mirror Lake her home, but she still lived next door.

Had she fallen in love with one of the locals and decided to stay? Cole’s gaze dropped to her left hand. No wedding band or engagement ring.

He couldn’t believe it. Were all the men in town blind, deaf and dumb? Or just dumb?

“Why did you decide to stay?” Cole couldn’t prevent the words from slipping out.

“I love it here.”

Was it his imagination, or had she placed a slight emphasis on the word “I”?

“What do you do? For a living?” Cole knew the sluggish economy had hit the northern Wisconsin counties particularly hard, but Mirror Lake had been struggling for years. He figured the only thing that had kept the town going was an equal mix of love and loyalty, along with a generous dash of stubbornness, in the hearts of the people who called it home.

“I’m a social worker.”

That surprised Cole, too. “I thought for sure you’d be teaching English Lit at some fancy prep school.”

Grace looked away. “Plans change.”

Cole couldn’t argue with that. And sometimes they were simply put on hold, waiting for the right opportunity.

“It was nice of you to let us add the cabin to our tour,” Grace said after a moment, so politely that once again, Cole was reminded that she’d changed, too. “Kate asked me to stop over tonight and make sure there were no safety issues.”

Cole glanced at the cabin. The sun had dissolved into a strip of clouds on the horizon and shadows funneled through the trees and crept into the yard, shrouding the small structure in darkness. “Are there? I haven’t had a chance to look around yet.”

“The grass is pretty tall, but I didn’t see anything that could cause an injury. And the cabin appears sound.”

“No...snakes?” He tried to suppress a shudder.

“No snakes.” Grace’s unexpected smile, the first genuine one he’d seen, sent Cole’s heart crashing against his rib cage.

She was obviously remembering the afternoon they’d explored the tiny cabin and disturbed a pine snake dozing in an old chair. Cole had mistaken it for a coil of rope—until he swept it onto the floor. The thing had glided over his feet on its way to find another hiding place, but Cole had beat it to the door, leaving Grace behind in tears.

Because she’d been laughing so hard.

Truth be told, Cole was beginning to remember a lot of things about the summer he’d met Grace.

But it was the future he needed to focus on.

After he’d discovered Kate’s letter—misfiled in a desk drawer, thanks to Bettina, his absentminded younger sister—Cole had contacted Sullivan and Sullivan, the only law office in Mirror Lake. Not only had the attorney recognized his name, but he’d also claimed he had a copy of Sloan’s will and a key to the house—for Cole.

Until that moment, Cole hadn’t truly believed his grandfather had left him an inheritance. He’d assumed the house and land, along with all of Sloan’s personal possessions, had gone up for sale after his death.

Shaken, Cole had asked the lawyer why he hadn’t been told about his grandfather’s wishes. Sullivan had hemmed and hawed a bit before explaining that Sloan had set a condition—that Cole not be told about the property unless he returned to Mirror Lake on his own.

Cole didn’t believe in coincidences, but he did believe in divine intervention.

This is your time, his secretary, Iola, had said right before Cole had left for Mirror Lake.

His time hadn’t been his own since he was seventeen. But now that his mother had remarried and his younger siblings were starting their own lives, maybe he could finally believe it was true.

And all he had to do to make his dream a reality was to sell the piece of land that had been in the Merrick family for five generations.

* * *

“I’m sorry, but Sully won’t be back in the office until Monday.”

Cole stared at the receptionist—and apparently the other half of Sullivan and Sullivan—in disbelief. Candy Sullivan, a bleach blonde in her mid-fifties, had pointed to a chair by the window when he’d walked into the law office. Then she’d spent the next fifteen minutes chatting on the phone while she painted each fingernail a shade of red that matched the fire hydrant on the curb outside.

Fortunately, her conversation had come to an end about sixty seconds before Cole’s patience.

“I picked up the key from Mr. Sullivan when I got into town yesterday. He didn’t say anything about going away for the weekend.”

“Yesterday Sully didn’t know that Mayor Dodd was going to ask him to judge the square dance competition.” Candy pursed her lips and blew a stream of air on her pinky finger. “He needs a few hours to get ready, so he skipped out early. Matilda Fletcher, she’s the head of the historical society, found him the cutest pair of red suspenders—”

“You mean he’s still in town?”

Penciled-in eyebrows hitched together like boxcars over the narrow track of Candy’s nose. “Where else would he be, honey? A town only turns one hundred and twenty-five years old...” A brief pause. “Once.”

Cole pulled in a breath and held it, trying to cap off his rising frustration. He’d promised Iola he would be back by the end of the day.

His secretary’s husband, Virgil, had taken Cole’s place in the cockpit for the flying lessons Cole had scheduled, but he preferred to be on the ground now, taking care of the shop. A job that had belonged to Cole before he’d bought out the business from Cap Hudson, the flight school’s previous owner.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“He’s probably at the park right about now. I have to get over there myself.” Candy dropped the tiny brush back into the bottle and aimed a pointed look at the clock.

“You wouldn’t happen to know the name of a local Realtor, would you?”

“There’s only one. Sissy Perkins.”

“Where is her office located?”

“A block off Main. Right behind the bank.”

“Thanks—”

“But Sissy isn’t working today, either.”

“The square dance competition?”

Candy Sullivan’s shield against sarcasm had to be as thick as her bronze foundation because she smiled at him. “The box social. It starts at eleven, by the pavilion.”

Cole glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might have a few minutes to talk to both his grandfather’s attorney and the Realtor.

Or see Grace again.

He shook away the thought and another one immediately took its place....

Grace sitting on the rock, her bare toes drawing lazy circles in the water while she listened to him recite a passage from his English text. Splashing him if he dared to grumble.

But the Grace he’d encountered the evening before wasn’t the one he remembered. That Grace wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to get away from him.

Cole felt a stab of regret for the way things had turned out.

He’d thought about Grace over the years. Pictured her standing in a sunlit classroom against a chalkboard backdrop, the classics fanned out on her desk like a buffet. Each book a sample of a new literary adventure she would encourage reluctant students to try.

He’d never imagined she would become a social worker and continue living in her childhood home. She was the one who’d challenged him to pursue his dreams.

Plans change, she’d said.

But what had changed? Her circumstances? Her goals? She’d told him what she was doing, but not why.

Because it’s none of your business, Cole reminded himself.

And right now, his business was somewhere in the park.

He waited at the corner for a brightly painted ice-cream truck to lumber past before crossing Main Street.

From the looks of it, half the town had already gathered in front of the pavilion. Cole stalked toward the makeshift stage set up in the shade of a towering maple, dodging kids and dogs and several people who looked like extras on the set of Little House on the Prairie.

He paused to look around, trying to find Marty Sullivan’s face in the crowd.

“I think the auction is about to start,” he heard someone say. “Let’s get closer to the stage. I can’t see what I’m bidding on from way back here.”

“Just don’t bid on the one with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. That one’s mine.”

“It’s Grace Eversea’s basket, ain’t it?”

Cole’s head jerked around at the name. He eased around the trunk of the nearest tree so he could eavesdrop—see—better.

Two guys close to his age stood several yards away. One of them was as tall and skinny as a fly rod, with shaggy blond hair and a full beard. The other a businessman of some kind, pale and clean-cut with a smile as tight as the garish purple tie knotted around his neck.

“What if it is?” Purple Tie sounded a wee bit defensive.

“Good luck with that,” Shaggy scoffed.

“You’re just bitter because Grace wouldn’t go to the fireworks with you last Fourth of July.”

“How many times have you struck out?” Shaggy shot back.

“Not as many as you.”

Cole almost smiled. He wasn’t sure why the guy was bragging about it.

“And you think winning her basket is going to make Grace forget the reason she turns down all the guys who ask her out?”

“I know it will. Women love this kind of attention. When I outbid everyone else, she’ll be flattered—”

“And grateful.”

His friend flashed a sly grin. “You got it.”

Cole couldn’t believe it. If he had his way, neither one of them would spend five minutes in Grace’s company. They didn’t deserve her.

“I’ve got twenty dollars.” Purple Tie tapped his back pocket. “Do you think it’ll go for more than that?”

“If it does, I’ve got five I can lend you.”

“Great. Then I’m in.”

Cole dug his wallet from his back pocket and thumbed through the contents as the bidding started.

A slow smile spread across his face.

So was he.