Читать книгу Apple Blossom Bride - Lois Richer - Страница 10

She was bored.

Ashley perched on the deck of Piper’s gorgeous hillside home two weeks later and stared down into the smooth clear waters of Serenity Bay without really seeing a thing.

Her ankle still ached if she walked too much, her ribs weren’t totally healed, but after two weeks of sitting around while Piper rushed off to work, she was sick of waiting for a return to normalcy—whatever that was. She’d expected to find peace here. Instead the same old sense of unease clung.

She needed to do something.

“Maybe I’ll go into town,” she told the crow perched on a deck railing.

Maybe you’ll see Mick Masters again, a little voice whispered.

She pushed it away, but the damage had already been done.

A perfect likeness of Michael filled her head. Neither the brown-black eyes, nor that flirting diamond sparkle that dared you to smile, had been dimmed by the years. His hair was exactly as she remembered—maybe a little shorter now than it had been when she’d fallen for him in her fifteenth summer, but still a bit shaggy, emphasizing his rakish charm.

He hadn’t recognized her. There was a lot to be thankful for in that. Heat scorched her cheeks remembering how she’d trailed after him when his mother had held parties for the church youth group at her house. Ashley had attended the group every week that summer just to catch a glimpse of Mick.

That summer shone golden in her mind. Her friends, the bay with its silken sand beach and Mick’s teasing grin to hope for—a thousand girls would have envied her. But they didn’t know that she was only pretending to be normal.

Ashley rose, walked inside, sweeping away the memories in a rush of busyness. But dusting Piper’s pristine living room was a wasted effort and soon she was gazing out the windows again.

“Might as well go into town and get it over with,” she told herself.

She hadn’t been back since the first day when she’d embarrassed herself. Grabbing that little girl—what was she thinking?

Simple. She’d been thinking about the past, about the day anxiety took over her life. Over the past ten years Ashley had consulted counselors, psychologists, medical personnel of all kinds, but no matter what she tried, the panic attacks continued. They’d grown worse lately.

A Bible study leader in one of the small groups she’d attended suggested that the sense of fear Ashley had asked them to pray about was a result of not trusting God, that she had to let go and let Him handle things. Like she hadn’t tried that a thousand times!

The woman meant well but she didn’t understand. How could she? Ashley couldn’t explain where the fear came from. She’d carried it around with her for so long it had become part of her. So she found a way to deal with it.

Everything in her life was deliberately planned, carefully organized and carried out, minimizing the chance for that paralyzing terror to swamp her. That she’d let her guard down with Kent and endangered herself was too scary. That’s why she’d been so ready to leave Vancouver. It didn’t feel safe anymore.

Ashley remembered the look on Mick’s face when she’d ordered him to put his daughter down. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so pathetic. Well, she’d just have to run the other way if she saw him. She was thankful that he hadn’t seemed to recognize her. Maybe he wasn’t aware of her teenage crush, or he had forgotten how she’d hung on his every word. She hoped.

Serenity Bay looked the same as it always did after the summer cottagers had gone back to the city. Barrels of flowers still burgeoned with cascading blossoms, fairy lights hung from red-gold maples in the town square, a few balloons clung limply to the lamppost outside the ice-cream shop. The welcome banner still stretched across the main road.

The biggest difference was the abundance of empty parking spaces on either side of the narrow streets.

Ashley pulled in front of the Coffee Pot. Through the huge glass windows she could see Mrs. Masters, her round face as unlined as it had always been. A spurt of warmth bubbled up at the welcome Ashley knew she’d find inside. She pulled open the café door with a flutter of excitement.

“Ashley? Ashley Adams, is that you?” Strong arms pulled her close, enveloping her in a cloudy aroma of yeasty bread and summer’s last roses. After a minute, Mrs. Masters drew back, peered into her face. “My goodness dear, you look like a New York model. If it wasn’t for those big gray eyes of yours I’m not sure I would have recognized you.”

They chatted for a few minutes. Mrs. Masters insisted she share a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a piece of fresh apple pie which Ashley picked at.

“Is there something wrong?” her hostess asked, frowning at the mangled pie. “You used to like my apple pie.”

“No. It’s delicious. And I still do. I’m just not very hungry, I guess.”

“You really need to take care of yourself, my dear. You’re so thin. And there are dark circles under your eyes.”

“I was in an accident. I guess it’s taking longer to heal than I thought.” She smiled to ease the other woman’s concern. “I’m going a little stir crazy just sitting around at Piper’s. It was very kind of her to invite me, but I’m used to being active and Serenity Bay isn’t exactly buzzing at this time of year.”

“A museum or something—wasn’t that where you worked?”

“Actually an art gallery,” Ashley corrected. “But I’m not there anymore.”

“No, I don’t imagine you’re up to working after crashing a race car.” Her eyes twinkled. “All right, I’ll confess. I had heard about the accident. Remember, there are no secrets in a small town.” Mrs. Masters paused, tapped one finger against her bottom lip. “I wonder.”

“What are you wondering?” Ashley murmured, then questioned whether she should have asked. Mrs. Masters was a busybody—a nice one, but a busybody all the same.

“The art teacher up at the high school was in for dinner last night, bemoaning the fact that the school board can’t afford to provide the students access to galleries to see the new styles today’s artists use. She’s got some creative souls in that class who she thinks would flourish if they could just have their interest piqued. I don’t suppose you still carry around your slide collection?”

Ashley nodded. “Yes, I do. In fact, they’re in my car. I brought them specifically to show Rowena when she was here for Labor Day. We had some wonderful things come through the gallery this summer and you know how she loves to scout out unusual pieces for those landscapes she designs.”

“Yes, I do. I also think I know some high school kids who’d appreciate seeing those slides.” Mrs. Masters scanned Ashley from head to foot, nodding. “One look at you and I know they’d sit up and listen. You are what they aspire to be. Talented, gorgeous, smart, interesting.”

“Me?” Ashley raised one eyebrow. “I don’t even have a job at the moment.”

“That’s not important right now. Your health is what matters most. But if you’re bored, helping at the school might fill your day.” Mrs. Masters pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Take this to the school. Jillian Tremaine is the teacher’s name. Tell her I sent you.”

Three men pushed through the doors of the coffee shop. Ashley gave them a quick check, her heart racing. Nope. Not him.

“You’ve got customers. I’d better go.” But Ashley couldn’t leave until she’d learned what she really needed to know. “How is your family, Mrs. Masters?”

“We’re all fine. My girls have moved to the east coast for their jobs but Michael’s back in town. He lives below the ridge with his daughter. She’s a darling.” A fond smile tilted her generous mouth.

“I didn’t know he’d married.” Understatement of the year.

“Yes, but he’s single now. Tati is a godsend.” Her eyes lit up. “We love that little sweetheart so much.”

“I’m sure.”

Mrs. Masters’s attention wavered to her now-seated customers.

“Excuse me, dear. I’ve got to get back to work. You be sure to talk to Jillian.” She patted her shoulder absently. “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”

“Thanks for the pie.”

“Oh, pfui! You take care of yourself.”

Ashley waggled her fingers and left, mulling over the idea of showing her slides. A few hours a week at the high school—it might just keep her busy enough to prevent getting involved in Piper’s winter festival plans.

Not that Ashley had anything against a winter festival in Serenity Bay. Her father had been part of a group who’d self-published a community history book on the trappers, hunters and fishermen who’d originally settled the bay. Piper’s plan to resurrect some of those old skills into a modern-day festival sounded like loads of fun.

But Ashley wasn’t ready to tie herself down here. Not yet. Not since a tiny sprite with black curly hair had demanded to be free, stopping her heart and reminding her that the past wasn’t dead and buried.

Her focus shifted to what Mrs. Masters had said about Mick. So he’d been married. Hardly surprising given that half the tourist girls that had visited the Bay every summer went gaga over Mick’s bad-boy grin and heart-melting winks. Ashley had come back to visit her father every summer after her parents had split, and her fifteenth summer had been spent hoping and praying Mick would notice her.

It had never happened.

Mick never chose one female over another. He preferred hanging out with a group of friends—both boys and girls. Of course she’d never really been part of his set. He was three years older for one thing. And employed. While she’d played with Piper and Rowena, Mick had helped out his dad in the garage and his mother in her coffee shop. Then one summer Ashley arrived to find he’d left the Bay. She’d never seen him again.

Until the other day at the apple tree when she’d let the past intrude.

She was more certain than ever that Michael had probably never noticed her gaping at him from afar. Good thing, because it meant she wouldn’t feel doubly embarrassed if she met up with him again.

Which she had absolutely no intention of doing.

Ashley started the car, shifted into first and headed toward the school.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am that Mrs. Masters asked you to talk to me.” Jillian Tremaine pressed a hand to her upsweep, pushing a pin in place.

“Oh?”

“I’ve been at my wits’ end trying to get these kids interested in expressing themselves with visual arts. Unless it has to do with computers they tune out, you know. And somehow the curriculum books just don’t cut it. But you and your slides—” She smiled. “They’re going to enjoy their time with you and I’m going to enjoy putting those busy little minds to work.”

“I hope you’re right—about the slides, I mean.”

“I am.”

Ashley chatted with her for another few minutes, agreeing to show up Monday after lunch. She left as the bell rang for the next period.

Students filled the halls, laughing, talking and shoving each other good-naturedly as they went. One or two of the boys gave her the once-over. Ashley had to smile.

She was almost to the front door when a hand closed around her arm. Every nerve tensed as she jerked free, whirled around, prepared to defend herself. Her jaw dropped.

“You!”

“Yep. Sorry if I hurt you.” Brown eyes melting like chocolate in the sun lit up Mick’s face. His mouth tilted into a crooked smile. “I didn’t mean to grip so hard. I called out a couple of times but with this mob I don’t suppose you heard.”

“No, I didn’t.” Why had he stopped her? “Are you leaving, too?”

His nose wrinkled. “I wish. I have a class this period.”

“You’re teaching here?” She couldn’t believe it. The last thing she’d expected Mick Masters to become was a teacher.

“Started this month. Shop class for grades ten to twelve. You don’t want to know how dangerous it is to pair up a teenager with a saw.” He grinned. “Most of my students are accidents waiting to happen.”

Ashley honed in on the bandage covering his thumb. “Apparently not only the kids.”

He had the grace to look embarrassed.

“A misbehaving chisel. I chastised it thoroughly, don’t worry.”

“Uh-huh.” She zipped her jacket. “Good to talk to you again, Michael. I’d better not keep you.”

“You’re not. The kids aren’t allowed to touch anything unless I’m in the room. For that reason I try always to be late.” He said it without any sign of an apology, but his eyes danced with fun. “Can we have coffee sometime?”

“Why?” She held the door open, wishing her brain would function. She wasn’t prepared for this, not at all.

“Why?” He frowned, tilted his head to one side. “Well, because I’ve never had coffee with a fashion model and because it would greatly improve my status with the two terrors watching us from upstairs.”

“I’m not a fashion model.” Ashley glanced up. Both boys were ogling her and Mick.

She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening against the metal.

“Besides, I wanted to thank you for going out of your way to make sure no one was hurting my daughter. Not everyone would pay that much attention to a child’s cry,” he said quietly.

“It was a mistake. I should have minded my own business. I have to go now. Goodbye.” She scooted through the door and strode down the steps toward her car. Seconds later she’d left the school—and Mick—far behind.

When she saw the sign for Lookout Point, Ashley pulled into the parking area, shut off her motor and sat there, staring across the valley, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She hadn’t answered him about the coffee but no doubt he’d gotten the message. Mick wasn’t stupid.

And yet, it wasn’t Mick she’d met again.

This was no boy, definitely not the teenage heartthrob she’d spent hours daydreaming about. Michael Masters was a grown man, with a daughter and responsibilities.

He’d been married once, now he had a child.

That alone was a good reason not to go with him for coffee. She’d already made two mistakes trying to achieve a relationship where she completely trusted her partner. One where her heart wouldn’t be at risk.

Young Mick Masters had been anything but safe. Michael Masters the man would be no different.

“I don’t know how you do it, Mom.” Michael savored the last bite of apple pie his mother had saved for him. “You work a much longer day than I do yet you still manage to make a home-cooked dinner and entertain Tati when I can barely keep one foot in front of the other. Amazing.”

“No, honey. It’s just years of practice. And owning a restaurant.” She chuckled as she picked up his plate, set it in her dishwasher. “Things will get easier for you, I promise. When you and your sisters were little your father and I were walking zombies. But we learned how to cope. You will, too.”

“The difference is you had Dad. I sometimes wonder if Tati’s suffering without her mother.”

“Has she said something?”

“No. She seems fine at the daycare. But it’s hard to leave her there with strangers all day. Thanks.” He accepted the tea she handed him, watching out the window as Tati climbed the old slide and whizzed down it just as he and his sisters had done.

“Tatiana is adjusting well. She has a stable home now, a daddy who loves her. That has to be better than gallivanting all over the globe with Carissa. Children need security. You’re providing that. Cut yourself some slack.”

“I guess.” He mulled that over as he got up, dried the pots and pans she had washed, then resumed his seat. Tati was busy in the sandbox so he had a few minutes to talk. “I wanted to ask you about someone I met. A woman—tall, blond. She looks like a movie star or something. Her name is Ashley—”

“Adams.” His mother nodded. “You should remember her. She used to live in the Bay. She was in my Bible class before her parents separated. Her mother moved away, but Ashley came back every summer to stay with her father, Regan Adams. Remember him? He died several years ago—a salesman who traveled a lot. Ashley’s a good friend of Piper Langley’s.”

“Wow. Do you also know her shoe size?” He stared at her in admiration. “Nothing gets past you.”

“Remember that,” she teased.

“She was at the school today.”

“Of course she was. I sent her there to talk to Jillian about showing her art slides.” His mother stored the last of the pots away. “Ashley used to work in a fancy gallery in Vancouver. She keeps a collection of slides from noteworthy work she’s handled. If what I’ve heard is correct, they’re perfect for Jillian to show to her students.”

“A gallery?” He sat up straight. “You said ‘worked,’ not ‘works.’ She’s not there anymore?”

“She was in an accident. She came to Cathcart House to stay with Piper and recuperate. I don’t know if she’s going back or not.” His mother gave him “the look.” “If you’d spoken to her, you could have asked her.”

“I tried. If I’d known about the gallery gig, I might have tried harder.” He checked the backyard, saw Tati hovering by the fence. “Uh-oh, she’s restless, which can only mean trouble. I’d better go. Are you sure she didn’t ruin your tablecloth? That juice is a pain to get out.”

“After surviving you three my linens are indestructible to childish spills. Besides, it wouldn’t matter a whit if she did,” his mother insisted. “I can buy another tablecloth. But that sweet child will only be four years old for a very short time.”

“True. The question is whether I can last till five.” Michael rose, massaged the tense cords in his neck. “Thanks again for dinner. I appreciate not having to cook.”

“Are you going to work tonight?” his mother asked. She tapped one knuckle on the window to get Tati’s attention, shook her head. Apparently Tati obeyed.

“Tonight I have to check over some homework I stupidly assigned last week.” He groaned. “Teaching takes up so much time. I never imagined I’d be spending so many hours at it. It makes it hard to find time—” A squeal from outside drew his attention. Michael sighed as he went to investigate. “We’d better go. It’s almost bath time.”

Teaching, Tati and trivialities—that’s what took up his time nowadays. Frustration ate at Michael as he fastened her into the car seat, but a pat on his cheek from her little hand tamped it down. He’d choose Tati over his silly dream every time.

His mother waved them off while Tati chatted merrily about her friend Wanda at day care. Tales of Wanda filled the entire drive to the house he’d purchased a few short months ago. The place had seemed the right decision then, but on days like this he wondered about all his choices.

Michael struggled to engage Tati in their nightly bubble war. Though she was up to her eyebrows in the iridescent globes and only too willing to douse him as well, she wasn’t entirely happy about something. He didn’t press. She wouldn’t tell him until she was good and ready anyway. At least he’d learned that much about her.

His attention strayed too long. The bubble bottle slipped and it took ages to clean up the slippery mess. Another half hour to clean Tati off, get her into pajamas and dry her hair.

But once she was tucked in bed, pressed against his shoulder as he read her a favorite story, Michael couldn’t begrudge her one second. This was worth everything.

“Wanda says daddies and mommies are supposed to live together. Is that right, Daddy?”

“That’s the way God planned it, sweetheart. But sometimes things don’t work out like that.”

“Because my mommy is in heaven?”

“Uh-huh.” He so did not want to get into this tonight.

“Well, I don’t like it. I want a mommy to do things with me like Wanda has. Do you know her mommy made her a pretty dress for her birthday? I want to have a pretty dress, Daddy. One that’s white with frills and lots of ribbons. Just like Cinderella’s.”

Tati wouldn’t last two minutes in frilly white, but Michael only smiled and nodded. “Very pretty, honey.”

“Can I have a dress like that, Daddy?”

He studied the picture she indicated, wondering what the right answer was.

“Those dresses are for special occasions. Like Christmas and stuff. They’re not very good for finger painting, or for playing in Granny’s sandbox.”

“I know.” She flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted. “Can I have a dress like this for Christmas, Daddy?”

He stared at Snow White’s layered organza perfection and wondered if children’s clothiers even made such a thing anymore.

“Tell you what, Tati, we’ll have a look in the store when they get their Christmas clothes in. But that’s a long time away. You might change your mind. How about if we think about it till then?”

“I guess.” She tilted her head back to study him. “Wanda says ‘We’ll think about it’ means her mommy won’t do it.”

“I’m not Wanda’s mommy,” he told her wishing the four-year-old fount of wisdom his daughter played with would, just once, run out of answers. “We’ll both think about it. And when it gets nearer Christmas we’ll talk about it again. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I love you.” She reached up to encircle his neck with her arms and squeezed as tight as she could. “This much,” she grunted as used all her strength to show him.

Michael closed his eyes and breathed in as he wrapped his own arms around her tiny body. “I love you more, Tatiana,” he whispered.

They outdid each other in hugs for a few minutes until he caught her yawning. She said her prayers then hugged him once more.

“Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

She gave him one of her old lady looks. “Wanda says there are no bed bugs in Serenity Bay.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s this then?” He gently pinched her leg under the covers, grinned at her squeal. “You tell Wanda she better watch out.”

“You’re silly, Daddy.”

Michael leaned down, brushed his lips against her forehead. “I love you.”

“G’night.” She yawned, then curled into a ball under the pink bedspread covered with ballerinas. “Tomorrow for dress-up I’m going to be a lifesaver,” she murmured just before her eyelids dropped closed.

“You already are.” He flicked off the lamp so the nightlight shed its pale glow. He checked the window, made sure it was locked, cleared a path in case she got up in the night. Then Michael left the room, pulling the door almost closed, so he could hear if she called out.

He reached out to get the monitor from the dining room table, realized he’d left it in his studio. Again.

Michael unlocked the workroom door, pushed it open and flicked on the light. He paused for a moment, studying his work.

His critical focus rested on the last two carvings he’d done. These faces were his best. It had taken more than four years to get comfortable with his own particular style, but it had been worth the effort and time he’d spent to perfect his craft. His carvings now were nothing like those from his New York days, ones his mockers had called kindling.

He’d need another six or seven months to get enough of them to mount a showing in the city. Of course he had no idea how to go about something like that, but Ashley Adams might. Maybe that’s why God had sent her here, put her into his path—so he was one step closer to make his dream of working as a full-time carver come true.

The telephone rang.

He hurried to answer it, praying it wouldn’t wake Tati and regretting the intrusion, but happy to hear Piper Langley’s voice.

“Hello, Piper. It’s nice to hear from you. I enjoyed the fireworks display you organized for Labor Day. You received high praise from my daughter, too.”

He listened as she spoke, outlining a plan that, even for her, was big.

“Sounds like fun,” he agreed when she’d finished describing her winter festival ideas.

“I’m hoping I can persuade you to get more involved.”

“Me? How?”

“I’m using the history book of the area as a resource guide to organize some of the events. It was done several years ago and though we don’t have many trappers or woodsmen around anymore, I’m bringing in some people who can show folks what it was like.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Eventually we want to have dogsled races, trapper contests, the whole thing. For this first year, though, we’re counting on a few big names, maybe make some spectator events like snow sculptures and dogsled pulls for kids.”

“Okay.” He still didn’t get how it involved him.

“As a windup for the week of the festival, we plan to have a live theater event in the school auditorium on the last night.”

“Piper, I can’t act worth a hoot. And when it comes to costumes—”

“We need a set builder,” she interrupted. “For the play. There aren’t a lot of sets to be built and the hardest work will be painting them, for which I’ve already found volunteers. But we need someone to put them together. Jason and I thought that since you’re the shop teacher and already at the school, you might be able to help.”

“Harmon McTaggert would be a lot better at it than me,” he muttered.

“He’s willing to help you whenever he can, but a recent health scare has him taking things easy.”

“Morley French?”

“He’s organizing two of the events. And Steve Garner is working the publicity end.” She sounded apologetic. “I’ve exhausted my list, Michael. The only person I haven’t asked is you.”

“It’s a great idea, Piper, and I’d really love to help.”

“Great!”

“But I’m going to have to refuse,” he added quickly, before she got started thanking him. “I’m sorry, I wish I could take it on but it’s just not possible.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sorry, but yes.”

“I see. I’m sorry about that. I’d really hoped to persuade you.” She sounded tired. “I was just telling Ashley about the bins you helped the kids put together for the recycling program. It’s a great project.”

“Thanks.”

Ashley. Her name kept coming up. In his mind’s eye he could see her, slim and elegant, her hair looking tousled and windblown around those big gray eyes, though it had probably taken a salon hours to create the effect.

“Really, I wish I could do it, Piper. But with Tati to take care of and working at the school—I think I’ve bitten off just a little more than I can chew.”

She laughed, a soft musical sound that carried across the wires.

“Tati’s a sweetheart. One look from those big brown eyes and I’d be lost. I don’t know how you can ever say no to her.”

“I can’t,” he admitted.

They traded a few more words then Piper let him go, but not before asking him to dinner after church on Sunday.

“Nothing big, just a few of our friends. Jason and I want everyone to meet Ashley.”

“Oh, we’ve already met,” he told her. “Didn’t she tell you? She was going to call the cops on me.”

When they hung up Michael was grinning.

Let Ms. Ice explain that.