Читать книгу A Doctor for Keeps - Lynne Marshall - Страница 9

Chapter Two

“Dad. Dad!” Steven pulled Kent’s arm as he unlocked the front door, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Ms. Desi’s the coolest piano teacher ever!”

“Mayor Rask is your piano teacher. Ms. Desi is just filling in.” He wanted to set that straight, right off.

Steven charged for the electric keyboard in the corner of the dining room the second they’d hit the front door. As he turned it on, the excitement in his bright blue eyes was almost contagious. Kent held firm, refusing to get swept up in his son’s enthusiasm. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let Steven get attached to every woman who was kind to him. And that had been his pattern since his mother had left.

No one could fill the void his son must feel.

Steven had his music book opened and seemed raring to go before the keyboard was even warmed up. Transformed before Kent’s eyes, the boy was the embodiment of eagerness—this from the kid who normally had to be dragged to piano lessons and who forced Kent’s patience to get him to practice. Steven pounded out a simple song that had definite blues overtones, and it wasn’t half-bad. The infectious smile on his face forced Kent to grin as he leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening. He loved seeing his son happy, especially after the rough couple of years they’d been through.

Blast it. The last thing he needed was for his son to have a crush on his substitute piano teacher—the woman who showed up in the dead of night and who might take off the same way. He couldn’t bear to see any more disappointment in Steven’s eyes.

How in hell was a child supposed to get over the heartbreak of his mother walking out at such a tender age, with not so much as a phone call on his eighth birthday?

If Kent had his way, Steven would have a couple of siblings by now, but that was the last thing Diana had wanted. Born and raised in Heartlandia, just like him, she wanted to move to a big city where she could spread her cosmopolitan wings and play wife to a doctor who made a staggering salary. She wanted parties and designer shopping sprees. She did not want to be married to a guy running his own urgent-care facility and having to be both businessman and doctor rolled into one. A guy who couldn’t predict which side of the red line they’d land on at the end of each month.

She’d thought being married to a doctor meant she’d be home free, rolling in dough. What with staff salaries to pay, the never-ending need for supplies or new equipment, liability insurance up to his ears and the lease on that overgrown building, some months he had to take a rain check on his own salary. Good thing he lived in the same house he grew up in, the one his parents practically gave away when they sold it to him and moved to Bend, Oregon, to enjoy their retirement.

Bottom line, Diana had wanted out. She’d wanted to be far away. She’d wanted San Francisco, not Heartlandia. She’d wanted to be single again. Single without a child hampering her whims.

“See, Dad? I can almost play all the notes.”

“That’s great.” He applauded. “If you practice every day, maybe you’ll have it memorized by next week.”

“Yeah! That would be the coolest. I could surprise her.”

“Now don’t go getting ahead of yourself. She’s only substituting for Mayor Rask. She may not even be here next week.” Kent went into the kitchen to throw some food together for dinner. Steven tagged along, practically on his heels.

“Can we invite Ms. Desi to the festival this weekend, huh?”

Kent didn’t want to speak for someone else, but he was quite sure Desi would be bored senseless at their hokey small-town Scandinavian festival. Wasn’t that what Diana used to call it? “I don’t know.”

“I could buy her some aebleskiver with my allowance. I just know she’d love them.”

Kent wanted to wrap his arms around the boy and hold him close, tell him to be careful about getting his hopes up where women were concerned. Instead, he pulled open the cupboard and rustled around the canned foods for some baked beans. He hoped to change the subject with food, one of Steven’s favorite topics. He’d grill some chicken and steam some broccoli, and pretend he didn’t hear Steven tell him “for the gazillion-millionth time” that he hated broccoli.

“Dad? Dad! Can we?”

Kent quit opening the can, inhaled and closed his eyes. “We’ll see.”

“Please, please, please?”

“I’ll think about it. Okay?” Feeling a major cave coming on, Kent went the diversion route. “Now go wash your hands.”

Already having his father pegged, Steven triumphantly pumped the air with his fist. “Yes!”

The never-say-die kid sure knew how to work his old man. Kent quietly smiled and went back to cooking.

After dinner and a lopsided conversation with Steven talking about life on the school playground and one quick confession that he thought Ms. Desi smelled like his favorite candy—tropical-flavored SweeTarts—Kent mentally relented. Why allow his lousy attitude about women to get in the way of his son enjoying himself? Besides, when Kent was a kid he had a new crush every week. Steven would soon forget “Ms. Desi” and all would be back to normal.

After he cleaned up the kitchen he’d take a walk next door and ask Desi if she’d like to come along on Saturday. He wouldn’t say a word to Steven, though, so the kid wouldn’t feel the sting if she said thanks but no.

An hour later, Steven was showered and in his pajamas and planted in front of the TV in the family room.

Kent stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering why in hell he felt compelled to brush his teeth and gargle before heading next door. He cursed under his breath as he headed downstairs toward the door. If he didn’t watch it, next he’d be picking posies from the yard for the substitute teacher.

Nothing made sense about asking the new lady in town along just because his son wanted her to come. One thing was painfully clear, though. He’d been hanging out with eight-year-old boys too much lately. Then one last thought wafted up as he crossed his lawn, heading for Gerda’s place—even an eight-year-old could see Desi was easy on the eyes.

* * *

Desi sat on a wicker glider on the large front porch behind the second arch, the huge living room window behind her. She’d thrown one of Gerda’s warm shawls over her shoulders to ward off the chill from the night air. Under the dim porch light she was barely able to make out the print in the Music Today magazine she’d surprisingly found on her grandmother’s coffee table.

Soon she’d have to switch to her eReader and that novel she’d started before she’d left home if she wanted to stay outside. And she did want to stay outdoors to give herself and Gerda some space. There’d been too many extended silences, too many bitten back questions from Desi and started but abruptly ended sentences from Gerda. So much to ask. So much to say. So hard to begin.

Tonight her grandmother seemed preoccupied with mayoral work, and Desi felt out of place. She stared at her scuffed brown boots, wishing she knew how to broach the subject of her mother. What was she like as a kid? Did she always love chili cheeseburgers? What made her think she had to run away when she got pregnant instead of telling her parents and working things out? But people were tricky. You couldn’t always get right to the heart of the matter without first building trust, and her grandmother was obviously holding back the details.

She looked around the large, homey porch and inhaled the night air, even detected a hint of that jasmine from the side of the house. She twitched her nose. Something about this old house calmed her down, as if it had reached inside and said, Hey, you might just belong here. This is where your mother grew up; these rooms, scents, colors, textures and sounds are your roots.

Soles scuffing up the walkway averted her attention from her thoughts. Her gaze darted to the tall blond man from the bland house next door—the overprotective father with some sort of grudge—Kent.

An unnatural expression smacking of chagrin eclipsed his handsome face. It lowered his brows and projected caution from those heavy-lidded eyes. The sight of him set off a pop of tension in her palms.

He cleared his throat, and she closed the magazine. “Nice night, huh?”

One corner of her mouth twitched with amusement over his awkward opening. “Seems kind of cold to me.”

“That’s Oregon for you.”

She smiled, deciding to toss the poor man a lifeline. “Is it?” When was the last time he’d talked socially with a woman?

“Yup. Unpredictable, except for rain.” He came closer to the porch but not all the way up, one foot two steps higher than the other. He put his palms on his knee and leaned on them, an earnest expression humbling his drop-dead looks. “Listen, I want to apologize in case I came off cranky this afternoon.”

She sputtered a laugh. “Cranky? My grandmother might get cranky, but you, well, you seemed bothered. Yeah, that’s the word—bothered.”

He scratched one of those lowered brows. “Sorry.”

“I was just being nice to your son, not planning on snatching him. Making him feel good about his progress, that’s all.”

“Yeah, and he couldn’t stop talking about what a great teacher you are when we got home, too.”

She smiled and magnanimously nodded her head. Yes, I am a good piano teacher, thank you very much. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not hardly.”

As he got closer, the tension in her palms spread to her shoulders, and she needed to stretch. Couldn’t help it.

He watched with interest. “So anyway,” he said, “this time every June we have this thing called the Summer Solstice Scandinavian Festival. Maybe your grandmother already told you about it?”

She shook her head.

“But as mayor pro tem she starts off the parade,” he said.

“She hasn’t said a word about it to me.”

Gerda hadn’t been feeling well tonight, and she’d seemed distracted after a hushed phone conversation. During dinner, Desi had talked about the piano students, even though a big question loomed in her mind. Why couldn’t you and Mom ever patch things up?

“Really?” He seemed surprised.

During dinner, Desi couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject about how bad their mother-daughter relationship must have been. Still, every indication—from the way her grandmother had opened the home to her to the way Desi caught her sneaking loving looks at her—suggested she was wanted. Yet that feeling of not belonging prevailed, along with the thought that Gerda was simply doing her duty out of guilt.

She shook her head at Kent. “The subject of an annual festival never came up.”

“Well, the thing is, Steven would really like you to go with us to the parade and festival on Saturday.”

Desi liked seeing the big man so completely out of his comfort zone and sat straighter. “So he sent you over to ask me out?”

Finally, a smile. Well, half of a smile. “Not exactly.”

“He doesn’t know you’re asking, and you’d rather die than ask a tall, dark stranger to come along, so you snuck over behind his back to ask me to say no?”

The look he shot her seemed to ask, Are you a mind reader? Or she could be reading into it, just a wee bit.

“Not it at all. And, man, you’ve got quite an imagination.” So much for her theory. He shook his head with slow intent. “I was thinking more that you’d rather pull weeds than be stuck with me for an afternoon. But Steven... He’s a kick. He wants to spend his allowance on you.”

She tilted her head, charmed by her young absentee suitor. “Not every day a male wants to spend his allowance on me. How can I refuse?”

Kent scratched the corner of his mouth. “You were right—I didn’t tell him I was asking you in case you didn’t want to come with us.”

“How thoughtful of you, protecting Steven.” Maybe he wasn’t as bad as the vibes he gave off. “And thanks for giving me an out...but I’d like to go.” Sorry to disappoint.

Surprise opened his eyes wide. His sexy bedroom eyes—there were no other words for them. The sight of them did something deep in her belly, making her sit up and take notice. “I’m starting to feel a little cooped up in this big old house already, and I’d like to see the rest of the town.” See what my mother ran away from.

His quick smile died before it reached his cheeks. “Before you take off again?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She didn’t have time to analyze what stick had been surgically implanted into Kent Larson’s spine, or why he was giving her such a hard time about coming and going as she pleased, so she ignored him. She’d stay in Heartlandia as long as she wanted or needed, and she didn’t need his permission to leave when she was ready. “I meant, I’m looking forward to spending more time with Steven and seeing more of Heartlandia. And you can tell him I said yes.”

“Good. That’s good.” He sounded hesitant. “Steven will be excited.”

And what about you? She’d been around the country a few dozen times, but she wasn’t bold enough to ask. Was her crazy physical reaction every time he came around by any chance mutual?

Did this Viking from the bland house next door have any soul? Any passion? He seemed to be bound by courtesy and what was expected of him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something must have happened to make those invisible walls so high. Yet Steven was as lovable and huggable as a soft teddy bear.

At least Kent hadn’t spoiled the boy with his standoffish attitude. Yet.

With his mission accomplished, and without further words, Kent had already turned to leave.

“Tell Steven I’m really looking forward to going, okay?”

He tossed a thoughtful gaze back at her, took her in with a leisurely tour of her entire body. It was the first sign of life she’d seen in him since the night they’d met in the dark, giving her the inkling that maybe her physical response to him was reciprocated.

A subtle shiver rolled through her, and she clutched the shawl tighter and closer to her neck.

“I’ll do that,” he said. “We’ll pick you up on Saturday morning around ten.” And off he went, almost smiling, down the steps and toward the dark path home.

“Got it,” she said softly, grateful the boy would be along to ward off the unexplainable reaction she had to the big guy with the aloof attitude.

* * *

Saturday morning was cool and damp, and Desi pulled her hair tightly back into a bun and covered it with a knit cap, careful not to catch her huge hoop earrings. She zipped her thin hoodie to the neck and did the final is my butt too big in these jeans? check via the full-length mirror. The doorbell rang and she stopped obsessing over what nature had given her and hustled out the bedroom door.

Gerda had answered the door already, and Steven and Kent hung back just outside on the porch, talking quietly.

“Oh, good, you’re ready,” Gerda said when Desi appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’ve got to go. Need to be there a half hour before the parade starts.”

Desi rushed down the steps. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

Gerda was already on the porch and halfway toward her car in the driveway. “See you there!”

“We’ll be by your booth for some aebleskiver later,” Kent said.

Gerda’s smile widened, setting off a network of wrinkles. “I’ll make some fresh just for you,” she said, looking at Steven.

She’d be manning the Daughters of Denmark bakery booth all afternoon after playing grand marshal. Somehow the old woman had become a figurehead for Heartlandia, and it was another duty she’d hesitantly accepted.

Pride broke into Desi’s chest and she waved to her grandmother. “I’ll be cheering for you!”

The car door closed and Gerda continued to smile as she backed out. It always caught Desi off guard how much of her mother she saw in her grandmother’s face. So far they hadn’t talked nearly enough about her mother, maybe because it was still too painful, but little by little they’d begun to forge their own cautious relationship.

After Gerda had gone, Desi looked at Kent. “Do I need an umbrella?”

“I’ve got it covered,” Kent said, obviously enjoying his first glance at Desi, shaking her up with his sharp blue eyes. “You look like a Scandinavian flag.”

Stopped in her tracks, Desi did a mental inventory of her choice of colors. A bright blue knit cap and red sweatshirt. “Gee, thanks. Just what every girl longs to hear.”

“You look cool, Ms. Desi,” Steven said, beaming at her.

Maybe she’d ignore the father and hang out with the son all morning. “Thanks, Steven.” She stopped herself from messing his shaggy, nearly white-blond hair, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate it—especially if he was planning to spend his allowance on her. And she had every intention of paying him back with the money she earned from her part-time calligraphy jobs.

“We better get going.” Kent nudged Steven along with a hand to his neck. Steven halfheartedly tried to kick his dad’s leg. Kent played along, kicking back, missing by a mile. The boy giggled.

Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Desi followed them off the porch toward the curb.

They rode over in a white—why was she not surprised—pickup truck, sitting three across with Steven between them. After a brief silence, Steven spoke up.

“The sons and daughters of Heartlandia first came together to start this festival fifty years ago,” Steven recited like a tour guide for the city. “The early summer festival celebrates our Norwegian, Icelandic, Finnish, Swedish and Danish heritage—” he stumbled over some of the words, but managed to spit them out pretty well for an eight-year-old “—from the early fishermen settlers first stranded on our coast.” He stopped long enough to swallow. “Our first peoples, the Chinook, saved and nursed our shipwrecked forefathers to health and taught them the secrets of hunting and fishing the waters of the great Columbia River.” A quick picture of Linus explaining the meaning of Christmas to Charlie Brown came to mind with the quiet yet capable way Steven told his city’s history.

“Okay, Steven, you don’t need to repeat your entire class presentation for Ms. Desi.”

“I liked it. Thank you, Steven.”

“As you can tell,” Kent interjected, “Hjartalanda is proud of both the Scandinavian and Chinook heritage.”

“We have a special celebration for the Chinook peoples in—” Steven screwed up his face, eyes up and to the right. “What’s that month, Dad?”

“October.”

“Yeah, October. Then we have a beer barn, too, so that gets the old farts to come.”

Desi sputtered a laugh before she could stop herself.

“Watch the language,” Kent warned benevolently. “And, Steven, that’s not exactly why we have the beer barn. It’s—”

“That’s what you said to Officer Gunnar that time.”

Kent flashed a sparkling look at Desi over Steven’s head. He enjoyed his son as much as she did. She lifted her brows. You get yourself out of this one.

“That was just an observation between him and me, and for your information, I said ‘geezers,’ not ‘farts.’”

Steven giggled. “Fart is a funny word. I like it better. Fart, fart, fart.” He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“That’s enough of that.” Kent tried to sound stern, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth told a different tale.

Desi grinned at the father and son’s candid conversation during the drive over. Maybe, if she kept quiet, she’d learn a heck of a lot more about Heartlandia—or Hjartalanda, as Kent had called it—than she’d found out from her grandmother so far.

Steven taught her a hand game for the rest of the short drive over, where one person would place their palms on top of the other, and the bottom person had to try to slap the upper person’s hands. Something about his earnest approach to everything he did made her warm inside. He was easy to giggle, too, and she joined right in, even as she nearly got slapped silly from his quick reflexes.

They parked outside the central section of town and hiked up toward the main street called Heritage. Desi glanced far off at one end to see what looked like an official building, maybe city hall, with a totem-pole-type monument in front. She turned and gazed down to the other end, noticing storefronts, restaurants and other businesses in what seemed like a time warp to the 1950s architecture and style with evidence of 1970s expansion. One large building, six stories high, sat apart from the other mostly single-or two-story frames. It smacked of the Art Deco era of the twenties and thirties with geometric domes and lavish ornamental copper accents, which had turned green. Desi wondered if there was an ordinance about not building tall after The Heritage Hotel and Performance Center went up.

She’d slowed her pace to take it all in, and Steven grabbed her hand, pulling her along. Clusters of people grouped around the street corners and more lined the curbs with chairs and blankets to sit on. It seemed as if every person in the city had shown up for the parade.

“Move back, folks. Make way for the parade.” A sturdy, broad-shouldered police officer spoke to the thickening group on one particular corner. The guy was built as if he could make a living on the side as a cage fighter.

“Quit harassing the locals. Cut us some slack, Sergeant, would you?” Kent’s outburst made Desi tense. This wasn’t the kind of guy anyone in their right mind should want to challenge.

The intense-eyed, equally handsome and obviously Scandinavian male turned to Kent. The grim expression on his face broke apart into a wide grin. “You give me a hard time and I’ll haul your—” he glanced at Steven then back to Kent “—backside in.”

The men shook hands, and Desi knew immediately they were friends. Respect shone through Kent’s and the officer’s eyes, and something else, too—something that looked a lot like brotherly love.

The policeman with light brown hair and flashing green eyes bent to greet Steven. “How’d you talk your old man into bringing you to the parade this year?”

“I asked my piano teacher along,” Steven said, pointing to Desi.

Feeling suddenly on display, she made a closed-lip smile, stuffing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. The officer looked her way and tipped his head, obvious interest in his gaze. She gave a single nod back.

“This is Mayor Rask’s granddaughter, Desdemona,” Kent said, reaching for her arm and encouraging her forward. “And this is Gunnar Norling, my best friend since grammar school.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you,” he said, casting a quick sideways glance at Kent, ensuring he’d get the lowdown later, before smiling at her.

“Call me Desi.”

“Okay.” He reached for her hand.

A drum-and-bugle corps rent the air, alerting the crowd the parade was about to begin, and Gunnar’s attention immediately went elsewhere.

“Enjoy the parade, guys. I’m on duty.” Off he went, looking attractive and official in the dark blue uniform.

The next thing Desi saw was the flag corps consisting of six teenage boys proudly displaying the five Scandinavian banners plus the U.S. pennant in the center. Each young man wore a vest in the traditional color of their country as they walked to the rhythm of three snare drummers directly behind them. Then came her grandmother sitting in the cab of an open horse-drawn carriage, waving demurely as she progressed down the street.

Desi waved wildly along with Steven and Kent, and Gerda’s eyes brightened, stretching her Mona Lisa smile into a toothy grin.

As the procession continued, individual countries paraded their famous costumes and music while walking beside simple floats and automobiles.

The women and girls wore ankle-length dresses covered with colorful aprons and shawls or capes. Some wore white scarves on their heads, which made them look like flashy nuns, or little hats trimmed in red or blue. All the women wore thick stockings and what looked like homemade leather shoes. Large beaded necklaces seemed to be in vogue with many of the women in costume.

The men’s outfits reminded Desi of a famous TV commercial for cough drops. She especially liked the bright vests and little turbans or knit caps with tassels some of the men wore.

The intense colors on all of the apparel impressed Desi—mostly reds and blues with some yellow—along with the pride and joy that poured out of every participant as they strolled by. She glanced at Steven and Kent and saw the same pride and joy on their faces.

“That’s Viking,” Kent said, pointing to one group.

Steven saw one of his friends walking with the adults and gave a holler. Kent grabbed him and gave him a noogie as they watched the group pass. The father and son touched affectionately a lot, she realized, and seemed to get along great. Mother or not.

“That’s Swedish, my people,” Kent said, as the next float approached.

The subtle differences between the groups were hard for her to see, yet everyone else seemed to know exactly who was who. What must it be like to belong so deeply to something, to have a heritage you could trace back thousands of years and know like the back of your hand? “Here come the Danes.” Kent smiled and glanced at her. In the front row of participants was a young girl of mixed race, like herself, and she led the way. What was he trying to communicate, that she wasn’t the only biracial person in town?

Heck, half of her family tree was cut off at the very first fork, a blunt and wide cut that ended with a single name—Victor Brown.

“Here come the Fins.” Kent continued his parade coverage, his hands on Steven’s shoulders and the boy’s head resting against him, just above his belt.

Desi couldn’t tear her attention away from the genealogy marching before her. She was made up of just as much of this as the other mysterious side, and today she deeply felt the Scandinavian connection.

“Here’s my favorite, the Icelanders!” Steven jumped in, pointing ahead. “They always wear the funnest hats.”

Besides the um-pa-pa sounds coming from some of the floats, there were others with fiddles that sounded so similar to what Desi knew as Celtic tunes. There was maypole-type dancing between some floats and livelier, showier footwork, knee and shoe slapping, among the boys and men between other floats. Her cheeks soon grew tired from all of the grinning.

As the parade went on, more modern versions of Scandinavian clothing came through. The easily spotted knit sweaters and caps, and stylish sheep-fur-lined boots sported by preschoolers and kindergartners grabbed her attention. A group of teens showed off what could only be described as Scandinavian grunge, complete with famous storybook red braids and raccoon-styled makeup, while doing gymnastics and a little street dancing.

Something was brewing and bubbling in Desi’s chest. Could she see herself in the light faces of these people? Her mother’s Nordic beauty was hard to detect when Desi looked in the mirror, yet it was there—her high cheekbones, the shape of her brows, the expressive eyes. Her mother was inside her—in every cell and in half of her DNA.

Her mother had run away and given up her entire life for Desi. She owed it to her to keep her mind and heart open to this town and all that it was and could offer. She needed to stick around long enough to learn who she was before she took off searching for the other half.

An hour after it had started, the parade came to a close with a final um-pa-pa group, and a small, sweaty hand on hers brought her back to the moment.

“Let’s get over to the booths before the lines get too long,” Steven said, tugging her down the street. So far the weather had cooperated, the earlier gray clouds parting, revealing bright blue sky above.

Kent walked a few feet away from them like a tall, benevolent chaperone giving them space.

“Is this where everything happens in town?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Pretty much. We’ve got a lot of touristy shops for the cruise-line visitors down toward the docks, but most of the travelers like to come up here to eat. We’ve got some great restaurants.”

One redbrick restaurant and bar had a few tables out front and a black-and-white canopy under which an older African-American man sat drinking coffee as they passed. He wore a starched white chef’s shirt and hat placed at a jaunty angle on his head. Their eyes met, as two standouts might, and he tipped his head at her without a hint of a smile. She smiled and repeated the gesture, noticing the name of the restaurant and promising to find her way back at some point. Lincoln’s Place. “Good food since 1984. Live music and Happy Hour specials daily at the bar,” the sign said.

Kent waved and the man lifted his palm in return.

Down the street was a small white restaurant, with a blue-and-yellow canopy out front, called Husmanskost.

“What’s that?”

“They specialize in Swedish cuisine. I’ll bring you some samples from the booths.”

Desi kept walking, but her gaze stayed on the cute little restaurant, wondering what unusual tastes and dishes she’d find inside.

At the food section, the wait at Gerda’s Danish Bakery booth was nominal. Gerda was already there working, and she smiled her greeting, then turned and picked up some already-packaged treats.

“I thought you were going to make the aebleskiver fresh for us,” Kent said with a teasing tone.

“Even an old coot like me knows how to read phone messages. Steven texted you were on your way over as soon as the parade ended.”

Desi shook her head and smiled over Steven’s resourcefulness. Behind the counter on another surface were several grills with small round grooves filled with pancakelike batter. The other cook on hand used a toothpick to move the pastry ball around to cook it on all sides. It looked like a tedious job, and Desi knew she’d wind up with burned pastry if she were in charge.

“I gave you a mixture, Steven,” her grandmother said. “Some have apples inside, others raspberry. Be sure to put extra powdered sugar on them. Oh, and I gave you different sauces to dip them in.”

The fresh apple and cinnamon aroma of the small doughnut-hole-type baked goods made Desi’s mouth water. “I’d like to try one with just the powdered sugar, if you don’t mind.”

Steven’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite, too!”

When they perched at a small table, Steven opened the box. Kent made a quick, stealthy reach right after Steven powdered them and popped one into his mouth.

“Hey, buy your own, Dad. These are for me and Ms. Desi.”

Kent’s brows shot up and, combined with the cheeks full of bakery goods, the vision made Desi laugh. He shrugged and said something completely unintelligible through his full mouth. A crazy urge to lick away some of the powdered sugar from his lips and chin gave Desi pause. What the heck was going on?

Of course she understood that Kent was an amazingly attractive man. It was apparent most of the women in Heartlandia—at least those at the parade who made obvious eyes at him—thought so, too. Besides, she was a healthy young woman who hadn’t had a date in a long time. Of course she’d notice a guy like Kent. But this slow-heat in her lower parts whenever he was around still took her by surprise.

Step away from the merchandise. The last thing she needed was to complicate her circumstances by developing a crush on her grandmother’s neighbor.

Kent slipped away as she and Steven gobbled down the delights. After they knocked off what was left of the dozen, grinning and smacking their lips all the way, Kent reappeared with a couple of containers. “Here you go.”

“What’s this?”

“I brought you some fish balls.”

She didn’t think she could eat another bite.

“Just a taste. Come on.”

He fed her a nibble of the fish ball, and even though it was a stinky fish ball, all the while she thought this encounter was too intimate for a public place. “Mmm, that’s delish.”

“There’s plenty more you’ll have to sample.” She glanced at his mouth and thought she’d like to sample that, too. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a midnight supper.”

That sent her mind to a completely inappropriate place and her cheeks heated up. “I need something to drink.”

“Steven, get Desdemona some water, will you, please?”

Her name seemed to simmer on his lips. Sheesh, he’d better make that ice water. “Thanks.”

“If you’d like, I’ll take you for a proper Swedish dinner sometime.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure you’re too busy with your clinic and all to do that.”

“You know about the Urgent Care?”

“My grandmother couldn’t be prouder of you if you were her own son.”

“Did someone say my name?”

As more helpers arrived, Gerda had taken a break from her booth, coming around the corner and taking Desi by the elbow. “Steven, Kent, may I borrow Desi for a few minutes?”

Kent’s police-sergeant friend showed up with a coffee in one hand and a huge Danish in the other. After delivering the water, Steven had waved to a few of the local boys, yet he still looked disappointed at the prospect of Desi leaving.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

“We’re going to do some boring booth shopping,” Gerda added. “But you’re welcome to come along.”

Steven wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna go play with my friends.” He pointed to the group of boys chasing each other around for no apparent reason.

Kent waved his acknowledgment of everyone’s whereabouts without missing a beat of the friendly conversation with his best buddy. Those guys seemed to really enjoy each other.

Traveling all her life had meant good friendships were hard to make, and that had always bothered Desi. What would it be like to have a special friend to share all of your thoughts with? Anytime she’d started to get to know a kid her own age, her mother would get a new hotel assignment in another city. Heck, Desi had always felt more like a mascot to the hotel housekeeping staff around the country than a friend to anyone.

Gerda guided Desi by several booths, making a stop in front of each one and introducing her. “Hey, everyone, this is my granddaughter, Desdemona.” She couldn’t seem prouder, and it gave Desi pause. If her mother had only given things a chance...

At the jewelry booths, she saw beautiful examples of the necklaces many of the parade participants wore and also brooches. Her eyes lit up at the meticulously knitted sweaters and hats at another booth two doors down.

“Oh, I love that red-and-white one,” she blurted out.

“Try it on. Let me buy it for you,” Gerda said.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I’ve missed a lot of birthdays and Christmases. Please let me buy you a gift.”

Feelings she wasn’t prepared for folded into her heart. She reached out and for the first time hugged her grandmother. “Thank you.”

“We’ll take this,” Gerda said midhug to the little lady behind the counter.

As they pulled back, Desi offered a sympathetic smile tinged with long-lost family ties. The tears in her own eyes were reflected back at her in Gerda’s kind expression. They’d missed out on so much together. “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Gerda gripped Desi’s shoulders, letting her know how important this was to her.

Kent strolled up, stopping briefly when he realized he’d invaded a private moment. “Oh, sorry.”

Desi and Gerda opened their hug but remained arm over arm. “Grandma just bought me the most beautiful sweater.” The lady behind the counter had finished wrapping it in tissue paper and putting it inside a bag with all five of the Scandinavian flags on it, then handed it to Desi.

“That’s great. You’ll have to model it for me sometime.” His genuine smile rolled over her, doubling the unfamiliar feelings she harbored in her heart right then, until caution stepped in. Don’t get too chummy with anyone because you won’t be around that long. At the warning, her arm slipped from her grandmother’s back.

“I’ve got to get back to the booth,” Gerda said. “Why don’t you show Desi around all of the displays?”

“Glad to. That is, if Steven doesn’t get his nose bent out of shape.”

“I think he’s forgotten me for that group of boys over there.”

Gerda pointed at Kent. “I remember this one when he was Steven’s age. I could tell he had a crush on Ester, and I warned her to be extra nice to him when she babysat. Do you remember that?”

“I do. Truth was, Ester was my first big heartbreak.”

Kent went quiet as Gerda shut down before Desi’s eyes. Pain replaced the tender glances from earlier, and after a goodbye nod, Gerda make a quick departure for the bakery booth.

Desi and Kent exchanged puzzled glances. How should she process what had just happened? Kent had accidentally brought up the taboo topic. No wonder it seemed so hard to ask about her mother, when her grandmother had never gotten over her running away.

Kent flattened his lips into a straight line. “I put my foot in it, didn’t I?”

“It’s so many years. Who would think it could still be so painful?”

“Losing a kid. I don’t know how I’d survive,” he said.

Desi couldn’t begin to imagine the hurt her mother had caused when she’d set out on her own, barely eighteen and pregnant. Seemed as though there were always two sides to every story. Times like these, Desi wished with all of her heart her mother was alive and she could ask her the tough questions.

Kent glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s after noon. The kid’s distracted. Would you like a taste of schnapps in some cocoa? I know just the place.”

“Sounds good.” Anything to replace the heartsick feeling for her mother and grandmother that had suddenly come over her. How different would her life have been if her mother and grandparents could have worked things out?

Off they went, down the street toward a booth decorated in swaths the colors of the Swedish flag. On the way, without asking, Kent took her hand with a gentle, comforting touch, setting off a tingly domino effect all the way to her toes.